Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller May 13, 1999 Frost sprinkled the grass of the lawn Sunday, morning, May 9. Water in a bucket on the deck had a pane of ice on top. The thermometer read 30 degrees at 5:45 a.m. I was glad that I had covered the plants in the greenhouse the night before. I made a pot of tea, grabbed Saturday’s paper, and went back to bed. Cindy stirred beside me. “ Happy Mother’s Day,” I said. “Huh?” “ Happy Mother’s Day.” “ Oh yeah, OK, ” she mumbled. She was still asleep, and regardless of the occasion—or perhaps because of the occasion—she did not intend to wake up at 6 a.m. on a Sunday. I don’t usually either. But there comes a time every year when the early sun and the crisp air get me going early, and that time is now. After I read the paper I walked outside with my cup of tea, strapped on my kneepads, and started mulching the garden. I had been waiting for just such a morning to do this job, one with no wind, because I mulch with newspapers and you can ...

David Heiller Last Thursday evening was a nice night for burning the grass in back of our house. The day had set record highs—88 degrees in Minneapolis, 94 in Fairmont, Minnesota. Dry conditions, yet the ground underneath the grass was spongy wet. Little wind. Clear sky, frogs starting to peep in the swamp. Grass burning weather. First step—go to the local fire warden and get a burning permit. Every township has one. Next step—make sure you are prepared. I watch my fires with a five gallon pail of water and a wet burlap sack. The fire gets out of hand—flop that sack on it, and it will generally come to a halt. If the wind suddenly picks up, or you hit a patch of canary reed grass, stand back and hope for rain. David and the tall grass. I take an extra precaution and burn a narrow strip on the perimeter of my burning area. That way, if the fire gets out of control, it should go out once it hits the ring that has already been burned. Last Thursday, everything was set up p...