Where There’s Smoke…

December 19, 2013December 22, 2014 / Lisa / Leave a comment

The 1910 forest fire in Idaho was so devastating it’s still known as the Big Blowup. Ten thousand forest rangers, miners, and farmers became firefighters. Many died and were buried where they fell. Some towns were evacuated by trains racing ahead of flames.

This history figures in the plot of book three, which is in process, and because of it I’ve been thinking a lot about fire. What it would have been like to face it, how it comforts and terrifies, warms and burns, provides safety, and destroys. And memories of my own firefighter days. But on a lighter note I thought I’d share a story that is nothing like the 1910 fire.

Once, we camped our way across Montana and found a beautiful, secluded campground on the Black Foot River. We had the place completely to ourselves and set up camp under huge old pine trees right alongside the river. My husband stood out there in the sunset fly fishing while I followed our young son, tossing rocks. Peaceful and perfect.

Until the wind started up, and kept coming, roaring over the mountain, bringing with it the smell of smoke and hot ash that burned holes in our tent. We had a camper on our truck so we retreated as thunder and lightning joined the wind. Pitching a tent with metal poles right under very tall trees suddenly seemed vulnerable.

In order to keep our son from being too scared, we resorted to happy voices. “Wow! Isn’t that cool how the wind tosses the tent?” and “Look at those tent poles break! Isn’t that funny! Let’s play Monopoly!” and “Bet you didn’t think tree branches could make such a loud crash when they hit the camper!”

The storm was violent enough that it blew the thought of ash, and what might be causing it, from our brains. Just like our tent blew away, along with the heavy-duty stakes.

After a long night in which our son slept soundly and we didn’t, we got up with the beautiful dawn illuminating the Black Foot. we packed up and pulled out. Rounding a corner not even a quarter-mile from the campground, we came across hundreds of identical tents in many, many rows. Firefighters.

There was a huge forest fire nearby. Everyone except those fighting the flames had been evacuated. Someone, on the way out, forgot to put a ‘closed’ sign at the campground. The high winds the night before had whipped the fire into a frenzy, but somehow the mountain had kept it from raging our way.

A good friend, Paul, was at the time a forest ranger who fought fires. As we drove by all those identical tents, a happy voice from the back seat piped up. “Let’s find Paul!”

Someday I want to return to that campground because it really was beautiful. Doubt we’ll have it to ourselves though.

Wonder if there’s still pieces of tent hanging from the trees.

One of my favorite camping pictures of Arthur.

Giving Voice to the Name

December 9, 2013 / Lisa / 3 Comments

Do you ever go back and think about the names you have carried through your life? And how each name has defined that stage of your life?

For example, I was June and Frank’s daughter for four years. Then I became June and Chuck’s daughter. While I carried my maiden name, I was lacking in self-confidence, hid my writing, lived in day dreams, and blushed fire engine red at the slightest hint someone might spot me in the corner. I lost that fear only when safe in the circle of my close friends.

Under my married name, I became confident and sure, proud of writing (though the confidence in writing still sucks), able to release anger, able to talk to anyone, anywhere, about anything, even comfortable speaking to crowds. I saved lives. Sounds dramatic, doesn’t it? That comes from the years as an EMT. So I did save lives, but only with the help of all the other fire fighters and medics.

Then I took on the name ‘mom’ and became yet another person. I took on the name ‘orphan’ and started life without parents. I took on job titles, took on an unwanted label of someone who had cancer. I’ve had the labels of ‘daughter’, ‘sister’, ‘wife’, ‘friend’ and even ‘bitch’ to some (kind of proud of that one).

Each name, or label, tags a piece of my personality. That piece comes to the forefront when I go by the associated title. With all the changes, the three names I am most proud of, and that I never want to lose, are ‘writer’, ‘wife’, and ‘mom’.

All of which got me to thinking about what a great tool this is when used in writing, giving a character nicknames to pull out certain personality traits. This is used to great effect to not only show traits, but also to show conflict, to reflect a character’s growth, etc. Of course it has to be done with a very light hand or it becomes a clumsy plot device.

What I realized is that I don’t think I’ve ever taken advantage of this writing tool. I’m going to have to work on that.

Until then it’s time to put on the labels of ‘fire builder’ and ‘dog walker’.

What names have you worn throughout your life, and how have you grown into, or past, those labels?

The sources of two of my labels: ‘mom’ and ‘sister-in-law’.

Write It Down

November 12, 2013November 12, 2013 / Lisa / 6 Comments

1866 homesteader, image from wikicommons

I walked by a penny today. Under the umbrella, listening to the rain, enjoying the woods, and didn’t even pause when I saw that bright copper in the dirt. But it did bring back memories. I lived in Seattle until I was nine, and a few blocks from our house was the corner store, run by a grumpy old man. Well, he was old to my kindergartener eyes. And back then, finding a penny was a huge, huge deal because Joe’s carried penny candy. You could get a lot for a penny. If you were really lucky and found a nickel, you could walk out with a small lunch sized paper bag of goodies.

When I moved to the mountains in 1988, the general store there still sold penny candy. And little kids still got excited when they found a coin. My son, however, will never value a penny the way we did. And some day, if he ever has kids, it may be that the dollar bill went the way of the penny. We always think things will last and they don’t.

This evening a friend told me that some things her husband collected for years were stolen. Each piece had a unique story behind it. I suggested she get him to tell her those stories so they would at least still have that. Which reminded me of the penny candy. These tiny little things that seem so unimportant in our lives will some day be looked back on as antique.

Think about the historians. The best ones wrote about the day-to-day, seemingly trivial things in a person’s life. Yet now, those are the exact things that give archaeologists a clear view of how people lived and died.

Now think about your life. The little things you do that seem unimportant when weighed against news headlines. Something you cooked for dinner that was an old family recipe. A decoration you’ve pulled out for Thanksgiving that no one but you remembers where it came from. I’m willing to bet if you give it some thought, you’ll realize that many things you do throughout the day have a story or a memory attached.

If you don’t write those down, or tell those stories to someone, then eventually they will be forgotten. I don’t mean everyone needs to suddenly become a writer or start keeping a journal. Just think about passing on those stories that seem trivial or unimportant. Talk into a tape recorder. Jot things down on recipe cards. Tell your kids. Tell your friends. Talk to each other. Don’t say ‘yep, that’s a good idea. I’ll do it one of these days’ because one of these days may never come around.

Because some day all of us right now will be gone. And what will be left will be the stories others remember. Well, okay, the plastic water bottles and pampers will be left, too, but you get my drift.

Last week I somehow got into a conversation about the westward movement and told the person I was talking to about a relative coming out on a wagon train as an infant and how a couple wanted to buy him for a silver dollar. He’s been gone a long time, but that story lives on in descendants. And probably lives on in multiple dramatic variations, knowing my family.

A final thought. I’m not talking about going on Facebook and posting what you had for dinner for posterity. I’m talking about the things that make you who you are, recorded somewhere tangible for those who follow.

It’s more important than you know.