Fishbone Fern Fire

Its getting close to the end of my stay in Oz  and also closer to the DRO 20th Anniversary open day, both of which are on Sunday 20th, so time to start clearing up and cleaning.
Over the past few weeks the piles of Fish bone fern I have been pulling out have proliferated into long banks and are drying in the sun - no doubt dropping a myriad spores in the process. They needed to be burnt before the VIP's from the University arrive but Cade and I both felt that midday of the hot season was not the right time to commence this activity. It was a cloudless sky with a gusty breeze and the temperature in the shade was topping 35C. The bonfire site obviously has no shade. However, Michele has the bit between her teeth, a list in her hand and is determined that all things will be perfect by Sunday morning.
Cade is to do all the transporting of vegetable matter in the 'gator and my job is to watch the fire and surrounds with hawk eyes ready to leap into action if anything catches with a spark. The acres of ungrazed Buffalo grass have a tinder dry understory.
 Australian fires do not require the finesse that goes into making English ones. No laying out a sheet of cardboard to raise it off the sodden ground, no sorting of twig sizes from small to large, no wigwams or lattice work. Just make a pile and chuck a match on top - Whoomph!
The first cloud of yellow smoke and flame billowed out, was caught by the wind, and because we had forgotten to close any of the windows all the fire alarms in the accommodation blocks instantly went off.
That being resolved and radioing Michele to re-assure her that she still had a facility to show off on Sunday the challenge of keeping the fire fed began. I am not sure which of us had the hottest job, Cade driving back and forth at full tilt after piling the bucket up with material from the outlying heaps, or me feeding and tending a fire so hot my eyebrows started crinkling.
'Can you stand it whilst I get the last load?' yells Cade, dripping with sweat, half an hour later. 'Yes.' I croak. But as I lift the rake to turn the fire edge in the heat catches in my throat and the daylight turns fuzzy and I realise I can't.  I sit down hard on a log seat coughing and wonder vaguely why the smoke seems to be following me. It is because the seat has caught fire, as Cade, haring back with the last load, forcefully lets me know.
I am banished to the veranda to recover whilst he gets water to douse the whole thing. 
After that I am put in the air-conditioned dry laboratory to make up goodie bags. I feel badly for Cade still being outside but have no intention of offering to swop.