Lately at the lookout I’ve been reading verses by Robert Service. (In a busy fire season, one finds balance where one can.) Sometimes called “The Canadian Jack London,” Service liked his people and places to have a bit of grit. It’s not hard to imagine him feasting on the details of a fire camp, so as I watched rain sprinkle the dark swath of the Schultz Fire, I felt Service-inspired rhymes arrive like blue veils spilt from fat clouds …
A Song of Hazard Pay
The Shots are here to swing their tools
High above on Doyle’s slope.
She scrapes bare earth, he whacks a root
And both can taste their sweat and hope
That spots won’t catch, or hot logs roll,
That clouds will shade, and RH rise,
That boots stay out of ashy holes
And there’ll be no growth in size.
From Cromer School a bus delivers
Tools and muscles up a road.
Through the hours strong backs quiver
While planes and buckets drop their loads.
Air Attack will lead the charge
Of slurry drops and chopper dumps
Whilst sawyers drop the trees so large
And engine crews recharge the pumps.
Dozers scrape a line that holds
While spike camp fills a favorite meadow.
Closures keep folks from the roads
Where drop points and retardant goes.
It was a Sunday, late the morn,
When Elden pointed and lookouts crossed
And so began a mighty storm
Of smoke on high and trees flame-tossed.
At Cromer School, see the rigs there,
Where maps get made and choices weighed
And tired crews eat, wash and figure
Hours, packs and hazard pay.
The smoke, the flame, they tell the story
Engines, dispatch, public, too.
A plume so high that Doney shivered
Trembling at the awesome view.
Along the road the posters show
The thanks we feel when homes are saved.
For brave hard work the paychecks grow
And all hearts swell when children wave.
At Cromer School the rooms are silent.
A mountain shrugs its cloak of ash.
Crews tell the tales of work triumphant,
Return to homes and spend their cash.
Writing these verses helps me celebrate the humans who joined together in a great effort to stop the Schultz Fire. And other thoughts rise and fall as I look at the changed landscape on our mountain, so it’s the library I’ll seek on my next day off. I want to find Gary Snyder’s “Smokey the Bear Sutra” again. I seem to recall in his poem there is wisdom about befriending fires and storms and change. Of course I need poetry through this challenging summer in our woods, and it’s always a good time to seek wisdom.
