FROM CENTRAL OREGON SMOKE TO PORTLAND AIR

To anyone who has gone over the mountain from the valley to Central Oregon, this is the last thing you ever want to see.

It’s forest fire smoke, brush fire smoke, doing its scorched earth best to show the power of fire.

Not fire-power, the sort of thing you can start and end, but Mother Nature showing who’s the boss.

Or maybe it’s some firebug, some kid, some casual idiot not putting out a campfire, a cigarette, or shooting fireworks without the safety net of a nearby hose.

Not too long ago, last week or the week before, I woke up to light flashes in my dark room.

Did I hit my head on the dangerous corner of the cabinet beside my bed? Noooo

Was I having a stroke? Noooo

What is was was lightning flashes in the window, but no thunder.

Since I was awake, and it was five o’clock, I rolled out and went downstairs to make coffee, empty the dishwasher, the usual.

That’s when the thunder hit.

Like any curious man who’s never been struck by a lightning bolt, I went outside in the front yard to check it out.

Small lightning flashes followed immediately by booming thunder?

With that information, I stepped back to avoid my first lightning strike.

No one plans these things, but lightning followed by thunder right away means it’s close, real close, like ‘hey, get inside’ close.

Later in the day the news of fires started coming in over the line, a lot of fires.

 

Compelled To Take A Risks? 

My work includes images from my field correspondent. (Hey MMM)

He sent these haunting shots from the eastside of the Cascades, a land of buttes, volcanoes, and lava fields.

The burning material has found a way to thrive in that inhospitable soil, breaking it down bit by bit until it gave up enough nutrients to grow plant life.

Eventually the soil provides for an entire ecosystem growing on previously barren lava.

Then an act of carelessness, an act of nature, torches it.

Over on the westside we get the smoke, the air quality readings, and the hope for the wind to change and clear the sky.

On the eastside they see a doomsday-looking landscape, while we think about clearing foliage near the house.

 

The sky is not falling, but tell that to a kid watching the ceiling drop in Madras.

My camping friends were out not too long ago with their camp crew and woke up in the middle of the night to a ‘run for your life’ fire warning from park rangers.

They all jumped into their cars, leaving everything, and didn’t know where anyone was until the morning.

Who got caught in the flames? None of them. And they went back for their gear, but imagine the hours passing and not knowing if the people you last saw would be the last time?

The fear of fire, along with the fascination, is hardwired into us. Too hot, too bright, too late.

A close call in a forest fire depends on conditions, the right conditions, but the shock of a night time evacuation is a lifelong memory. (Hey Jamie)

 

Running Toward The Fire

We get to complain about the smoke, stay in the house, set the airflow, but these guys didn’t hear it.

They’re going into danger, into uncertainty. Will this be their last fire?

If you don’t already, you’ve got to hand it to wild-land firefighters.

Their sense of service is off the charts.

No matter where they come from, they know the drill, the teamwork, and all share the same goal: To return home safely.

As much as you may want to put yourself in the picture, you can’t unless you’re in the truck heading down the road.

They are the most important people in the moment of need, and we all need them.

Go ahead and talk the talk like you’ve heard others do, but check yourself before you decide to walk the walk.

Can you be helpful? Could you hold onto a hose? Cut a firebreak? Carry another firefighter, or drag them, to safety?

These are people trained for the strain, who know the risks, and still go straight at it.

Their courage, their bravery, is a rare gift to the rest of us.

 

PS:

Try and show a little bit of their courage and bravery in your everyday life.

“But, Blogger David, how do I do that?”

 

PSS:

Start with those closest to you, and . . .

 

 

That’s right, follow the Hippocratic Oath.