A Symbiotic Relationship with a Primeval Force
We must change who we are in order to change our relationship with fire
Yesterday, the smoke heaved back into Seattle. Not like it was a couple weeks ago, so thick we couldn’t see the sun, but like I was used to— it infused the city in an ethereal light, tangerine tinted; the sun glowed red, nearly dripping.
We got a week of rain here. Cleansing, miraculous rain. I smelled the familiar sodden-leaf smell of autumn. But the fires haven’t stopped, not in California. They’re still going. New fires have ignited and burned thousands of houses, burned a three star Michelin restaurant, and converged into complexes. There are almost too many to keep track of, even for me, and in the next few days critical fire weather is expected in California, with more gusty winds and hot weather.
Five of those fires are over 300k acres.
It’s only just turned into October. Many seasonal firefighters are being laid-off around the country, which means that resources will be sparse, and they’ve already been spread thin.
(ph(
(photo credit: Noah Berger)
Speaking from experience, I can say that most wildland firefighters are absolutely exhausted by October. They’ve spent the previous few months working sixteen hour shifts, beating up their bodies, and some of them have been battling Covid and other respiratory sicknesses that come with the territory. They’re longing to be laid-off— to go home and shower every day, to slip into the routines they’ve forgotten, to see their kids and families or travel (haha) to relaxing destinations.
But fire season doesn’t stop. This season, like the ones that preceded it, is unprecedented. We will continue to see unprecedented fire seasons unless we learn to live symbiotically with fire.
I’ve said before that fire suppression, which began in the late 19th century and was firmly implemented federally by the 1940’s, was a catastrophic decision for our public lands, but I’m beginning to think the words I write and speak haven’t sunk in, not even for me. The scope of this catastrophe, this dire mistake, is immeasurable. Not only has it affected ecological health, endangered and taken lives, and led us to what feels like a point of no return, it has convinced us that fire is something we can control.
Fire is not something we can control.
This illusion of controllability has been foisted upon us, first by Europeans and logging companies, which systematically stole land as they encroached upon the already occupied western territories. We have willingly swallowed their stories.
Their ignorance is inconceivable, and yet our ignorance may surpass it. We’re still living in that dream; the dream that fire is something we can wage war against, something we can fight like an enemy. Fire is not our enemy. Fire cannot be fought. Fire will never die. If it did, we would, too.
The Wildfire Industrial Complex consists of billions of dollars and thousands of people. Yellow shirts and radios and drip torches and giant trucks and tankers and helicopters and dozers. Toxic fire retardant. Chainsaws. Yelps and grunts and a machoism that has marginalized soft power. Smokey the Bear has told us to end fire. Every year we throw these resources at fire and are left in shock at their uselessness. We declare fires contained only when the weather changes or the topography abides us. The wind shifts. Snow fall. Rain, sweet rain, wets the ground.
We build houses in box canyons and chutes, where fire burns hottest, and we build them with flammable materials. We keep the bushes and trees nearby, because we want it to be pretty. The fire eats those, and we know this, and yet we keep its food ready and waiting for our own aesthetic longing to live in “wild” places. Then, when it burns, we lose everything.
I continue to repeat myself. I struggle with this newsletter because I feel like I repeat myself. We need to live with fire. Not control it. Live right next to it. Become accustomed to the smell of woodsmoke and presence of flames. Find new tools. Learn from the Indigenous people who were here before the Europeans stole their fire. This is vital. This is the only way we get through this.
Can you hear me? What I’m saying is, we need to run, not walk, to a new paradigm. We need to prioritize ecological health above our own need for comfort. We need to listen to the people who are speaking: scientists and Indigenous groups and activists and firefighters who are ringing the alarm bell. What we’re doing isn’t working.
I’m not the only one saying this. We need to listen.
Warmly,
Stacy