There's nothing you can do about it Sugar!

The last time it rained in Yorktown was last Memorial Day. We had spent the afternoon following a cow in labor through the pastures waiting for her to lie down and calve. Thunderheads rolled in from the South and gray sheets of rain began falling. We watched from the front porch as the cows huddled in the pasture against the stinging rain.

Next month it will be one year since that storm. One year since any rain has blessed this part of the country. We are obsessed with news of this historic drought. Three months ago we watched a grass fire on the horizon. Yellow smoke filled the air like a thick curtain. The volunteer fire department's siren echoed through our pasture as men were called from their daily duties to offer assistance. Later, we prayed that they were able to contain the fire before it destroyed too much land. We prayed that whoever's pasture had burned did not lose livestock. Sadly it turned out he had.

Today Fate's wheel stopped and it was our turn. We had spent the early afternoon parked under an Oak tree in the back pasture taking photos of the cows. We sat with the wind whipping through the field and watched the new calves sleeping or playing. After awhile I said I smelled smoke but we didn't see any on the horizon so it was just a fleeting thought. A forgotten comment that later comes back to haunt you. How could we forget that "where there's smoke there's fire".

We were up at the house around thirty minutes later when the phone rang and a neighbor asked C's father what he was burning in the back pasture. Knowing there is a burn ban in effect and taking into consideration the strong wind, she couldn't fathom what he would be burning back there. As it turns out the catylitic converter on C's Suburban had ignited the grass underneath it and that was what we had smelled earlier. C's father called 911 while C and I raced to the back to make sure the cows were out of harms way. I have read articles on ranchers who lost cattle to fires. I always assumed it was because they had been trapped by a rapidly moving fire. Not so. When we arrived in the back pasture two of our favorite cows were standing less than three feet from flames that were rising two feet off the ground sniffing at it as if it were food.

C went into Mario Andretti mode as she did donuts in the pasture herding the cattle out of the gate with her car. I was running behind them screaming, waving my arms like a mad woman. We were able to get everyone we could see out of the pasture but until the fire was under control there was no way we could be sure we had moved everyone.

I can name at least three country songs that poke fun of the VFD but until the day comes that you need them you have no idea how dedicated these men are to do such a selfless job. In less than fifteen minutes three trucks were on the property fighting the fire. One man must have been out shopping for Easter Sunday because his wife and kids were in the car as he sped past me (having my first of a few miny breakdowns that day) to fight a fire on someone else's land. In addition to the volunteer fire department, two neighbors immediately came to help on their tractors, churning the fire line to dirt that wouldn't burn. This is what we lack inside the city limits. It is a sense of community where any one man's tragedy is a communal tragedy and therefore the community goes to all lengths to help.

In the end approximately fifteen acres burned. The fire department was able to extinguish the fire in two or so hours. We didn't lose any cattle. Now if it would just rain that patch will be the greenest reminder of a day that while traumatic taught me a very imprtant lesson. On the porch that evening still shaken from the day's events, I commented to C's father that he had kept amazing composure while this was all going on. He looked at me in all honesty and said "It's part of life. There's nothing you can do about it Sugar."