Every winter, after the first few frosts have turned the tall grasses from green to brown, we burn the "meadow" near the old FFA hog pen.
"We" means my daughter Emma and I.
She inherited a large dose of the the gene known as "pyrolase-b-urnalota" from her Dad.
We were not burning at night, but it looks like it in this flash photo.
It was near sundown, but not as dark as the picture implies.
Above, we have Emma surveying her circle of destruction ... which is really a circle of regeneration since this tiny, annually burned meadow has the greatest plant diversity of any dryland habitat at PFHQ.
It's a simple activity, this Father/Daughter burning, but I look forward to it each winter.
I love the way the grasses and many of the fire adapted native wildflowers hold their seeds on tall stalks, high above the grass-fueled flames.
Whent the fire has moved on, the stalks may still be standing holding their precious cargo aloft ready to drift down into the ash enriched soil.
Sometimes, a seed stalk will slowly burn through at the base, but almost always the stalk falls in slow motion, and only reaches the ground after the hungry flames have moved on ...
... Safe seed delivery complete.
It's a beautifully simple thing, but it still awes me a little every time we burn.