Summers of Fire

by Strader, Linda;

  I spent Friday night alone in the big house. Well, not quite alone; field mice lived there too. I curled up with every square-inch of skin covered by blanket, petrified the scurrying rodents would jump onto the bed. I’d just drifted off when I felt something run across me. I bounded out of bed, shrieked, and danced around like hot coals covered the floor. That did it—I needed to set more traps.

  In the morning, I headed down the mountain to buy camping supplies. At a sporting goods store, a friendly sales clerk helped me find the perfect backpack—the first sticker shock. A down sleeping bag was the second sticker shock. Synthetic would have to do. An Insolite pad came highly recommended, so I placed it on the counter, too. Third sticker shock. From a display, I picked up a bottle of biodegradable soap. Safe for the environment, I thought. That’s important. I added it to the ticket. The sum total? A substantial cash outlay. But, I justified it by thinking I’d use it all, even after the job ended.

  Grocery shopping, I scanned the aisles for backpack-friendly, non-perishable food. I skipped canned goods, which were too heavy. Feeling the budget pinch, I resorted to instant soup, saltines, peanut butter, Pop Tarts, Tang, tea, and trail mix. At the checkout, I splurged on a big fat paperback: M.M. Kaye’s The Far Pavilions.

  After a late dinner, I hopped onto my bed and turned on the TV. The office phone rang. Hey, maybe a fire! I dashed to answer it, finding McKelsey on the line—not calling about a fire, or even work. Instead, he invited me up to his place, saying he’d like to talk. I hesitated … why would he want to talk to me? He’s Tim’s boss, so technically he’s mine, too. I should go.

  Underneath the starriest of skies, I parked next to the spacious log cabin behind the Palisades office. So this is one of the perks of being a Forest Service official. He opened the door before I knocked.

  “Com’on in. What can I get you? Beer, wine … scotch?” He held up his half-full glass.

  Drinks surprised me. “Umm, wine, please.”

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, heading for the kitchen.

  I sat on a rustic leather sofa. Outdoorsy paintings of deer or fishermen hung on the walls, but dim lighting made it hard to see much detail. A candle burned next to a half-empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table. The air was hazed from his cigarette smoldering in a clay ashtray.

  McKelsey returned and sat down next to me. I accepted the glass of dark red wine, and took a sip. He picked up his cigarette and took a drag.

  Smoke wafted from his mouth as he spoke. “I remember you well from back in ’75. You were so cute and sweet. No wonder so many of the hotshots asked you out.”

  At the time, only nineteen years old, living among over twenty, sexy firefighters, with no other unattached women around—sure, many asked me out. A big deal for the shy girl I was back then. But why was he bringing this up again? I smiled, uneasy, as his eyes tried to latch onto mine. At that point, I suspected what he was up to, and I wanted out. I set my glass down and stood. He rose, took my arm, and tugged me toward an open door, beyond which I could clearly see his bed.

  “Com’on … whaddaya say?”

  Alarmed, I made for the front door. “No! Let me go.”

  He blocked my hasty exit with an outstretched arm across the doorway, a seductive smile crossing his face. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  Now that disgusted me. “Oh, yes I do. Let me go.”

  “Are you sure?” He moved aside.

  “Yes.” I dashed out and sped home.

  In bed, I kept replaying what happened. How stupid of me to have gone to his place. He could have raped me. Would he fire me for turning him down? What a long, sleepless night.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  EARLY MORNING AT the trailhead had a bit of chill, but that wouldn’t last long. I strapped on my new pack, stuffed full, and secured six, one-quart canteens to its frame. Even though the weight wobbled my knees a bit, I reminded myself: There’s nothing worse than thirst. Good thing we’d be hiking downhill. After emerging from the shady forest, we followed steep switchbacks for two miles. I stopped for a water break, taking in the panoramic views of city, desert, and blue-hazed mountains, including the Santa Ritas. They tugged at my heart. Did anyone there miss me?

  Bev found a perfect camping spot: shady, flat, and protected from wind, with few rocks and plenty of firewood. Although most outdoor lovers share a code of ethics not to steal (so I was assured), we hid our backpacks, just in case. Sans pack, I floated down the trail for the next few miles to our work start-point. Even with mild temperatures, the Arizona sun blazed high in a cloudless sky. I tied my bandana around my forehead to keep sweat from stinging my eyes. No chainsaws were allowed in wilderness areas, so I swung a Pulaski at the rubbery, resilient, manzanita stems growing into the tread.

  Allowing time to hike back, we quit at four, and trudged uphill to camp. Our backpacks were right where we’d left them, and I went about setting up for the night. Easy to do. No need for a tent in this glorious weather.

  “I’m going to clean up,” Bev said. “Coming?”

  With a towel and biodegradable soap in hand, I joined her to bathe in a nearby creek. It was fun having a woman to share this with. We stripped down at the water’s edge, giggling and talking. Before opening the soap, I read the label for the first time: Warning: Not safe for use in rivers and lakes. Well, isn’t that just great.

  I lowered one foot into the crystal clear water and shrieked. “It’s freezing! I want to be clean, but …”

  “Just go for it!” Bev plunged in, screeching while splashing water over herself.

  “The water’s fine, so come on in.”I’d heard that lie before. After the initial shock, teeth chattering, I bathed, probably breaking the world record. It was worth it though—every bone-chilling second. Exhilarated and refreshed, I also felt virtuous for not polluting the water with biodegradable, but not environmentally safe, camping soap.

  The guys had built a fire to cook dinner while we bathed. Into a large pot went potatoes, assorted vegetables, and beans. “Stone Soup,”without the stone, of course. While it simmered, I rested my back against a tree to listen to rustling leaves, the low voices of my crew and birds twittering as they roosted for the night.

  There wasn’t much talking while devouring our hard-earned feast. Mr. Sun slid below tree tops, and the dry mountain air cooled quickly. Sitting fireside, we spooked ourselves for a while with ghost stories, leaving enough daylight for me to start my book. I snuggled into my sleeping bag where my eyelids soon became heavy, the book dropping from my hands as I went comatose.

  THE SHORT TRAILS took about a week to complete, and the ten-mile trail, several weeks. Every Friday I checked for letters. Today, there was one from my mom, and finally, one from Joe:

  Dear Linda Marie,

  I’ll be in down there on the sixteenth, and can’t wait to see you.

  Love you, Joe.

  The sixteenth? When is that? I scrambled for a calendar. Tomorrow! Anticipation kept me awake all night. Our time together went way too fast.

  THANK GOODNESS TRAIL work kept me from seeing McKelsey much. The term “sexual harassment” wasn’t even in my vocabulary. All I knew was that when I had seen him, his leering made me nervous and self-conscious. I wished he would quit staring at me.

  After another week out on trail, I lugged my gear into the house. Here I come, hot shower.

  The office phone jangled, and Bev answered it.

  “Okay, I can have four ready in fifteen minutes.” She hung up. “You guys up for a couple snag fires? Hotshots are out of state, so we’re it for fire suppression.”

  Heck yes! Fire packs loaded, we sped down the Catalina Highway and turned onto a narrow dirt road. We bounced on that for a while, reaching a stretch requiring four-wheel-drive, something we didn’t have. Thunder grumbled in the distance, the air scented with rain.

  “Maybe the fires will get rained out, but we can’t be sure,” Bev said, handing me a two-way radio after attaching one to her belt
.

  An hour later, we split up into teams. Dave and I found our snag with fire dancing from cavities inside the dead tree. An ideal solution would have been to cut it down, but we didn’t have a saw. Instead, we dug a line around the potential fall zone. Lightning flashed; a thunder explosion made us jump. An instant later, torrential rain sent us scrambling for cover. Squatting under a ponderosa, we formed a tent over our heads with our ponchos as the forest disappeared in a white veil.

  “Well?” Dave yelled over the din. “Now what?”

  “Let’s wait and see if it stops,” I hollered back.

  It would not be prudent to jump the gun, leave, and have the fire take off later. Huddled under our makeshift shelter, we waited, listening. More rumbles and more flashes. I sat, impatient, hoping the rain would quit soon—already my pant legs were wet, and I felt a damp chill creeping under my poncho. An unearthly silence replaced the thunder bursts, but the rain kept pummeling down. The forest seemed to hold its breath, as though waiting for something to happen. Me too. Then a blinding, all-encompassing flash, combined with an explosive clap, shook the earth beneath us. Dave and I bolted upright as though jerked like puppets. If my heart could have left my chest, I swore it just did.

  “Jesus!” Dave yelled, his voice muffled by the pounding deluge. “Lightning strike!”

  “Too damn close for me! This fire isn’t going anywhere.” I radioed Bev. “We’re outta here!”

  “Us too!” came her staticky reply.

  Dave and I hustled down the trail until the ground turned into slippery, slimy goo, sticking to our boots, slowing us down. I figured it’d be easier once on the trail, but instead, the well-worn path ran with water several inches deep. Slogging for what seemed like ages, we rendezvoused with the others. Because I could see my breath, I guessed the temperature had dropped into the thirties. Feet sloshing inside my boots, my clothes soaking wet, shivering uncontrollably: I dreaded the long haul to our truck. Bright headlights ahead pierced the inky darkness, blinding me. What nutcase would be out in a storm like this?

  The truck stopped and the window rolled down. Tim said, “I thought you guys would appreciate a lift.”

  A chance to get out of the cold and rain? I could’ve kissed him. Once at Sollers, Bev and Felipe left for Tucson. After changing into dry clothes, I put the kettle on and poured two mugs of tea. I carried them out to the living room to find Dave tending the fireplace.

  “I decided we needed a fire.” He tossed in a log and reached for the steaming mug. “Thanks.”

  I sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the hearth, wrapping both hands around the cup. “Oh, this is nice.”

  Dave gazed into the warm, friendly glow. “Amazing, isn’t it? How differently we think of fire in a fireplace as opposed to one raging out of control?”

  My mind drifted to a childhood memory: I’m five years old. A wintery Saturday night, my dad lights a fire in our fireplace. We pop popcorn and watch Perry Mason. I lay with my older sister on the rug in front of the hearth, head in hands, staring into the flames, reciting: “Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home. Your house is on fire, and your children are all gone.” Why were nursery rhymes so morbid?

  Dave lay with his head propped on one arm—firelight reflected in his dark eyes. We watched orange flame tendrils and talked at length, beyond firefighting, beyond trail work. I regretted we hadn’t talked more. My thoughts strayed. Handsome guy … dark hair and complexion, and that sexy wisp of a mustache. Before this moment, I’d never thought much about him. Now I wondered what he thought about me. Would I let him kiss me if he tried to?

  “Well, I’m beat,” he said, interrupting my fantasy.

  We said goodnight. Despite all the excitement, I didn’t have any trouble falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, waking only once to the sound of mice acrobatics.

  Bright and early, Tim sent us to check on the snag fires. Dave and I found our tree still standing, covered with black charcoal, but with no signs of fire. Curious about the proximity of last night’s lightning strike, we decided to investigate.

  “Which way do you think?” I asked.

  “Over here,” he replied, walking north.

  Too close to where we’d sat huddled from the storm, I stopped and stared. A huge tree trunk stood splintered and ragged, as though a bomb had exploded from inside. Large spears of wood were scattered everywhere, with some stuck upright into the ground like wooden lightning bolts, frozen mid-strike.

  Dave’s face turned solemn. “We could’ve been impaled.”

  Goosebumps prickled on the back of my neck. “Or fried.”

  ON A NEW trail the next week, after a day of hard work, I discovered our camping spot had many stones hidden in the pine needles. Even pebbles felt humungous during the night, especially when positioned under my hip bone. After much fussing to get the ground just right, I lay on my back, gazing up at stars and the smiling moon cradling Venus. A canyon wren whistled its cadence. Boughs rustled … I drifted off.

  I awoke at daybreak, with a lingering ghost of a dream, or was it real? All night, I sensed invisible hands pushing me to roll over.Now, puzzled, my first inclination was to blame one of the guys. After a few minutes, my fuzzy brain-fog lifted.It had been the gusty wind not a person.. I laughed out loud, grateful I’d not made any accusations.

  Tired, and lonely for Joe, I walked into my bedroom on Friday afternoon to find him sitting on my bed. Ecstatic, I tackled him before he could say a word. At times like this, I loved him so much. It was hard to see him leave on Sunday, but we’d be together soon.

  Mild days on splendid wilderness trails; chilly nights with friends by the campfire; daytime skies a stunning blue, and nighttime skies angelically starry. Hard work aside, what could possibly be better? Although I didn’t regret taking the trail job, I decided to file an EEO complaint against Frank. It was plain and simple: he discriminated against me. At the supervisor’s office in downtown Tucson, I met with the personnel clerk.

  “This process is completely safe from repercussions and considered confidential information,” she said reassuringly.

  At the moment, I didn’t understand the implications of the information not being confidential or safe from repercussions, but felt a strong conviction to fill out the forms anyway.

  Layoffs came in late September. When I watched everyone leave one by one, a hole expanded in my chest. I’d sure miss everyone. To counter the sad parting, though, I was excited that Joe had asked me to stay with him over the winter. Did we have enough in common to live together? Aside from our love and mutual physical attraction, we shared the passion of our Forest Service jobs and hard work, pine-scented air, the desert, hiking, wilderness camping; and the biggie—not being stuck in an office all day. It made sense to me to find out.

  That night, packing to leave, it dawned on me Miss Prissy had never responded about my albums. The urge to track her down and throttle her was strong; but instead, I opted against jail time, chalking it up to one of life’s lessons about rotten roommates.

  First, I spent a week with my mom. Next, I joined Joe in his nineteen-foot travel-trailer at the Springerville KOA, in northeastern Arizona.

  THE WHITE MOUNTAINS: what a great place to be in autumn! During peak fall color, no less. Joe and I toured his district, and when we drove through a logging site, I convinced him to rescued a blue spruce seedling for my mom to plant in her backyard.

  In Joe’s tiny trailer, I made myself at home. Settled in, I searched for a temporary job, which proved futile. Boredom set in fast. To make living there tougher, Prescott’s winters had nothing on Springerville. By mid-November, the bitter wind howled daily, whistling through the trailer’s windows and doors. It was so windy, the snow didn’t even have a chance to accumulate. Both the furnace and a space heater ran nonstop, but I was still cold. To stay busy, I sewed crafty things and experimented with new recipes for dinner. Jodi lived nearby, and I visited her occasionally. But with two toddlers now, she didn’t have much free time. I’d
never thought about having kids. It wasn’t my thing, but she seemed to thrive as a mom.

  Running errands, I picked up our mail and found a letter from the EEO Commission. No big surprise: Frank had denied the conversation took place. Now what? If I fought this, would it screw up my career? Afraid that it would, I let it go. Someday, I thought, I’ll get another chance to work on a hotshot crew. Maybe even his.

  Joe suffered through stacking brush in the brutal weather all week, so we stayed indoors all weekend. It was too cold to run, too cold to go anywhere. I had cabin fever, big time. Right before I went completely stir-crazy, Joe’s job ended until next spring. To get out of the cold, we rented a cabin in Madera Canyon right before Christmas. It seemed almost tropical in comparison. It was also good to be back.

  Second day, I hit the Nature Trail for a run. Winded at the first hill, I could tell I’d skipped two months of conditioning. When I awoke the next morning, my calf muscles were tight and my right knee hurt. Boy, was I out of shape.

  To earn some money, I took on landscaping jobs. In early April, I woke Joe by bouncing on the bed, holding an offer letter from the Coconino National Forest on the Mormon Lake District. “Guess what I got!”

  He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and scanned the letter. “Recreation crew? You won’t like it.” He handed it back.

  Yeah, the fact that the job was on a recreation crew wasn’t ideal, but I reminded him it was a job offer, and I wouldn’t get another one unless my backup Bureau of Land Management (BLM) application came through. Besides, maybe I could switch over to the Mormon Lake Hotshots, who were stationed there.

  He scoffed. “So what? All you’ll do is stack brush. Alaska’s the place to be.”

  I knew that, and had applied there, but I couldn’t force BLM to make an offer. He rolled over, saying into the pillow, “Up to you.”