Walnut Room this way

Walnut Room this way

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Lottabusha County--the gift that keeps on giving

 It has been a hard week here in Lottabusha County, Friday had finally arrived, and as I rounded the curve to approach my house looking forward to a little R&R time, I saw the sheriff's car diverting traffic to the road that is just before my driveway.  Then, I saw the smoke and flames.  The fence was blazing in totality, kudzu and trees were on fire, and the smoke was so thick you could not see.  I stopped my car and yelled that my son was in the house.  A firefighter turned to me and said he was out of the house, and had all the dogs out, and that the house had not caught fire yet.  I called Rand, and then in moments, J called, assured me (albeit with his dry, sardonic, morbid humor) that he was fine, and that all dogs were fine.
 From then on, it was just waiting and watching.  My neighbor had called in the fire as a grass fire on the road; shortly, a woman whose husband is a volunteer firefighter in Taylor, called him and said they needed to hurry, that the kudzu and fence were on fire and she could hear dogs barking and that there was a house up there.  With the kudzu having overtaken the fence, one really could not see the house from the road.  Remember the kudzu on the fence thing--I will be coming back to it later.  I did not know it before Friday, but as my neighbor said, "Kudzu will burn like paper." 
A firefighter opened the back door and yelled "Is anyone in here?"  J--who works at night since he does web and game design--was taking a nap.  He woke when the firefighter yelled--though of course, he did not know why someone was in the kitchen yelling. 
The Lafayette County Fire Department did an incredible job of containing the fire, in circumstances that were difficult.  Kudzu, underbrush, the dryness (no rain since July), fallen leaves and pine needles.  We are close enough to the city limits that the water tankers only had to go a short distance to refill at the hydrant, but the major issue was running out of water.  I cannot count how many times I heard someone yell "out of water."  In all my life, I have never been in a situation such as this, and realized so much about prevention, and safety.  Had the neighbor not seen the initial grass fire, had the woman not stopped to call her husband, had she not directed them that there was a house behind that mass...you know the "what ifs" that could have happened.  Our "fire drill" plan has always just been get the dogs and ourselves out--but that would entail knowing that there was a fire in the first place and having sufficient warning.  First off, the new smoke detector went into the back bedroom Friday night, which was the spot most at risk if anything flared in the middle of the night and started a new fire.  Saturday, while Rand and J were purchasing temporary wire fencing to fence off enough space for the dogs to go out (trying to take dogs out on a leash with all the new visuals in the yard was trauma for them and us), and they got two detectors and these will be wired into the system also.  (It is good to have technological geniuses in the household).  Because they are systemic, when one goes off, they will all go off. 
In our "we have to do this next" plans, we have been planning to address the fence.  First, the guy who built this fence, like everything he did inside the house, did not know what he was doing, or perhaps did not care.  It has all been shoddily done and endangered our lives at times, and our peace of mind all times.  We find it and correct. it.  We knew he did not built the fence to last--the posts were not set deep enough, like in some cases, only 4-6 inches instead of the minimum of 12-18 needed for stability.  We discovered that after the first one fell, pulling a section of fence with it.  The primary problem though, was that he built the fence right on the edge of the hill drop off, and there was no room to get on the other side of the fence to mow, control brush or kudzu.  Our plans were to build a new fence several feet inside the old one (with enough room to mow behind the fence so we could control kudzu and brush).
The firefighters got it under control and left around 6:30 or so.  We spent the rest of the evening, and until 4 a.m., checking and putting out hot spots that would flare up.  The ones we could reach with the hose and the power nozzle were fairly easy to contain, but some were beyond reach, and in two cases, we had to cut back underbrush to reach the area with buckets.  At one point as I walked across the yard, I notice Mary and how it appeared as if she had held back the fire from the house--it sort of arced out in front of her outspread hands, like in a fan shape.

I had just sat down on the porch well after dark to rest a bit when a car pulled up in the driveway and honked.  It was another neighbor, who could see a tree on fire in the back yard.  I thanked her and went to check.  It was actually fence posts, but it took me several trips up the hill with the bucket because it was out of reach of the hose.  On another of my every few minute checks, walking down the front hill and I spotted a glowing tree limb--in a very tall tree.  Called Rand and J, and we did everything possible to get water to it from the hose, but the power nozzle had broken and the hose was not long enough.  Rand headed to Walmart (by then, it was after midnight) and bought more hose and a power nozzle while I sprayed the bushes under the tree where the embers kept falling.  We were able to control that one, and Rand finally went to bed around 2:30 while I kept making checks, feeling posts to detect heat and ensuring all was out.  I decided at 4 that it was okay and crawled into bed with soot, smoke, and scratches from the underbrush all over me.
I am neither Catholic nor superstitious.  Mary was a gift from a friend when I was in Texas.  She was for my Peace Garden--my little spot on the side of my house with a prayer bench, birdbath, sunflowers, and other things that made me feel peaceful and meditative.  I brought her with me to Mississippi, and she has stood in my front yard for 12 years now.  There were two crossties at the spot, and I impulsively placed her there in front of an arch that I also brought from Texas.  Many is the time I have thought to move her closer to the house, and while I am not superstitious, when I think about it, I like the feeling that she is spreading her arms with a protective barrier and I am on the other side of it.
I do not think this statue is embodied with any power whatsoever.  I actually view it as a work of art, a symbol of something that represents nurture and protection, that Mother Mary is a spiritual mother.  Because she is a symbol of something important, as I sat on the steps of the porch last night, again shaken with the thoughts of what had happened, and looking from behind to see the burned yard and trees from in front of Mary all the way down to the road, I was again, just grateful that my son was safe, that my house had been saved, and that the fire had been contained so to not lose any of the houses of my neighbors.
It is surreal to look out and see not the fence and kudzu, but my neighbor's house.  To know that as I walked the yards, putting out hot spots, feeding the birds, setting the bird bath to rights, picking up the spent water bottles from the wonderful men and women who saved my house, that I was now visible, not shielded.  I said I felt naked and exposed.  J said, "I like it.  Looks better this way."  As I walked it this morning, I kept thinking of Robert Frost's poem, and the line "good fences make good neighbors."  Perhaps, as I think it good-neighborly of us to fence our dogs and keep them from running all over other folks' property.  I've thought it good-neighborly of us to shield them from the view of all the things outside that we are still doing our best to repair, rebuild, clean, or contain.

Yesterday, as Rand and J went about the task of building the temporary fence, I set to the task of starting to clean up.  Ashes are everywhere, and I was sweeping, picking up trash, clearing out debris, and cleaned off the front porch and around the back.  The trash bins are full, and things I have been meaning to put on the roadside made it down there and are now gone: a window unit air conditioner, an old table, metal tubs, an old ice cooler.  The front porch has been neatly swept and things cleaned off the screened porch to at least enable easier movement.  The laundry room was cleaned.  I told Rand this morning, as we were discussing what type of fence to replace the old one with, and where to put it, "Sometimes, even though you don't want it, a kick in the gut can be a good thing.  It can prod you to action that needs doing." 


Beth said...

Yes, the kick in the gut can be a good thing, although painful when it comes. Glad everyone is okay and the house was spared. The statue is symbolic of many things and now you can add the fire to those things. I'm sure it will be a prominent figure in your yard forever!

Suzassippi said...

Yes, probably so! I have had a productive and satisfying 2 days of cleaning up and cleaning out.

Jennifer said...

Oh my goodness! So glad you and yours are ok! Even though the house is fine, your peace of mind will take some time. As you rebuild the fence, we can all pray for rain, and I'm going to start watching my yard more closely!

Suzassippi said...

Thank you for caring. Yes, it has been a grueling emotional weekend, but I am far better tonight.

Lana Pugh said...

Yes, burning kudzu is terrifying. I've only seen it a few times but it puts those dried out Christmas trees to shame. So glad you are all okay and thank goodness for Mississippi neighbors! They see everything!

LindaRe said...

Reading your post reminded me of a little song I heard from an elderly woman when I was a child. "Ain't God good, so good, so good, ain't God good."

Suzassippi said...

Lana, I am indeed grateful for my neighbors. My neighbor who called in the fire asked of one of the volunteers as they were all leaving, "Are you going to be keeping watch so I can go to sleep tonight?" I assured him he could sleep, because I would not and would indeed be keeping watch.

LindaRe, Amen, sister, Amen.