“Trade ya,” he said, offering me a box of raisins.
I glared at him, and laughed. “Ha! Not for ten boxes of raisins.”
We sipped coffee, staring into the meager fire. Pete tossed in a few branches to keep it stoked. I dreamed of a real bed, real food, and most of all, real sleep.
Shortly before dawn, something about the air smelled different. Rain? A few sprinkles tapped lightly on my hardhat. After seeing nothing but smoke-hazed skies for days, this gray sky filled me with hope. Maybe we’d get a handle on this fire. Sprinkles soon turned to a steady downpour. I unpacked my poncho and slipped it over my head. It kept my upper body dry, but not lower extremities. I sought shelter under tree canopies, sitting to arrange my poncho like a tent over my feet. Motionless, I hung my head, staring at drops falling from the edge of the hood, waiting for direction.
At last we could return to spike camp, but we faced a long, slog of a hike in the pouring rain. The temperatures dropped into the forties, making my breath visible as white, vaporous puffs. With faces streaked with soot and lined with fatigue, everyone shouldered their gear. After several miles, the lack of sleep caught up with me; my legs were incredibly heavy, like I’d tied thirty-pound weights to my ankles. To keep going, I repeated my mantra: You can do this—and you will. You can do this—and you will. Mark didn’t want to take any breaks, and at one point screamed at us to hurry up. That did it. Emotional overload and fatigue did me in. I just couldn’t keep up with Mark’s death-hike pace. I plopped down on a log.
Joe stopped and turned. “What’s wrong?”
I choked back a sob, my voice catching. “I can’t go on.”
He sat down next to me. “Sure you can. To hell with Mark.”
“I don’t understand why he’s hiking so fast,” I said, composing myself. “Aren’t we supposed to stick together?”
“Yeah, John’s way behind us, so Mark should slow down.”
We decided to wait for Texas John. Fifteen minutes later he appeared, huffing and puffing, his face beet-red. “Hoo-boy, this is tough going.”
Alarmed, I worried he’d drop dead in front of us.
“You okay?” Joe asked.
“Gimme a minute,” Texas John said, panting. He took off his pack and dropped it on the ground. Then fished in his pocket for a cigarette.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Smoke? When you can’t breathe?
“I’ve got one of them muscle cramps in the back of m’legs.” He took a deep drag. “It’s drinking milk. Dang it, milk is causing cramps.”
Where did all this milk come from? I wondered.
After John’s face lost its redness, we pushed onward. Again, he dropped behind us. Joe and I finally caught up with Mark.
“Geez, you guys are slow,” Mark said.
Furious, I clenched my jaw. Joe put his hand on my arm, a reminder not to say something I’d regret later.
We continued our trek. Rain continued to fall. Wet and chilled to the bone, I trudged through a dismal black and gray landscape, which smelled of wet charcoal, soggy ground, and decay. Rivulets of gray ash trickled across the path, while the newly disturbed red soil turned to sticky muck. Rainwater trickled off my poncho and down my pant legs; my boots seeped water, which squished between my toes. Two more hours passed. Through the trees I saw the green canvas tents of spike camp—not fancy accommodations by any means, but at least they’d be dry inside. My three tent-mates gave me privacy so I could take off my wet clothes before getting into my sleeping bag. Snuggled inside the cocoon of warmth, I gave them the all clear. Steady rain pattered on the tent roof as I drifted off into my first sound sleep in many days.
Water, water everywhere. I woke up. Great. I have to pee. Maybe the rain would stop. I waited. It didn’t. Finally, I had to get up, rain or no rain.
Joe heard me stir, and said sleepily, “Where’re you going? It’s pouring.”
“Yeah, I know, but I can’t wait one second longer.”
“Ooh …” He rolled over and went back to sleep.
An overfull bladder made it painful to pull on my cold, damp clothes. Without taking the time to even lace up my boots, I made a mad dash to the porta potties. Halfway back to the tent, I overheard the camp boss tell Glenn that we would leave soon. I delivered the news to Joe, who sat up, mumbled something unintelligible, and flopped back down. I shucked my boots and wet clothes, and crawled back inside my bag to wait.
At last, the rain stopped. Off to base camp in the Army trucks, only this time without the dust bath. In the old sawmill building where we would standby, at least a hundred firefighters filled the windowless space, their voices echoing off the aluminum walls. Some slept, others sat in circles, playing cards or talking. There were still no other women that I could see, but I’d gotten used to, and liked being the only one.
Glenn said we’d get a couple days of R and R. Before releasing us, though, officials wanted to make sure we weren’t needed on another fire. At first, my inner voice screamed, “No! I want to go home!” Dedicated to my job, though, I’d go wherever they sent me.
Compared to spike camp, base camp resembled a five-star motel. Together, Joe and I picked up air mattresses so we wouldn’t have to sleep on the cold concrete floor. Bed made up, I searched for the promised hot shower.
Semi-trucks had been converted into individual shower stalls, erasing my mental image of four canvas walls with a hose hanging from a pole, like at Girl Scout camp. I savored luxurious hot water, scrubbing with the fragrant soap bar at black soot and shampooing twice. I dried off with a giant paper towel and dressed in clean, smokeless clothes. Boy, I’m hungry! Even heated C-rats would be good after so many cheese sandwiches, but the roast chicken, fresh steamed vegetables, and piping hot rice that filled my plate more than satisfied my craving for real food. I’d dropped off my tray when I noticed a steel drum filled with dry ice. Hmmm … what’s in here? Ice cream bars! I devoured the treat in record time, and stuffed full, talked myself out of seconds.
Sated, Joe and I went exploring. We window-shopped firefighter style, wandering through concessionaire tents selling socks, underwear, tobacco, and toiletries. I didn’t need anything, but I did grab two pairs of the kind of Nomex pants Joe and I both preferred, made like Levi’s, right down to the watch pocket.
Curious, we roamed the old sawmill operation, poking around the abandoned equipment. Joe fascinated me with all his knowledge of how machinery worked. Finally alone behind old logging equipment, we decided that no one could see us. Getting lost in kissing made up for not touching each other in ages.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, searching my eyes and clasping my hands.
No, I thought, I’m not. However, I never tired of hearing him say so. I loved him, but what about the love I felt for Glenn? Why is it that someone can tear your heart out, stomp on it, and you can still love them?
There was little to occupy my free time, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t seem to get enough sleep. After nap number four, I wanted to use the payphone to call home, but the line was still too long. Meetings with fire officials kept Glenn busy. Greg, engaged with a crew from the northwest, laughed at their stories of stinging bees, bad food, and getting rain-soaked. A captive audience listened to Texas John tell his tall stories. Somber discussions about the reliability of our fire shelters came up, too. A loud voice over the PA system echoed in the cavernous room, halting conversations.
“This just out,” the man said. “Elvis Presley died suddenly today at the age of forty-two.”
At first, there was only silence in the room, and then murmurs as everyone absorbed the news. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought Texas John had tears in his eyes. In no time, however, he’d captured a new audience, perhaps telling them how he’d met “The King.” Who knows, maybe he had.
On the second day in camp, Glenn returned from briefing. “They don’t need us here, but they won’t release us.” He ran his hand through his hair, probably missing his cowboy hat, which he’d l
eft at Florida. “We’re going to standby in Medford.”
Oregon? I’d always wanted to see Oregon. Maybe we’d get sent to a fire in Idaho, another place I’d been wanting to go.
In Medford, a bus delivered us to the Air Force base, where we’d stay in barracks. R and R meant a bit more here than at fire camp. The real bed, off the floor, with a real pillow, called to me when I sat on the edge. Nice. I curled up and slept.
Early evening, we all went to see the first Star Wars movie. Joe and I munched on hot buttered popcorn while the movie transported us to another galaxy. Disoriented when we left the theater, I felt a weird disconnect with reality. What had I missed outside this world of fire?
Joe and I explored the base to pass time. Every chance possible, we kissed, never able to get enough of each other. It’d been ages since we made love. Where could we go without getting caught? Where there’s a will, there’s a way, and we found it.
Less concerned with getting us home in a timely fashion than they’d been with getting us here, fire officials made us wait two long days. With so many fire crews needing a lift home, it was hard to find a chartered plane we’d all fit in, so Glenn chose four of us to fly via commercial airliner out of Yreka. We grinned at each other. Unlike the charter, we’d get a meal onboard. A bus delivered us to Yreka, where we had an hour to kill before our flight.
As a desert dweller now, large bodies of water brought out my child-like glee. “I have to see the ocean,” I told Joe with a wide grin. “We’re so close!”
It’d been years since I walked on a beach. I longed to look for shells, to feel the sand under my feet. Too bad sheer cliffs kept us from access. By Joe’s side at an overlook, I made do with experiencing the ocean from afar. Strong sea breezes fluttered my hair, cooled my skin, and brought the taste of seaweed. Gentle waves shushed; sandpipers scampered and pecked at the sand. Overhead, gulls screeched, soaring and diving. The brief experience was restorative, and exactly what I needed. Joe pulled out his pocket watch. “We better get back.”
LIKE A LOYAL friend, Florida had waited for my return. Tomorrow would be my last day here. I reported to work in the morning, turning in my gear, key and driver’s license. Glenn allowed me to clean up the house and pack on government time.
On departure day, I simultaneously wanted to go home and not go home. I missed my mom so much my heart ached, but I sensed that Florida wanted me to stay. Joe did too.
After stashing the last box into Skyler, I turned toward the government truck pulling in behind me. Glenn. My breath hitched. Get a grip. I cared for him more than I knew was right. He stood before me, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his Levi’s, his cowboy boots shuffling in the dirt. He gazed at me from under the brim of his ever-present Stetson. That always got to me.
In his slow, deep voice, he said, “I want you to know that I think you did a real good job in Northern California on a tough assignment.”
My heart somersaulted. From a man who said little, that simple sentence touched deep into my soul. He was proud of me. Not sure what to say or do, all I managed was, “Thanks.” But I also stood there waiting for him to give me some kind of sign … that what had happened in that motel meant more to him than sex. But it was not there. I desperately wanted to hug him, but feared he would not hug me back, or worse, back off. Driving away, I checked my rearview mirror to see if he watched me leave. He did.
IN PRESCOTT, I rushed to enroll in forestry-related classes at Yavapai College, which I hoped would advance my new career. Despite the aching in my legs from hiking up and down all those hills on the Klamath, I had a lightness in my step. There were so many challenges last summer: brutal long hours, backbreaking work, intense heat, danger, smoke inhalation, bad food, and no sleep for days on end. Why did I put up with it? Because this job made me feel important; it gave me a purpose in life. Plus, if I could handle those grueling conditions, I could do anything; and what I wanted, more than anything, was a permanent Forest Service position.
TWENTY
MY FIRST COLLEGE experience. Would classes be too hard? Hungry to learn, I pored over the homework, reading and studying. When I picked up my mid-term grades, I twirled in a circle, ecstatic: I’d aced everything!
Joe called almost every day. I missed him so much, and he said he missed me too, promising to come up when he completed the last of trail work.
Every Saturday, I visited the bustling Prescott swap meet: trucks with antiques in the back, tables laden with curios and oddities, blankets displaying someone’s future treasure—there was so much to see. I waded through the crowd and picked up a cat figurine from a tailgate. My mom would love it. A voice from behind me made me turn.
“Linda, fancy seeing you here.”
Roy—my former love from two years ago—the vagabond who broke my heart more times than I could count. Despite breaking my heart, he’d left a place-marker there, and now he was back. How could I say “no” when he asked to see me later? We could be friends, there was nothing wrong with that. Around seven he picked me up to go for a drive.
“I’m seeing someone,” I said when I scooted onto the seat. “We’re serious.”
Roy steered toward the Granite Dells, a place we’d visited often: climbing the gigantic boulders, tossing a stick for his black lab, Yankee, picking cattails for my mom. Tonight, a star-studded sky and a touch of fall in the air brought back memories of the last time we were together.
“I’ve given up on my girlfriend. I could never marry a girl like her.” He smiled that Bob Dylan smile at me. “You’re still so pretty. Remember all the good times we had? Maybe what was between us is still there. But I don’t want to interfere with what you’ve got going on with Joe.”
Damn him. He always did this. Every time I moved on, he came back, wanting to pick up where we’d left off. Did he know he could get to me? He must.
“I’m going to Alaska. Need to get my head together. But I do want to be with you. No matter what happens, I won’t forget you. You’re such a deep and sensitive person.” He took a lock of my hair and let it slip through his fingers. “I still care a great deal about you.”
Every nerve in my body tingled. Every hurtful thing he’d said in the past was forgotten. No matter how long we were apart, this always happened. I didn’t say much, didn’t answer his questions … I just couldn’t.
At home, I lay in bed, replaying his words in my head. Not too long ago, I would’ve been thrilled to hear Roy say these things, but now, I doubted his sincerity. I’d heard this all before. But I knew I would always love him. Now what? Should I believe him this time?
To be fair and honest, when Joe called, I told him about Roy—that I still felt something for him. Although Joe admitted that this news hurt, he told me to do whatever felt right. It broke my heart to break his. I churned inside with so many conflicted feelings. How would I know what was right?
Joe continued to call when home from trail work. I also continued to hear from Roy. There was more talk of leaving, but not to Alaska. He now spoke of Northern California, or maybe Idaho. If he bought land in Idaho, would I come live with him? I didn’t respond.
One morning in October I awoke and decided to cut class. I needed to see Joe. Now. I tossed some clothes into a suitcase, gassed up Skyler, and drove. Miles clicked by on the odometer: fifty, one hundred, two hundred. The radio played “99 Miles From LA” during the final stretch—I counted the telephone poles. Please be there …
Swinging into Joe’s driveway, I brimmed with anticipation, my heart beating fast. His mother, who I’d let in on my surprise visit, opened the door and whispered that Joe had just returned from trail work. I found him in his bedroom, reading a letter I’d sent him. Even with a week’s worth of stubble and his clothes smudged in bar oil and trail dirt, he was incredibly handsome. Sensing movement, he glanced up; his eyes widened, and I dropped into his lap, embracing him as tightly as my arms could manage. Moaning, he ran his fingers through my hair and kissed me deeply. I responded in kind
, my heart racing, my passion growing. My love for Joe felt real, and unlike with Roy, grounded. It made no sense to let go of what we had.
TWENTY-ONE
Summer of 1978: Florida Work Center,
Santa Rita Mountains, Southern Arizona
IN EARLY APRIL, the much anticipated job offer came from Gary, Jodi’s brother, who’d taken Eric’s place. I’d live in the same quarters I’d occupied my first summer. Jodi had married and moved to northeastern Arizona. Scott had also moved on. My new roommate would fill Scott’s fire prevention technician position. I didn’t like the idea of a new roommate, or, honestly, of having a roommate at all. What if we didn’t get along?
Gary delivered some great news, reducing my roommate worries. “Guess last summer was too much for John. He didn’t reapply.”
“Really?” Okay, not nice to gloat, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d handled last year’s summer of fire; Texas John had not.
“We’ve got several newcomers. And you know Joe’s waiting on that job offer.”
Last month, I’d helped Joe filled out an application for a career-conditional appointment with the Forest Service in Northern Arizona. If he got it, he was one step closer to a permanent government job. I wanted him to get it, but dreaded the thought of him leaving.
Early April in Prescott usually delivered unsettled weather. True to the calendar, snow flurries swirled around me Saturday morning as I left. Four hours later, I arrived at Florida, a steady drizzle falling on this cold, gray day.
As I eased into the narrow driveway next to my quarters, Glenn approached my car, the collar of his wool-lined denim jacket turned up to ward off the chill, Stetson firmly in place to shed the rain. To have him here, on a Saturday, waiting for me? I had to control the urge to leap out of Skyler and took a moment to regroup before opening the door. I stood before him while he placed a key in my hand, telling me that everything should be in working order.
Summers of Fire Page 13