Yard Waste

Mom and I had about fifteen bags of leaves raked up from her yard when she suggested that maybe we should pile them in a hole and compost them. I suppose you are thinking that is a reasonable idea, but you don't know Mom.
For one thing, Mom has never composted anything in her life. Once when we were discussing composting, she started listing all the difficulties of mixing different organic materials, turning it, keeping it wet, etc. So I was surprised just for a second when she mentioned it.
But only for a second.
See, even if I didn't know that hole in her back yard was a burn pile, the fresh ashes and partially burned paper would have clued me in. I had a picture in my mind of driving merrily back to Bellingham as she lit a match beneath those winter-dried leaves.
Which is a big problem because Mom lives in a tinder-box town also known as Richland, Washington. Anyone who thinks Washington State is wet just because of the famous rain forests of western part of the state, haven't heard of the desolate, arid, scrub in Eastern Washington. Wild fires often sweep across the prairies and wheat fields. I did not want Mom to be responsible for scorched earth.
When I mentioned to her that she could end up in prison if she started a wild fire, she said (proving that she has thought this over) that she wouldn't go to jail over a city ordinance. I think she also planned on that plaque from the mayor honoring her for service on the library board saving her from any official charges being filed. But federal officials would not be so easily swayed if they had to spend a few million dollars dousing out flames across the north end of Richland.
So, I hope I have convinced to her be patient and load the bags of leaves, probably three or four at a time, into her yard waste pick up bin. Not as much fun as a fire, but she won't have to listen to me say, “I told you so.”
Nancy Sherer