Danger Zone

Mackletree is on fire. The last fire break is Upper Twin Creek Road, coming at me from two sides. Scary. One lobe is half-a-mile away SE, the other is one ridge over, to the E. Roads are closed. Exhausted crews everywhere. Small game coming across my property, heading NW. Helicopters circling. Smoke is thick but blowing away from me. As evening comes on the winds have died down. I went down, one last time before dark, checked with the nearest crew and they think they can stop it at the road, because of the green verges on either side. So much fuel on the forest floor, a nightmare fire scenario. I've packed a bag, if I have to bail. I drove out Mackletree, mid-day, and they stopped me, asked for ID and questioned where I lived, wild fire on both sides of the road, a TV newsclip; they said I shouldn't go back home, but it's all I've got, so I loop around the back way and head back up the ridge. These fires don't crown into the trees, but rather creep along the ground. I think I could save my place, because of the work The Utah Kid did last spring, but fire, like water, is hard to control, and I'd almost rather die trying than start over again. A glow you don't want to see, is a fire in the under-story as dusk falls into night. Power was out for several hours because a fire-truck knocked a pole down, but the electric comes from the other direction, so I should be able to write you until I abandon all hope, then, the problem is, the driveway goes down in the direction from which the fires approach. I haven't worked this all out yet. I don't want to bail early, if the farm can be saved, but I don't want to be stupid. Really, the forest people would like to see a series of fires that burned the available fuel, so they focus on saving isolated homes, and tend to let things burn, when possible. I'm extrapolating here, but I'm under threat. Therefore they would send a dozer up here, to clear a break around the house. I love these guys, mostly skinheads, because smoke gets in your hair, but salt of the earth, good people. They're wearing funny suits, yellow, fire-resistant overalls, jackets, helmets, fucking gauntlets. I thought we were shed of gauntlets. But firemen must, and bomb people, someone who cooks for a great many people over an open grill. I'm not addicted to pain, I do anything I can to diminish it, I am not "High In The Art Suffering" not matter what anyone says. I paid my dues, I'm up to speed. I usually avoid things, my way of dealing with the world: ignore them and they stop calling. I can't not go down after dark and see what is the statis, most everyone has gone home, the crew chief is still there. He figures to back-burn from Upper Twin tomorrow. I'll be there for that, my life, as we know it, at stake. I assume competence, what he thought he meant.