Only a month ago, a series of grass fires broke out across the Permian Basin, from Midland to Andrews to Big Spring, and to points beyond. Tragically, one of the Midland fires resulted in the death of a little girl after smoke covered Interstate 20, bringing visibility to zero. A car stopped in the road and was then struck by the following vehicle. Eventually five or six cars and a heavy truck were involved in the crash.
Today, once again fires are burning around the area, including the fire burning just south of Midland. I (who suffer with severe smoke allergies) went for a short walk. I thought...I know this is crazy...but I thought the white and gray clouds were rain clouds closing in from the south and west. By the time I was about one/quarter of the way to the mailbox I realized that the clouds did not really look so much like rain clouds. By the time I was halfway to the mailbox, I was beginning to realize the folly of mistaking the "clouds" for rain clouds. By the time I reached the mailbox I was basically using the Braille System to locate my mailbox as my eyes watering and my vision was just about kablitzed. By the time I struggled back to the house, it was time to head for the benadryl locker!
It is strange to be in the midst of "fire season" and summer is still months away. Firefighters and other emergency personnel are already exhausted and resources are already being taxed to the extreme, but the fire season is young. Already at least one person has died and over fifty residences throughout west and northwest Texas have burned as result of these fires. I, being a new native to West Texas, was somewhat skeptical of the dangers of these kinds of fires. The past few years have been educational. While the terrain here is not what firefighters in forest lands experience, the grass fires are deceptively dangerous. When I was a "fresh" transfer to West Texas, I never dreamed that a fire in this country could generate the heat and the tender to burn down a home. Or to endanger the lives of firefighters and those caught in the path of the advancing flame.
In a "past life" I myself was a volunteer firefighter. In that capacity, it was my privilege to experience a near-death experience when the pumper truck ran out of water at the exact moment that the fire surrounded us. The driver made a mad dash through flames that were as high as the burning mesquite trees around us. We made it through the flames but the truck sustained some heat damage. This same situation can happen in the desert when the grass, tumbleweeds, and cactus erupt like TNT. The heat generated can indeed ignite a vehicle tire, and the spreading, blowing embers can easily set a house afire. Unlike firefighters in greener areas, water is serious concern when fighting fires in remote areas of the Permian Basin. Tankers may be miles away from point of initial attack on the fire.
So we are in the middle of another fire-filled weekend. I would like to go on record to show my appreciation to the firefighters, both here in the desert, as well as firefighters everywhere. They all have a dangerous job and do it well. My hat is especially held high to the volunteers that man about eighty-five percent of the fire departments around Midland and Odessa. These firefighters face the same risk as paid fireman, often without the same level of equipment and training.
As thick white and gray smoke blots out the beautiful West Texas sunset, I think of the firefighters even now engaged in protecting the rest of us from the dangers of these wildfires and I have a new respect for the job they do. May they rest under God's covering hand till that last flame is extinguished.
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