You never know what life is going to throw at you, or what fires you might have to put out – metaphorically or literally.
On Sunday afternoon, while walking the creek bank with my son, I smelled smoke. We were having fun, dipping our feet in the cool water and playing a game he had concocted, when it hit my nose. He was disappointed when I told him we needed to go back up the hill and check on things, but he didn’t argue. The smoke smell grew stronger as I ascended the hill, and before I reached our backyard I could already see the flames working their way up the hill beyond us.
Apparently, despite our best efforts at being responsible, some small embers from a previous fire had been fanned back into life by the strong winds, and somehow escaped our burn ring.
Despite being winded from my uphill sprint, I grabbed a garden rake and – clad in shorts, a sleeveless shirt, and slick, worn-out Crocs – began trying to beat back the fire and rake out a fire break.
Unfortunately, by the time I’d made it back around the hill to where I started, the fire had jumped my line and was quickly spreading again. So, I started raking out a second line. This time I worked from the inside, raking burning material back into the already burned area towards me and, in the process, inadvertently causing fires to spring up under my feet as the dry leaves hit the still smoldering embers inside the ring.
My wife was not home, but I’d sent my six-year-old inside to have his older brother call someone when it became obvious I was going to continue struggling.
By the time I’d half finished my third lap around the hill a member of the 504 fire department had showed up in his personal vehicle, along with a neighbor who saw another fire truck from Sandy Hook approach and miss our driveway. By the time the Sandy Hook truck got turned around and found our house, the two of them had it out; my neighbor taking over my rake and beating the flames out with a pine branch while the gentleman from the fire department used a leaf blower to remove fuel and push the flames back into the area that was already burned over.
All told, between two and three acres of underbrush had burned up, reaching about three quarters of the way up our hillside.
When it was all said and done, I was exhausted. Bruised. Burned. And severely scratched up by the wild rose and sawbrier.
Worse than all that, I’d hurt my little boy’s feelings. During my rush up the hill from the creek, I’d left him trailing behind and he’d gotten a nasty briar scrape on his calf while trying to catch up. I wiped the blood away and sent him inside to have his brother put a band-aid on it; but he didn’t see my sense of urgency over the fire or my need to prioritize it. No, what he saw was his father dismissing his needs and his very real distress.
Not the kind of damage I’d expected from a brush fire, but damage, nonetheless. And damage I needed to address.
Life’s like that sometimes.
We get in a rush. We get focused on the objective in front of us. And we don’t realize who we might have inadvertently hurt, and – purposeful or not – we have to deal with it.
And sometimes the fires we thought we’d put out come back.
That happened on Sunday too. After practically inhaling a bowl of chicken soup, the only food I’d had to eat all day, and taking a shower I was finally trying to relax, wind down, and put some antiseptic on my various cuts and scrapes when I heard a knock at the door. It was another neighbor. On their way home they’d spotted the glow of a fire on the hillside and come back to alert me. I went out to find the fire was, indeed, back on the far end of our property. A smoldering tree had burned through and collapsed, inside the fire ring, but sending hot embers across the break to reignite leaf litter. After beating that back, I carried three five-gallon buckets of water about a quarter of a mile back the holler and up the hill, using them to refill water bottles that I used to douse the smoldering wood.
That knock on our door was not what I’d call welcome. I was dog tired and ready to go to bed. But it was necessary and appreciated – as was the gentle rumble of thunder signaling the rains that came later in the evening, allowing me to finally stop worrying about flare ups and rest.
Life’s like that sometimes too. Fires are going to come. We’re going to have to fight them. But sometimes there are folks to help and, eventually, there is rain. And rest. And the deep, deep, rewarding sleep that only exhaustion brings.
And, afterwards, a new day.
Big thanks to our neighbors, the 504 and Sandy Hook Volunteer Fire Departments, and whoever ordered the rain. We appreciate you all more than we can say.
Contact the writer at editor@cartercountytimes.com
Like this:
Like Loading...