Don't Let the Smoke Get in Your Eyes...

 If you ever wondered what life would be like if you lived in your backyard smoker, it might be something like this.

This was sunset last evening. The odd thing is there are no fires close by.  That's how bad it is. 

Everything reeks.  Your clothes, your hair. Your eyes sting and your throat is raw. The temperatures have been in the high 90s and 100s for weeks now. There is no rain in sight.

 Our president says these fires need urgent attention.  They've been buying out of control for how long now? The problem is we're running out of firefighters!

I have a theory about climate change. For all those who think deadfall should just stay put, this is the end result of that thinking.  It's tinder dry and fuel for fires that are destroying homes and decimating wildlife.

Those who say we'll all be dead in ten years or so if we continue at our current pace, that may be true but not for the reasons they preach. It will because there will be no farms left to produce food, nor wildlife left to maintain balance. It will be just one big, charred landscape brought about by those who think they know more than land management professionals and mandate ridiculous policy. 

The smoke has fogged their eyes and brains for longer than I care to think...

My Heros!

 Imagine the temperatures are pushing 90 degrees before it's even noon. The multi-thousand acre fire you're fighting is maybe 20%, if that, contained. There is no rain in the forecast, but maybe some dry thunder storms. The smoke hangs in the air so thick it penetrates every nook and cranny of your gear, no matter how well designed.

These are the wildfire fighters,  another category of first responder who are called forth every summer to face heat and drought and smoke and exhaustion in order to save not only our woodlands and wildlife, but also untold numbers of towns, homes and families, pets and livestock from the devastation of wildfire.

I live here.  Often I can see smoke billowing from the hills.  It hangs in the air where I live and I'm buying stock in  drops for my eyes.  My wheezing has nothing to do with Covid, but rather the inhalation of smoke that cannot be avoided.

It saps your energy.  Granted, I'm no kid and it doesn't take as much to wear me down as it used to, but I have lived here for years and it has always been the same.

How do these firefighters do it?  They carry gear and packs and face unbearable heat from the fires alone not to mention what Mother Nature adds to it.  While their contemporaries are at the beach, nearly naked, frolicking in cool water, the water these guys get is the sweat from their brow and maybe the tears from those they've saved.

People in the west love these guys with a passion.  They come in, do their job and leave.  Not just guys, either, there are plenty of young women among their ranks.  

How 'bout giving them some special accolades, too? After all, they come out year in and year out because the wildfires always pop up like clock work.

For me? It's hot and uncomfortable in my office and my eyes burn so I get little done these days. Poor me. Ha! Were it not for my heros I could well be sitting in a shelter some place, wondering if I have a home to return to, and if not, what shall become of me.

But my heros are there.  And they will be for as long as they're needed. They are heros and patriots.  They certainly don't do it for the money. Maybe one of our erstwhile western politicians could get a National Wildfire Fighters Week designated and we could fete them as they deserve.