Little ants on a burned picnic basket

As everyone and their mother already knows, there was a pretty big fire on Sunday. I know there are stories in other places of this paper on it, but I get to tell you first hand how the fire went down, as I was in the thick of it. 

My parents live on Snake Trail, right near Moonan Marsh and Blowers Park. I had come down Sunday morning for spring break, to do Pioneer billing and pick up my sister so that we could travel north to my grandparents’ house. I was in the middle of working midmorning when my sister came into the kitchen and noted how large and dark the clouds looked across the street to the west. The entire family walked down to the end of the driveway to observe the clouds of smoke. At that point, it wasn’t anything too large and I went back to the house to finish my work. By the time I was done, my family had driven the razor down to the end of the driveway and parked it there, watching the progression of the smoke. I went down to join them, as we speculated how it started and watched as cars and soon after emergency vehicles made their way to our stretch of town. 

As the smoke grew along with the amount of traffic, our little party at the end of our driveway grew as our cousin and his friends joined us, along with a neighbor or two. Stress levels for us were not yet high, as beer runs into the shed were made and the judging of people’s actions began. Why would someone stop there? Why on earth would you turn there when you clearly see the firetruck coming? Granted, we were also ogling the growing smoke and fire, but it was out of the way in our own driveway, not slowly driving by causing trouble for the emergency response people. But I get it, it was a Sunday with nothing better to do. As firetrucks would pass by, our party at the end of the driveway would pump our arms until the trucks would honk and we would cheer like middle schoolers on recess. 

Such was our time for a while. At one point, we even ventured across the road and into the marsh to get a better view of the fire until it was too close and we turned to slowly flee back to the safety of the driveway across the street. It was exciting. 

The fire trucks carrying the brave fireman and volunteers soon came closer and closer to us. As the flames inched closer to the street, the firemen started setting aflame the brush and grass nearest to the road, including everything surrounding our mailbox. One of my cousin’s friends jokingly asked the firefighter to check our mail, which he kindly did, raising a cheer from the rest of us. 

In between all my father’s received  phone calls of “What’s going on?” to which the responses were a varying degree of, “A fire,” the fire across the street continually grew, and the smoke became increasingly surrounding to the point of low visibility. We had to turn our backs with every new gust of wind. It felt as if we were walking about in the wildfires of California.

As the fire across the street seemed to be contained, the concern decreased until the “oh sh**” moment came when fire fighters turned and saw the fire had jumped the road and was spreading into the Moonan Marsh. That’s when panic started, for us at least. 

Despite not wanting to get in the way, everything was too interesting not to inch closer and closer and follow the fire along behind the firemen. As the fire spread closer and closer to the north side of our property, our little party migrated and watched as the firetrucks spread water on the field driveway going back into the marsh. Unlike my sister, I was never concerned for our property or safety, but I felt bad for the houses further north and those who had to evacuate. 

As the spread of the fire ventured north, so did we, riding up to a relative’s pasture to watch from above. The flames leaped across the marsh and as firefighters raced to save what was left and put out what was there, workers in marsh masters ventured through the burnt marsh like little ants on a black picnic basket, clearing the obstacles. 

By this time, the weather was getting colder and we had stayed too long atop the pasture, so we ventured back down to find we could not get back to my house as they were not letting anyone through (even though I had told them I lived there). But they were only trying to do their job, and I respect them for it. 

I greatly respect and admire all of the firefighters and volunteers who came out on Sunday to help put out the fire and save the rest of us from destruction. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

My Determination: “It is good to care for the vulnerable, but not if it means risking your life. Sometimes you have to let nature take its course.” – Eudoria, Enola Holmes