Tears came to my eyes as I walked up the hill to my home Monday and saw the fire crew working to protect my home. The smoke had shifted and the fire-filtered sunlight made these yellow visions a brilliant beacon welcoming me home.
They were putting in a holding tank for emergency water and encircling my home with fire hoses and sprinklers. Lines were everywhere, zig zagging over the fire breaks they had made the day before.
I watched them test and reposition the sprinklers so my home . . . MY home . . . would be wetted down should the fire explode in my valley.
A number of people commented and sent messages to me after my other post on Sunday. One was a woman whose husband was part of the crews working in our community. She wrote about how fire workers hope their efforts will keep the homes safe.
I told her that no matter the outcome, their efforts have forever touched my life. They are now a part of our family story. Their faces and their impact will grace our land and our family for generations to come.
Even now, these fire crews have changed me. It is humbling to have folks come here from all over, leaving their homes and their families to protect our homes and our families.
I usually am the one to help others. I was a social worker helping families. I was a mom bandaging my sons’ knees. I was a wife holding my husband’s hand as he spent his last days of life in our home. Now I am the one needing help and I didn’t even have to ask. The fire crews just showed up.
There was Mike from North Caroline, a calm and competent guy who assessed my place and my neighbor Wayne’s across our valley. He wanted to see where a last stand line could be created should the fire get that far. I could not have done that. He could.