Writers’ Corner

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“The Rain Came”
The rain came just when we needed it.
I got wet but it bothered me not a bit.
Watching the grass starting to grow,
Knowing soon I would havc to mow.
The lake will once again be full
And the fishing won’t be so dull.
My boat will float -- Oh! what fun.
I’ll pull in those fish one by one.
      by Thomas Howard

“FIRE!”

Fire! The one word that sends chills up our spine and strikes terror in the heart of the strongest of us.

Shiny red firetrucks of assorted sizes and purposes take off in a cloud of dust and screaming sirens, while all living creatures scramble to get out of the way.

It wasn’t always like this. Some years back, especially in the deep rural country when fire got out it was a local community affair and everyone who was able turned out to fight it. We had no fire department out in the country.

The farmers and their neighbors showed up with shovels, axes, buckets, barrels of water and burlap sacks. Some came with teams and plows. There was no fire chief, no one giving orders. Everyone just found his own place and pitched in with whatever was at hand to use and where needed.

Since the plows only did one furrow at a time, it took several men and horses many trips back and forth to make a wide enough fire break so some of the men could set fires to burn back toward the main fire.

Some of the horses would sometimes panic and had to be moved away from the flames or paired with a veteran horse and plowhand to quiet them down. Sometimes there would be a run-away and a wild-eyed horse would dash away toward his homeplace, adding to the excitement. None of the horses were ever whipped or abused, but there was often some yelling and cussing!

Women, too, helped when they could, filling buckets with water and passing the buckets along in a bucket brigade, or soaking the burlap bags for the men to use to beat out the flames creeping nearer to where they made their stand.

Occasionally, a fire fighter would be so busy fighting the flames with his soaked bag that he would be surrounded by the fire before he realized it. Then several would run to make a path out of the flames for him while everyone held their breath and prayed.

Since this was farming country, most of the fields were crop land and the fires would be confined to only a field or so as the wood and timbered places were few close by.

When the main fire had burned itself out, men would take wet sacks and beat out the still smouldering spots here and there, and some would stay and watch for a while to make sure it didn’t start up again somewhere.

Sweat-stained and blackened-faced men with burned and scorched clothes would gather in the nearest shade and collapse on the ground to rest when it was all over. They talked about the fire, the damage it had done, how it may have started, and what they needed to do to be prepared for, God forbid, the next one.

Towering flames racing across a field toward a few men armed with only a bucket of water and a wet burlap bag to fight it, is truly a frightening and awesome sight, and one I will never forget.

by Dorothy Miller Birdwell