This summer has been rough as far as wildfires go in the West. I don’t think we’ve had a clear, smoke-free day since mid-July. I’ve seen this around my home county over the summer. The county fair this year was choked with smoke from a wildfire that sprung up 20 miles out of town. In fact, our county fair wrapped up on a Saturday, and by Monday a fire camp was up and running in the county fairgrounds to combat that fire. Wildfires were a fact of life growing up, especially out West. I’d see bulletins come across the news – 50,000 acres, 100,000 acres, gone. I’d shake my head, think “That’s too bad” and go about my day. I think, from now on, I will view these events with a little more compassion.
Yesterday evening, I heard that a wildfire in my home county had strayed very close to the ranch my grandparents started and where my brother and his family live now. My brother and dad had been keeping us updated in the family group text, and at the last update, the fire was distressingly close to the hay shed and barnyard right next to the house. The photo accompanying this article is of the old barn and the hill behind it silhouetted by the glow of the fire. I have never had a longer night in my life, waiting to hear if the paradise (at least as far as I’m concerned) that my grandparents carved out of river bottom thickets and sagebrush survived the night. Thankfully, come morning, everything was smoky but safe.
I know this experience is not unique to me. We all have heard and will again hear tales of operations who have lost significant amounts of land, livestock or worse, loved ones to wildfires, floods, hurricanes and more of the worst Mother Nature has to offer. While my family has been blessed to have been spared – by the skin of their teeth but spared nonetheless – this has turned my mind to the what-ifs that almost but didn’t happen.
I can’t imagine something more disheartening than seeing what you and perhaps generations of your family have worked for turned into ash in a matter of moments – more disheartening still to navigate the aftermath of such a catastrophe. But then I remember other stories I’ve seen and written of the outpouring of help and support that follows events like this.
Time and time again, I have seen and heard stories of folks showing up for their neighbors and communities, tractors and work gloves at the ready, to help wherever they are needed. Years ago, following one of the many fires that plagued Kansas, there was a small news clipping of an interview with a rancher in Texas who was part of the efforts to send hay and other vital supplies up to ranchers in Kansas whose cattle had been displaced by wildfires. In the interview, this rancher said, “We are blessed to be a blessing.” This phrase has lived rent-free in my head in the years since then, along with a photo of a truckload of hay with “To Kansas, Love, Iowa” spray painted on the back. Blessed to be a blessing, indeed.
Today, where many loud voices crash around us and vie for attention, where judgment, division and contention are more the rule than the exception, be sure to look for the people in the background quietly helping to make the world a brighter, better place – or better yet, endeavor to be one of the helpers. You won’t solve the vast geopolitical, economic and social issues we face, but you may lighten someone’s load and help them make it to tomorrow. I’d consider that worth the effort.
