Fire!

Bucket brigade from the creek

I was sitting with my mother on her porch having afternoon tea when my neighbor/sister-in-law/friend Diane came flying through the door saying, “I need you NOW!”

I jumped into her car along with two children and we careened up my driveway to the site of a brush fire. The day was dry and very windy, and flames were moving towards our neighbors the Brown’s house. E-Gads! (I don’t have photo evidence of the flames because it didn’t seem like the right time to whip out my phone…)

Fortunately, the creek separating our properties was running well, and farmers Steve and Matt were already at the scene armed with 5-gallon buckets and shovels. Yep, those are the same buckets we used to haul sap during sugaring, and they’re just as heavy filled with water! Our neighbor Ann Brown helped out too (she’s the one credited with raising the alarm), and Steve’s daughter Elsa, along with one of her after-school playmates, got right into the mix. Elsa’s observation when it was all over and done with: “This was the best afternoon ever!”

Having the fire truck arrive was a definite plus on that score. Diane had the presence of mind to call in the Sandwich cavalry. Even though it looked as though we had doused all the remaining smoldering spots, it was a comfort to have the fire chief and crackerjack volunteer firefighters take over. The fire chief even did some of the fire retardant foam spraying himself.

Fire chief on the job

Time for a tangent… I’ve been reading Sarah Miller’s novel Caroline, which is the Little House on the Prairie story told from the viewpoint of Ma Ingalls rather than Laura.  It’s a delightful read, especially for Little House fans. (If you haven’t yet gathered from this blog, I am a huge Little House fan, as I explain in one of my first posts, “An Homage to Laura Ingalls Wilder.”)

There’s a prairie fire in the story, which Caroline and Charles prevent from burning their homestead with the help of a plow, a backfire, and water-soaked burlap bags used to beat out the sparks that jumped the fire line. They were on their own that time, but the Ingalls family wouldn’t have made it homesteading in Kansas (referred to as “Indian Territory” then) without the help of their neighbors.

Mr. Scott helped Charles dig a well (and almost died in the process from poisoned air down in the shaft), and Mrs. Scott helped birth baby Carrie. Mr. Edwards loaned Charles nails to build his house and helped out in numerous other ways, including fording an ice cold river during a Christmas Eve storm to bring Laura and Mary tin cups, candy sticks, and shiny brass pennies.

Mt. Israel Road Hot Shots

Our neighbors came to the rescue when our brush fire flared. No hesitation and no holding back. Todd was away at the time — in the air heading to Phoenix, in fact — and I wouldn’t even have been aware that there was a fire if it hadn’t been for my neighbors.

Not only did Steve and Matt get the fire under control with buckets and shovels, but once it was determined that the cause of the fire was sparks from a power line caused by Beech branches tapping on the line in the wind, Steve shimmied right up that tree and lopped off the offending limbs. And that evening as I was getting ready for bed, I had a text message from Steve: “All quiet down below the fire site.” He’d gone to check. Now that’s a good neighbor.

One of the Beech branches that started the fire

We are country enough here that conflagrations and other disasters eventually morph into social affairs. Mix six volunteer fire fighters, six neighbors, and two kids — all you need is a plate of cookies and you’ve got a party! (Wondering what our dog Beau was doing? He was on the tea porch with Granny, keeping her company.)

To add to the excitement, what should come trundling up the driveway behind the fire trucks but the UPS truck, driven by our trusty UPS man Frank.  He noticed the big fire truck parked down on the road, but he is eternally devoted to delivering our packages, and I took possession of a new pair of running shoes and season six of Call the Midwife right there in the midst of it all. The kids thought that was greatly entertaining, and Frank gamely backed his way down to the road.

Neither mud nor snow nor fire keep Frank from his appointed rounds

And so, I am a wee bit harried by memories of the brush fire (there are plenty of “what ifs” to worry about), but mostly I am overwhelmed by gratefulness. I live where there is a paucity of large-town modern conveniences but an abundance of small-town neighborly good will and can-do spirit. Time to bake some cookies to say thanks!