Fire Season
My 4-year-old son Bennett is covered in Band-Aids. He finds a tiny red dot on his arm, which prompts him to say, "Owie, mommy, owie! Need a sticker!" There's another mysterious malady on his knee. One on his tummy, one on his ear. I didn't know you could put a bandage on an ear, but Bennett finds a way to manage it.
He calls them stickers, but they are Curious George Band-Aids, because we are suckers for marketing at my house, particularly anything with monkeys on it. And I think I know why Bennett has developed this sudden case of hypochondria: some of it's my fault, some of it isn't.
My husband Tom fights wildland fires in the summers. He goes out on an engine with 2 other firefighters and he tells me they drive around, mostly, running water to other men and women closer to the fire.
When they aren't doing that, they dig trenches, or cut the lower limbs off the giant Douglas firs, or they patrol the black, already-burned landscape looking for "hot spots." To hear him tell it, it's another hum-drum day at the office.
I know he explains his work this way for my benefit. I've seen pictures of him and the fire truck with a wall of fire behind it. I've seen the hose when it comes back from a fire, burnt and cracked. I've smelled his clothes, smoky and black, soot trapped in the pitch of pine trees.
He makes it seem as if there is nothing to worry about, so that I won't worry. But I do. I watch the fire updates every night on the local news. I can't help myself; it's the only way I have of finding out what's going on. As fire footage plays across the screen, I look for trucks I recognize, or faces I know, and the kids watch with me.
This is why I'm partly responsible for Bennett's rash of Band-Aids: he knows his Daddy is gone, he knows fire is dangerous, and me watching the news every night does nothing to lessen his anxiety. The only thing he can do is count his owies, keep track, and mark them with monkey stickers. It's his way of keeping himself intact.
I don't blame him. I remember when the twins were born early, and we were making daily trips to the NICU, our oldest boy Carter, who was then 4-years-old, began wearing his bicycle helmet everywhere. I told Tom I thought it was the most honest reaction to the summer's chain of events that I'd seen. I feel that way now, too: we are a bit broken, with Daddy gone. Maybe we should all wrap ourselves in Ace bandages.
Three communities near us have been ordered to evacuate. The faces of some of the homeowners appear on the local news. One woman is my age, and her voice quivers when she says she's sure it will all turn out okay. Behind her is her car, overstuffed with pictures in frames, a quilt, a cat meowing unhappily. I wonder how you choose. How do you decide what to take, knowing you might not have a home to come back to?
This is why it's partly not my fault: it's the worst fire season in 20 years. All around us, there's fire. Pieces of ash fall from the sky and I think of Henny-Penny from the fairy tale, who runs around shouting the warning, "The sky's a-falling, the sky's a-falling!"
Even if Tom were home, we'd still spend our days indoors with the windows shut against the hot, smoky air and the half-burnt blades of grass floating down onto the picnic table. I'd still keep the sprinkler shooting a tsk-tsk-tsk of water across the grass, our yard the only green oasis in a sea of dried-up brown. I'd still have a full tank of gas in the car and my purse by the door, just in case. I'd still stay up too late watching the sky, and the orange glow across the lake.
A mama deer and her twin fawns have taken up residence in the bushes below our house. They join the robins and the chickadees, hummingbirds too, and a skinny Garter snake, all drawn to our little patch of green. Tom tells me our house is the best place to be. He says that it's safe, and because he knows more about it than I do, I believe him.
I see the fires on the news, great flames leaping into the sky. I step outside and feel the wind, hot like a blow-dryer. I smell the burnt air. And I remember the faces of the evacuees. I don't know how I could explain it to Bennett, so that he'd understand. So I do what I can: I buy boxes of Band-Aids, and wait for the earth to spin us away to the cool, clearing air of Fall.
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Reader Comments (Page 1 of 1)
Ethel 8-09-2007 @ 12:22PM
My father was a fire fighter too, and would be gone for a month or so, home for a week and back out all summer and part of the fall for many years. Specifically before he retired he was the FMO for a national forest, and for many years a safety officer as well. What helped my sister and I the most when we were little was dad explaining what actions he took to be safe and keep his crews safe. The demonstration of knowledge of what to do, what was happening and as he was saying it the absence of fear was very comforting. I'd also encourage your kids to offer a good luck something for their dad to carry - something small and meaningful for them. Dad's role would be to return it to his kids every time he returns.
And if your husband knows his stuff, I am sure you and your family are plenty safe where you are.
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jennifergrafgroneberg 8-09-2007 @ 12:47PM
Ethel, thank you so much for your comment and those are excellent suggestions! My oldest son says a prayer for his Dad, and all the fire crews, and that really seems to help him. But the littler ones need something they can see and feel and hold onto...I love the idea of a lucky charm that Tom can take and bring back! Wonderful, thank you. Next time he goes out we'll give it a try!
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Amanda 8-09-2007 @ 1:23PM
I know your fear of evacuation. no matter how much you prepare, you can never be prepared emotionally for the devastaing feeling of having to leave your whole life behind. I have lived on the Gulf Coast (South East Texas to be exact)all my life and I was devastaed and terrified when we had to evacuate for Hurricane Rita. I learned a valuable lesson tho and I invested in some rubbermaid containers for my pictures and other valuables that I can throw everything in and chuck in the back of a truck before hightailing it out of town...again!
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jennifergrafgroneberg 8-09-2007 @ 1:37PM
Thank you, Amanda! Excellent idea, about the Rubbermaid containers. I think having a plan, and being prepared, helps so much.
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Claudia 8-09-2007 @ 9:30PM
I love everything about this post, Jennifer, just everything.
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jennifergrafgroneberg 8-10-2007 @ 4:59PM
Claudia, thank you...
And Homestead! Yes! These are EXCELLENT suggestions and I will take up all of them! Where to begin? They all had me saying "Aha!" and "Of course!" I particularly like taking FF1 & FF2; my natural response to fire is not "fight" but rather "flight" and I think learning more about it will help me feel more empowered...thank you, thank you!
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Michelle 8-10-2007 @ 11:28PM
I don't know what it's like to live in an area with forest fires, but I know what it's like to worry about someone who fights fires. My sister is a volunteer firefighter (she started when she was 16 and will only be 18 next month!) I know how I feel thinking of her going out on calls, much less how our mom feels knowing she's going into burning buildings!
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Homestead 8-11-2007 @ 1:22PM
Oh sister... I'm with you. I love this post and I appreciate knowing someone else is dealing with what I am dealing with....
Obsessively checking inciweb.org for updates.
Important valuables in tubs.
Considering renting a storage unit in town.
Computer backed up to flash disk stored at work.
Listening to scanner compulsively.
Running the well dry using the sprinklers.
Identifying fire helicopters by color.
Some suggestions from me to you.... one fire wife to another....
1. Take the classes. Take Wildland Firefighter I & II. You learn the language. You learn to deploy a fire shelter. You learn a little bit about fire behavior & safety. You learn to start a pump and do a hose lay. It is really empowering to have that little bit of knowledge. It also makes you the coolest wife in the crowd when the "boys" are having beers in your back yard.
2. Laminated pictures. We put little laminated pictures inside my hubby's fire helmet. Makes me feel better... makes him feel better.
3. Cell phone booster. Consider investing in one if he's in extremely remote areas.... they can help you stay in touch just a little bit more. I also like to email pics... especially silly ones.
4. St Florian's medal. Patron saint of Firefighters. Great talisman.
5. Daily logs. The kids and I try to "log" what happens each day so we can share our written journal with daddy on the days he is home. He's Initial Attack so he is fighting locally and home every couple of days at worst.
Hang in there. Only, what, six more weeks until things start to cool down....
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Samantha 8-11-2007 @ 1:56PM
Thanks for all the great ideas on how to deal with the stresses of fire season. My husband is a Captain on a wildland engine and fire season is the majority of the year where we live. We have 3 year old twins who really have started to notice when Daddy is on his fire engine for extended shifts beyond his normal three days. We have started sending artwork and pictures with him to work. Also, my husband will send postcards to the kids from the area he is at if he is gone for a long time. The kids get excited to see mail to them and we always have to post the postcards until Daddy gets home.
It has also helped for the kids to go visit the station where Daddy "lives" when he is not with us. They now can relate to the place he is at and the people he works with. They have played on his engine quite a bit too.
We will have to remember the logs and pictures for the helmet.
Thanks again.
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Ann Adams 8-12-2007 @ 5:47AM
I missed this post somehow. My net's been down a lot lately.
It must be scary for all of you but especially for the kids. Bandaids - what a good way to keep track.
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jennifergrafgroneberg 8-12-2007 @ 12:24PM
Samantha, and Ann, thank you for reading, and commenting. I'm working on a new post about how, this weekend, the wind changed and the smoke blew out of the valley and suddenly, it feels like Fall. Most of the families have been allowed home, and it's just a matter of time, now, until fire season ends...
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