Posted on October 14, 2008 - by Hubba

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

I almost don’t want to say this, because I might jinx myself. After all, the year is not over yet.

But I will say it anyway. I haven’t fought a single fire this year.

Sometime when you have a free week, if you would like, you can go through the ESN archives. If you pay attention to the ESN’s from the past four summers, you will see that we had several fires in the area. As a recreational member of the Elm Springs Fire Department, I got to go to several of them.

The most obvious sign of the perversion of the human mind is that fire is exciting. If you haven’t had a fire for a while, you almost start looking forward to one. Nobody really wants Rome or a stackyard or the summer pasture to burn, but you catch yourself secretly hoping for a small fire.

So it was that during the beginning of our extended drought, (which may not be entirely over) we would all get excited when we saw smoke. A fire is a mysterious thing, and very exciting, and anyone seeking a thrill can get their fix at a fire. It is also, at least in this part of the country, an odd form of socialization, maybe a distant cousin to the funeral.

But about ten minutes into the first fire of the season, the fire-lust vanishes for all but the most insane of human beings. Nothing screams “you are in pathetic physical condition!” like a fire. And for the most part, we only have grass fires, which are courteous enough to grow no more than eight feet in heighth. I have done some work (honestly, as little as possible) and nothing is more demanding than fighting fire. If I lived in the woods and a fire came along, I think I would grab Grandma’s picture and my guitar and set fire to my own house to save everyone the arduous task of protecting it.

But as the drought got drier and more widespread, the fires got bigger. We forgetful Isrealites had already learned our lesson in the first year, and we didn’t want any more. As time went on, it seemed like we spent every Friday and Saturday night at a fire. Most of us would have a headache for several days afterwards. We began to view changing and washing clothes as frivolous.

Our feeble attempts at fighting fire did not save several hundred thousand acres of pasture ground, but at least on the plains, we were able to protect every occupied residence. And there was only one unoccupied residence that we did not. I thought that was something to be very proud of.

But there are much better forms of socialization, and much less demanding forms of cardiovascular excercise, so this year we enjoyed ourselves at potlucks and dances and occasionally took a walk when we thought we had grown too lethargic. The fire trucks remained in their stable the whole summer, only trotted out for a parade or two.

This Thanksgiving, by a carefully controlled fire in the furnace, I think I will count my blessings. From a recliner.