Fire

 

 

They say an intense fire creates its own weather. Tom was testing that theory by holding a flat paper towel above the campfire flame and watching it lift in the updraft created by the mini-conflagration. The paper’s rising mesmerized him, and he was bored.

 

That morning, my Boy Scout troop had hiked to a man made pond and cooked lunch so we could knock out a few requirements for Hiking and Cooking merit badges in half a day. We built our cooking fire on a sandy rise by the pond bordered by a stand of scruffy loblolly pines. It was an ugly spot. The September Saturday was one of those hot, late summer days where the sun is too bright and the noon heat pricks the back of your neck. I was ready to go home and ride my bike, so I was trying to tidy up. Tom loved fire, so he was burning the leftover sticks we had gathered for fuel.

 

The paper towel Tom waved over the flame suddenly ignited. It burned his fingers, and he let go. The glowing paper ember rose on the updraft and was caught by a sudden breeze. We watched it sail like a kite into the nearby stand of pines, and before we could react, flames shot up from the dry ground cover.

 

I’ve seen the power of fire. When I was eight, I woke in the middle of the night at the sound of a fist pounding on our front door. It was our neighbor Kenneth, and his house was on fire. As I stood on our front porch, I watched his living room windows explode from the heat, and red embers fly into the night sky. 

 

Seven years ago, I watched firefighters pour water into the third story window holes of the wooden frame of a luxury condominium being built behind the church I served in Albuquerque. The whole structure was blazing, and the heat was intense. They charged a self-described anarchist with setting the fire. Not a condo fan, I guess.

 

The pines near our campfire began to burn, and, at a shout, boys came running with every container we had to form a bucket brigade. We scooped water from the lake and sent it hand over hand to the fire while one of the adults jumped in his car and raced to the nearest phone. Somehow we contained the fire; enough, at least, that when the fire department arrived, they easily extinguished what was left. No one ratted Tom out, and I don’t think he felt bad at all. That’s how he was.

 

Huge wildfires are raging this week in Canada. You’ve seen the pictures of thick smoke in New York and Philadelphia drifting down from the burning forests. We got smoke sometimes in Albuquerque wafting in from Arizona or Utah or inside New Mexico. They have a whole season out west devoted to the phenomenon because wildfires are natural. But the season gets longer every year, and fires are more intense and destructive. The climate breakdown is making wet places wetter, but also dry places drier. Forests are parched tinder waiting for a spark.

 

Tom wasn’t wise to play with a paper towel in the campfire. Actions have consequences. I don’t think he learned his lesson, because that’s how he was. Thinking of our climate crisis, the fires in Canada, and the smoke choking our skies, I realize Tom is not alone.