A Moment of Her Time

"We were almost chased by some buffalo when we were riding through Wind Cave. We know they are dangerous."

The three bikers were from Texas, enjoying our Black Hills while consciously avoiding the high traffic and prices of the Sturgis Rally.

As we were standing outside Shopko, chatting about the beauty of our Hills and the warmth of the people in Hot Springs, a short, dark-haired lady interrupted.

"Excuse me. Are you Mary GGGG?"

She was trying to say my last name so I quickly responded that I was Mary Goulet.

"I thought I recognized you. You are the author that wrote that book."

"Which one of my books are you referring to?"

"The one about the Cascade fire. My father read that book and he wants to come here to Hot Springs to see all of the places you wrote about. He loves your book. I just wanted you to know that."

With that she walked off before I had time to even say my thanks properly. Her interruption was so sudden and unexpected that I stuttered something, not sure what.

In hindsight I regret not talking with her more. She went out of her way to tell me about her father and my book. This was one of those times, a moment of her time, to show appreciation for my work, and I blew it. So wherever this woman is, hopefully through this blog, she will know that I do appreciate her words, and because of this brief interruption, I will not be so casual in my words of thanks to those who have touched my life in some way.

Life is too short. Words are too special to waste.

Last Night's Phone Call

Rewarding is a word I have not heard tossed around very much, and yet what can be more special than the feeling of being rewarded? Looking back I have experienced many rewards during my lifetime. Of course, in my work as a teacher and a counselor I have known the joy of opening minds to learning, growing, self-awareness, confidence, and on and on. Teaching and counseling both have their frustrations and failures, but they also have many, many satisfactions.

I am grateful to have been in two professions that have given me as much as I have given. It must be sterile and lonely working for money and status only. That work brings material things for sure, but for me, material stuff by itself is empty and unfulfilled.

During my retirement I began my latest profession of writing. I started writing because I finally found the time to do an activity that I had long enjoyed from the other side as a constant reader, and I soon discovered that it forced me to focus my thoughts and feelings that previously had only floated in the back burner of my mind.

It didn't take long to also get the rewards of my labor. I received notes, letters and phone calls from those that felt strongly about my writings. What a bonus! My work was affecting some of my readers, and, at times, influencing their lives.

Last night I had a phone call from a friend in the Twin Cities who recently began reading my book, "Cascade of Flames", and wanted to share his thoughts and feelings about the firefighters and evacuees involved in this disaster. I am busy on my next book about the veterans and rarely think of that last book, but he brought it back to focus for me, and I remembered warmly the many folks I had interviewed and how a natural disaster can change, and deepen lives forever.

Also, my friend brought my book to his place of business and was sharing it with his customers. That, dear friend, is the greatest of compliments. I hope you are reading this so you will know how deeply I appreciated your words and your gesture. Any writer will understand how I feel about last night's phone call. My wish is that all of you who struggle to put your thoughts on paper for others to read, will one day receive a call such as I did last night.

April Rain

All night it came down - that wonderful, wonderful rain! Our winter lacked moisture and, up until now, our Spring was taking us down the path of drought. My thoughts immediately go to the lack of hay for our ranchers, and, especially, to the potential for those dreaded wildfires.

It has been five years since our fire of 7-7-7 that I wrote about in "Cascade of Flames". The past four months I have been writing about the PTSD suffered by many of our veterans. From WWII up to the recent wars, our young men and women return to civilian life with varying degrees of scars they procured during their time of service. I believe that some of the fears they faced will never be totally erased. The WWII veterans, after all of these years, hate to be reminded of "bad memories". Their faces grew dark when recounting some of their experiences. It seems to me that traces of PTSD will remain forever within the recesses of any who have experienced death, killing or destruction in any form. That is one reason why the VA must keep the rural VA hospitals open to assist all veterans from all wars for as long as they need that help.

My experiences in that horrific fire remain with me after five years. I guess that is a form of PTSD. The alarm that automatically emerges from within when I smell smoke, hear the fire alarms, notice the dried grass on our land, or experience the occasional smoke-filled nightmares, may not be as painful as what our veterans have experienced, but at those times of sudden panic and "bad memories", I believe that I have an inkling of what they go through with reminders of their "first kill", the death of a comrade, the tension of constant alert, and the uncertainty and unknown about when, where, or if, they will be deployed.

The death of those close to me will always carry some pain. Through those experiences and other jolts that have occurred in my life, I am grateful for the connection that flows from deep inside to any who weep over their past; the past which may never be completely erased. I am grateful for the rain and for those connections that link us one to the other.

Time Out for Now

My days are filled with listening to the stories of veterans who have offered to give testimonials to help keep our VA in our small community of Hot Springs. My nights, once again, are disturbed by the images of those stories. It is dejavu from the two years I spent interviewing firefighters and evacuees from the Alabaugh Fire and writing their accounts in Cascade of Flames.

Some of the interviews are lengthy and because of our time limit on getting everything together, I may take a break from this blog. I want to give my full attention to the task at hand, which is trying to keep our VA from relocating to a less peaceful setting, and with less benefits for the veterans.

Perhaps I will turn to this as an escape. We will see what the next few weeks bring. If the blogs do not appear, know that I am otherwise occupied with joining our community and our veterans in a common cause.

I read that 18 veterans each day returning from Iraq and Afghanistan are committing suicide. Our VA is one of the best facilities in the United States for treating PTSD and addictions. We are trying to save it, and grow it, to help each and every veteran who needs the help they deserve. Cut backs are not meant for those who gave their service, some for two or more tours, so the rest of us could enjoy the benefits of our freedoms.

See, once I start this blog, I go on and on, and I am due for an interview. So long for a while.

Please check out our web site: http://www.theveteranstown.com/

VETERANS FIRST                VETERANS FOREVER                  WE CARE FOR THEIR CARE

                                 SAVE IT!   GROW IT!    HOT SPRINGS VA

Bitter-Sweet Memories

2011 will soon be history. The ending of the old year is a time for looking back, while the new year is an opportunity for determining fresh beginnings. Hope, followed by action, can make for change.

During the week before the new year celebration, a great time for taking a memory tour,  I have been cleaning up holiday debris, reading the yearly seasonal letters, and looking through some photos that we had sent to a friend about ten years ago. He mailed them back to us because we lost ours during the Alabaugh Fire. They are happy reminders of our life "off of the grid" on our land along Cascade Road. Most of them are of our llamas and the construction of our fire-resistant house. One of the pictures shows our beautiful copper-colored metal shingles on our unfinished house. On the back of the photo Bob had written:

The Roof

2000 sq. ft.
3000 + shingles
12,000 nails
16 ridge caps
1 month
0 falls.

Reading that photo was a startling reminder of the amount of work, time and money that my husband had carefully and lovingly put into the completion or our unique home that was planned to see us through our retirement years. Photos have a way of  blending sweetness and sadness together, seeping into my heart. The shock of losing what has required so much effort can cause a lasting scar. It may heal slowly with time, but reminders have a way of sneaking losses back to the forefront for a while.

My thoughts were of those with PTSD. We usually think of our veterans who struggle with it, sometimes for a lifetime, but any who suffer a trauma, for whatever reason, can grapple with that pain. At times it can be constant and searing. My sorrows over past losses have usually been brief. At times I have sought help to work through what has vanished from my life. I try not to let myself wallow in my misery for any length of time. Losses will always be a part of my existence, probably more so the longer I live. I turn my focus on the many positives I have now;  my husband, family, friends, home, nature, music, writing, causes, and the wonders the new year of 2012 will bring to our world.

Perusing the past may bring warm feelings, but when the negative outweighs the positive, I change my thoughts to the present, with all my blessings, and now and then, I dwell on my hopes for the future.

Wildfire Revisited

It is fire season once again in the Southern Black Hills. In 2007 we had major fires all over the Hills, the largest disaster being the Alabaugh Fire of 7-7-7. The stories of many firefighters and landowners were recorded for history in "Cascade of Flames", researched and written by this author.

Last month we experienced another tragedy in our small community. During a wildfire in the county five  young firefighters were suddenly surrounded by flames. One received severe burns, several escaped through 100 foot flames with lesser injuries and one firefighter from Hot Springs, who worked for the State of South Dakota, was killed in the flames.

Memories lingered from the out-of-control inferno of four years ago. For some of us it was as if a recently healed injury was re-opened, with memories of smoke, flames and fear seeping into places we thought had healed. In an earlier blog I wrote that it takes three years to heal, and, for the most part, that was true for me. But what I realized abruptly during this episode was that memories can remain forever, less painful, to be sure, but re-emerging for a brief time as a reminder that we may all share, in one way or another, in the sorrow of others.

It Takes Three Years

Many people told us after the fire that it would take a year to fully recover emotionally from such a disaster.

These are the things that I noticed. It took about six months until both of us could read again. We had no TV but we spent our evenings watching movies. I have never seen so many movies before or after the fire as I did during that time span. In January after the fire I began to read the newspapers and some articles in magazines. It was then that I continued my interviews for "Cascade of Flames" and began to write again. After that I know that the healing continued because my nightmares lessened and my thoughts were less focused on smoke and fire.

The year passed and we were busy moving on with our lives. The next revelation came to me three years after the fire. I began to take a greater interest in travel, and the world outside, and resumed conducting my presentations. My husband, Bob, began once again (on a much smaller scale) to renew his interest in two of his former hobbies. He purchased a motorcycle (used and in need of his mechanical expertise) and he began to collect black powder guns. Healing does take its own time.

Hello, New World of Blog

This is my first time in this world of blogging and as my title says, I will be blogging about my lifetime filled with goodbyes and hello's. I have said goodbye to my home town, but hello to a professional life in the Twin Cities. I have said goodbye to old friends and hello to new ones. I have said final goodbyes to my parents, a sister and recently a brother. How can I find a hello to a new family?

I said goodbye to one career and hello to another, goodbye to one marriage and hello to a far better one. In 1998, I said goodbye to a lifetime in Minnesota and hello to life off the grid in the Black Hills of South Dakota. My husband, a volunteer firefighter, built our house to be fire resistant, made of rock, cement siding and metal roofing. In 2007 we said goodbye to that wonderful home, and to the book I had been working on, in the out-of-control wildfire of 7-7-7. But then I said hello to a more unusual book, "Cascade of Flames". Check it out at Amazon or Outskirtspress.

I know my life will always be filled with goodbyes. It is only when I say hello to something new that I can move on with a life that may have losses, but always, always, in every way, I want to find a way to say hello again.

- Mary Ellen Goulet