The moment no one ever plans for blew in with the wild wind in the early morning hours of January 7 on Hickory Lane. Overlooked sparks were fanned to licking flames which took over the woodhouse, the woodpile, the old shop…And then these men arrived with the memory of morning coffee in their minds, their lungs breathing air that was cold, cold, cold…(minus 4 degrees, our thermometer said, and it took forever for the mercury to inch up to zero.And the wind took the RealFeel to -28 degrees.)
But the firefighters came anyway, from at least four rural stations, because a family of strangers needed them. We did know some of the men who came, but in all that gear it was hard to tell who was who. And it didn't really matter, because they all served just the same way, whether they knew us or not. They hustled and sprayed and dragged hose and hauled tin and sprayed and hustled some more.
Thank you, firefighters for doing what you do with integrity, perseverance, and dedication. Every single day, every single time the alarm calls you. Every season of the year, any time of the day or night. (And thank you families of firefighters who say goodbye time after time after time.)
the woodhouse was gone,
the wood pile was charred and scattered,
the old shop was a heap of rubble dotted with the skeletons of "stuff."
But in the background, through the smoke,
our house stood, waiting, warm, welcoming,
unscathed by the reaching flames.
We were grateful for a strong wind in the right direction, and
firefighters who had won the fight.