Time May Heal

For years after the devastating Alabaugh Fire of 2007 in which we lost most of our possessions and home, Bob and I stopped going to auctions. In my first book, A (not so) Simple Life, I wrote a chapter about auctions and my addictions to them. Bob and I had furnished much of our house with antiques purchased at auctions. Attending them had been a refreshing break for Bob from his work of building our retirement home.

Then came the fire that wiped out that very special "off the grid" house and Bob lost all enthusiasm for auctions. When I would coax him with an ad announcing one he would say, "I lost patience for them". And, indeed, if we did go to one on occasion, we left within a few minutes.

Last week there was an auction two blocks from our house. The sign outside was difficult to ignore as we passed it every day. On the day of the event we stopped for a few minutes, and, to no surprise, we left after a brief scan of the items. I had business to attend to and when I came home later Bob was not there.

It was late when he came home. He hitched the trailer to the car and disappeared again. A short time later he returned. The trailer was filled with several items, one of which was a lawn mower. It was obvious that he had gone back to the auction.

The next day Bob was out mowing the lawn. It looked especially nice. "Why did you get a lawn mower?" I asked. "You already have two."

It turned out that this was a special mower and quite new. It not only mowed, but it mulched the leaves and grass. No more raking and the mulch was good for the grass! As usual, Bob had looked for some deals and had managed to snag a few. Some of his auction patience had returned. Shock after any trauma has long-term effects, but, in time, some of the small joys in life do return. I have seen it in both of us, and for that I am grateful.

Celebration

The flowers, trees, grasses and the parched earth have all welcomed the much needed rain. The silent ground and struggling plants are greening darker with each rainfall. Several late winter snowstorms brought some relief to our drought, but the past few rains, especially the soaker last night and through today have turned the tide for our area ranchers, gardeners and worriers about the possibilities of devastating wildfires.

I am of the worrier group. The Alabaugh Fire of 2007 has left some permanent scars on many of us who went through that ordeal. For us, rain brings relief and hope, much as it does for those whose livelihood depends on  the fickleness of the weather. We watch the skies, hoping the clouds will open up for us and deliver respite from lengthy dryness.

As I step out the door I smell those sweet smells of clean, fresh and renewal. At last it is time for thanks, hope and welcoming a rush of summer.

Scanning the Skies

Fires are erupting all over the area. I often smell the smoke and I find myself looking upward at the clouds. Are they clouds or smoke? Sometimes it is easy to distinguish one from the other. When the white puffs are billowing strongly in one direction I know that it is smoke.

Before the Alabaugh Fire I never looked at the skies in the same way. Now, at the height of fire season, I look up more often, not to admire, but to search for warnings. The county and the Red Cross set up a shelter for evacuees at our civic center. There were not many using it since the area evacuated was sparsely populated. I dropped in to see if I could be of any assistance. I was never called during the few days it was open, but I had a chance to visit with some of the people making use of the service. We talked about their concerns and it felt all too familiar. I assured one elderly woman that if the electricity went out, her insurance company would cover her freezer full of a side of beef. I did not mention the mess she might face if the possibility occurred. No need to add to her worries.

Today the owners were allowed back to their homes, the Red Cross closed up the shelter and life seems back to normal in our quiet community nestled in the Southern Hills. But the lightning continues to strike, smaller fires are still burning and the firefighters are still protecting, back burning and fighting the flames. This is fire season in our Hills, after all. We get used to it....sort of. Nature has always burned the forests, making room for the new, but now we have more people residing here. There is more to protect - more structures and more lives.

Fire is a powerful reminder that life is still filled with change. We may get too complacent living in our peaceful spot of the world. Life always has a way of jolting us out of our complacency and reuniting us with the struggles of others who meet greater challenges than we ever face in our idyllic Southern Black Hills of South Dakota.

The West is on Fire

Oh, oh, here we go again. It has been five years since our horrific Alabaugh Fire of 7-7-7. This morning my husband pointed out the huge cloud to the north of town. My instant reaction was a flash of panic followed by plans for evacuation. What should I pack, are the cars gassed up, do I bring the special food for our elderly cat?????

One time going through a fire was quite enough, thank you. I suppose since I am a seasoned veteran of evacuation through a wildfire, I should be a bit calmer. That was not the case when I first looked at that ominous cloud of white surging over our town. My mind began to race to what, where and when.

My more laid back husband met the challenge in his own way. He drove up the nearby mountain to the home of friends and saw the flames clearly. He said not to worry since they were about fifteen miles away.

Fifteen miles! Those words were not much consolation. Fifteen miles is uncomfortably close for me. Could we lose our picturesque town? That thought is too overwhelming for me to dwell on for long.

The phone was ringing as I got home. It was a friend asking us to join her for lunch. Yes, yes, that is just what I needed at the time. A cool restaurant and casual conversation over iced tea. I just may be over reacting inside my gut. The fire may not even be heading our way, and too much worry in advance is not helpful. Either way, if the time comes to leave our home for a second time, we will be armed with experience. I have my fingers crossed that will be of some help.

For now we can only wait and trust our courageous firefighters to hold back the flames. They are out in the 100 plus degree heat clothed in their fire resistant, woolen suits, while we wait in our air conditioned homes and cling to our trust.

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.

A Conversation with the Mother of a Firefighter

"Tell me," said the grieving mother, "Do you still smell the smoke?"

"Not any more", I answered her, "but I did for a year or so."

This conversation occured a few months after the wildfire of 2011 that burned not far from our town of Hot Springs. Our community was still smarting from memories of the Alabaugh Fire of 7-7-7, when three young Hot Spring's men, all best friends, who worked for South Dakota Wildland Suppression, were notified of a wildfire in the area where they were patrolling. They answered the call and arrived to find an Edgemont Volunteer fire truck at the scene. Another fire truck from the Forest Service arrived later. The fire was located in a valley with one narrow dirt road as access. A spot fire erupted and the three young men volunteered to go in and put it out. Not long after they entered the valley the wind came up suddenly and they were surrounded by flames. Their truck got stuck and then died. Their "May-day" calls went unanswered.

A call finally came through from a Forest Service firefighter that there was a narrow window of opportunity for escape, and they should run NOW!  The mother of the youngest of the three firefighters told me that her son, with no hesitation, somehow managed to run through the wall of flames and escape with only a burned hand, to have his "second chance" in life. How many men, barely out of boyhood, go through such a traumatic life and death experience? Her son turned in his gear and said he will never fight fire again. His best friend died in the inferno and the other one was severely burned. How was it that he came through this incident almost unscathed, only to face the gut wrenching guilt, sorrow and bewilderment that may haunt him for a lifetime? Or, in time, hopefully, it may help him develop into a man of greater compassion, with an awareness of the brevity of life, appreciation for that life and the lives of those around him.

His father was one of the volunteer firefighters who rescued my husband and me from the out-of-control Alabaugh Fire. His life has always been one of dedication to others as told in his chapter of "Cascade of Flames", titled, "Reluctant Heroes." His son, however, looked on firefighting as a summer job between his semesters at college. That summer job turned out to be a life changing event for him and, even though he turned in his gear, that incident of the summer of 2011 will surely make its mark on his maturity and perhaps influence what he does with the rest of his life.

His mother, who told me the story, is still feeling grief and sorrow over her son's friend. Her fear, which was so overwhelming on the long drive to the hospital the day of the fire, turned into relief when she saw that her son was alive with no permanent physical scars. She went to work at the VA the day after the fire. Some were surprised that she did, but others understood. After work she went to her church down the street from work. She sat in the empty chapel and sobbed and sobbed. Her tears were mixed with gratitude, sorrow, anger and confusion. She finds comfort in her faith, and some relief in retelling the story. She wonders how many times she will need to tell the story to feel better. I suggested that she keeps talking about it as long as she feels the need. I know for me that my tears and talking helped me through my trials in life, including our losses in the Alabaugh Fire. Even though there may be scars, healing does happen, as I said before, in its own time.

The father is a great support to his son. He has spent many years as a volunteer firefighter and first responder, dealing with accidents, fire, injury and death. His experiences, understanding and compassion are there, to encompass and comfort his son as he works through his shock.

The son told his mother that he still smells the smoke and she wonders, as a mother would, how long it will last. The son told his mother that he feels that God has given him a second chance in life. The mother knows first hand, with a wrenching jolt after this trauma, that they all have another chance. What a remarkable gift!

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.