Monday was fine. Fine, as in warm, snow almost melted, glorious bright sun after a long winter.

Fine enough to get us out of bed early to gobble down a quick breakfast and head outside. Because on the first warm day of spring, my husband wants to burn things.

I could smell the smoke before I got the dishes cleared.

There’s something about new warmth that makes us want to disappear the old cold. The winter’s accumulated pile of mouldy bales and dead animals and general yard yuck. He gathered it all and lit it up and called the boys to watch it. Because a fire of old stuff can out-of-control itself pretty quick when spring is not yet green.

I walked out to check on them, gathered around the burning pile. One on the fence, one on his bike, another on the dirt road with the dog. Sitting and watching the winter garbage disappear. Raking it from time to time to keep it from spilling into the still dry field around it.

I don’t know if there is a lesson in this. If I thought hard enough I could probably come up with something.

Really, though, it’s just a thing to do on the first warm day of spring.