To make a short story longer…
I have an area of our back yard* I’ve mentally designated for a future backyard* garden. Right now, I’m burning wood trash there, in a small pit I’ve dug–limbs, small trees I’ve removed and even good sized logs from a mimosa tree I’ve long hated.
Oh, the lil micro-mini project? Making charcoal in (very) small batches. I get a good fire going and then when it’s burned down a bit I shovel dirt and ashes over the burning wood until I blanket out even traces of smoke. Next day, I uncover the charcoal that’s been created and put it in a steel container until I’m absolutely sure there are no live coals still left, then into a covered plastic bucket.
Oh, the charcoal? For a very small earth-sheltered forge I plan on putting in the same small pit for use turning some old files and lawnmower blades into knives. (I’ve already annealed the files/lawnmower blades to make them soft enough to work… in earlier woodpile burns. :-))
Waste not, want not.
🙂
Note the difference. While I may seem (or even be) pedantic, it’s for good cause. I keep reading things on the web–and even in books that’ve been through the whole nine yards of traditional publishing, including editors, proofreaders and the like–that use “backyard” and “backseat” and other such adjectives as though they were nouns. It chaps my gizzard. The distinction is a useful one and should not be abandoned by the illiterati of contemporary writers simply because they’re too butt lazy to be well-read.
