I love this, Bob. So many memories from my own childhood. Homecoming week in high school was capped by a bonfire party near the football field. Bonfires are a bit part of Montana heritage (sort of white man fires on steroids, I guess). And there is something culturally revealing about wildfire management: how integral fire was to indigenous practices, yet how many resources are expended trying to suppress fires that ought to be allowed to burn for ecological reasons. I moved into wilderness trails eventually because the philosophy of fire suppression was so repugnant to me. We were paid, essentially, to protect merchantable timber. That's what your federal taxes went toward: saving trees so that lumber companies could sell them. And whenever we did urban interface (with homes or residential communities), our resources were marshalled to protect trophy homes. Not once was I ever dispatched to protect a trailer court. Nuf said.
Two other firefighting memories -- both reinforcing your white man fire idea. I did a lot of prescribed burning with the Forest Service, typically to prepare logged plots for replanting. I've never met an Indian pyromaniac, but those 30-40 acre burns, typically on steep mountainsides, were redneck heaven. Government-sanctioned destruction, essentially. In the fall, we would burn "slash piles," big stacks of waste wood. And we'd fill jerry cans of mystery fuel from the fire station boneyard, pour them into buckets, douse the piles, and then toss fusees into the mix to light the whole thing. Grown men cackling like idiots about how big a boom they could create. It makes me laugh to remember it, but there's nothing culturally redeeming about that view.
And circling back to your own time in the Southwest, I was once dispatched with a crew to Arizona and New Mexico. We worked the night shift, 6pm to 6am, and I was amazed at how low the temperature dropped at night. Down to the 40s after a high of 110 or so. We were supposed to be digging up hot spots (mopping up, they call it), but many a night we would find a stump hole with a lot of coals underneath, and we'd stoke it up to keep warm. Those moments, when we weren't fighting anything, but huddling together in the dark around glowing embers, are some of my favorite memories of being a firefighter. Now you make me want to write an essay about all this!
Josh, please write your essay. This is great stuff. One other thing I didn't include because I thought it might belabor the point, is when I worked on Black Mesa, there were huge open pit coal mines. The amount of explosive material was supposed to be small enough so that the coal dust didn't catch fire. If it did catch fire, there would be a large explosion and a mushroom cloud would shoot hundreds of feet into the air. I think we called them fire balls. It would be a $10K fine if that happened. If they figured that it was worth the 10k to have a larger blast, they would do it, in the dead of night, hoping an inspector wasn't around.
Thank you! The idea popped into my head while watching the fire waiting for my daughter and friends. I wrote it in a couple hours that night, and in a couple more hours the next morning. Most things don't come that easy.
Your thoughtful writing reaches into me. It’s a claim on my years of empathy but now some desperate feelings that we’ve made such little difference in our world views. Thank you for this writing of your experiences. Tend our small fires.
If you trim trees and accumulate farm brush piles as we do, you create a dilemma: burn or simply leave alone for the creatures or perhaps bury. Interesting debate dealing with emissions…..
I love this, Bob. So many memories from my own childhood. Homecoming week in high school was capped by a bonfire party near the football field. Bonfires are a bit part of Montana heritage (sort of white man fires on steroids, I guess). And there is something culturally revealing about wildfire management: how integral fire was to indigenous practices, yet how many resources are expended trying to suppress fires that ought to be allowed to burn for ecological reasons. I moved into wilderness trails eventually because the philosophy of fire suppression was so repugnant to me. We were paid, essentially, to protect merchantable timber. That's what your federal taxes went toward: saving trees so that lumber companies could sell them. And whenever we did urban interface (with homes or residential communities), our resources were marshalled to protect trophy homes. Not once was I ever dispatched to protect a trailer court. Nuf said.
Two other firefighting memories -- both reinforcing your white man fire idea. I did a lot of prescribed burning with the Forest Service, typically to prepare logged plots for replanting. I've never met an Indian pyromaniac, but those 30-40 acre burns, typically on steep mountainsides, were redneck heaven. Government-sanctioned destruction, essentially. In the fall, we would burn "slash piles," big stacks of waste wood. And we'd fill jerry cans of mystery fuel from the fire station boneyard, pour them into buckets, douse the piles, and then toss fusees into the mix to light the whole thing. Grown men cackling like idiots about how big a boom they could create. It makes me laugh to remember it, but there's nothing culturally redeeming about that view.
And circling back to your own time in the Southwest, I was once dispatched with a crew to Arizona and New Mexico. We worked the night shift, 6pm to 6am, and I was amazed at how low the temperature dropped at night. Down to the 40s after a high of 110 or so. We were supposed to be digging up hot spots (mopping up, they call it), but many a night we would find a stump hole with a lot of coals underneath, and we'd stoke it up to keep warm. Those moments, when we weren't fighting anything, but huddling together in the dark around glowing embers, are some of my favorite memories of being a firefighter. Now you make me want to write an essay about all this!
Josh, please write your essay. This is great stuff. One other thing I didn't include because I thought it might belabor the point, is when I worked on Black Mesa, there were huge open pit coal mines. The amount of explosive material was supposed to be small enough so that the coal dust didn't catch fire. If it did catch fire, there would be a large explosion and a mushroom cloud would shoot hundreds of feet into the air. I think we called them fire balls. It would be a $10K fine if that happened. If they figured that it was worth the 10k to have a larger blast, they would do it, in the dead of night, hoping an inspector wasn't around.
As always, informative, thought provoking and beautifully written.
I enjoyed so much about this. Thanks much for writing it and for sharing the message.
Thank you! The idea popped into my head while watching the fire waiting for my daughter and friends. I wrote it in a couple hours that night, and in a couple more hours the next morning. Most things don't come that easy.
I'm not from Iowa, but I like the localized writing resources.
Your thoughtful writing reaches into me. It’s a claim on my years of empathy but now some desperate feelings that we’ve made such little difference in our world views. Thank you for this writing of your experiences. Tend our small fires.
Thank you so much. You made my day...
If you trim trees and accumulate farm brush piles as we do, you create a dilemma: burn or simply leave alone for the creatures or perhaps bury. Interesting debate dealing with emissions…..
Wise words, "Don't build a white man's fire."