To Starve an Ember: a novel about wildfires and family disasters and how to protect yourself from both, in more ways than one

By Lisa Hatfield

He thinks wildfires are his greatest enemy, but he doesn't see the historic hurt smoldering inside himself.

Fires have shaped Prentice's life: a childhood tragedy, several devastating wildfires close to home, and structure blazes he's battled with the fire department. His goal is to minimize

• Language: English
• Publisher: High Plains Wordsmith LLC
• Release date: Oct 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736894118

Book preview

1

www.Tinderbox.tips - Factors that Control Wildland Fire Behavior:

Fuel

Weather

Topography

Wildfire dominated the morning headlines again, and the TV on the wall glowed with images of recently burned-out homes as Prentice sat in his usual booth in the Rocky Mountain Diner. A thousand miles west of him, black, white, and gray ruins made scars against the intense blue sky.

The deep voice of the local Colorado morning news anchor narrated the devastation. Residents in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California have begun surveying the damage from the most recent severe wildfire. The screen shifted to show car-skeletons lined up on a paved road and acres of tall conifers reduced to black toothpicks.

The anchor continued. On a hot August morning last week, this significant wildfire spewed fireballs the size of tennis balls, igniting spot fires in neighborhoods miles away from the main blaze. Within a matter of hours, the fires destroyed four California towns. Flying embers carried by the wind landed in the forest and on homes. The fire leapfrogged ten miles in less than two hours, taking everyone by surprise.

Children on one school playground ran inside screaming that burning branches fell from the sky. The video showed a school bus unloading exhausted teachers and young children with soot-stained faces into a parking lot somewhere away from danger. Traffic and smoke trapped this bus for six hours. The desolate images scrolled by.

"The fire spread as fast as … wildfire. The number of 9-1-1 calls reporting the fire overwhelmed dispatchers across two remote California counties. Evacuees who made it down the mountain said dispatchers had asked them, ‘Where did you say the fire was? How could the fire be there?’ and then replied they couldn’t send any help. They had to just get themselves out of there."

The news anchor paused and the television screen filled with images captured by a firefighter on his phone. A double stream of cars headed slowly down a two-lane mountain road away from the disaster. Although it was midmorning, headlights glowed in the eerie darkness, barely able to cut through the smoke.

Towering flames blocked two of the four escape routes. Almost one hundred people died in last week’s fire, and 18,000 buildings were destroyed. The fire has displaced fifty thousand people from their homes….

Prentice Keene watched the report. You’d think fires like this would make more residents prepare ahead of time when they build their homes in wildfire territory. The dull ache returned to his gut. He never seemed to distance himself from the devastation, no matter how far away it was. Fires are a vital part of nature, but people don’t seem to realize that’s where they live.

The diner’s young owner, Elva, brought him his big breakfast with a side order of banter, as usual. She’d graduated in the same class as Prentice at Garnet High School, less than a decade ago.

How’s the weather down there, shorty? she always asked.

He sat up, shrugged, and took the plate, acknowledging Elva with a sideways smile. Elva was a foot taller than he was. He was also the shortest guy in the Garnet Fire Department, and his shift didn’t let him forget it. Only Engineer Owens was shorter than Prentice, but she drove the 30-foot pumper as if it were a limousine.

Thanks, Elva. He dug into spicy Mexican chilaquiles - fried tortillas and salsa verde made of green tomatillos and poblano peppers. The heat made his forehead sweat, but he was addicted to the endorphins the spicy food brought on. Hot peppers count as vegetables, right?

He glanced at the television screen as he finished his meal. The news anchor was gone and a woman appeared. He’d nicknamed her the weather chick months ago, since she acted and dressed more like a high school cheerleader than a meteorologist. The skies will be hazy again today due to smoke from the fires traveling a thousand miles to reach us here in central Colorado, she exclaimed. That’s what’s making the sunset such a pretty orange every evening. But let’s skip those picnics and 5Ks for a few more days until the air quality improves.

Honestly, that’s all you can say? he muttered. Why don’t you tell people how to get ready for when a fire comes here? Every day, the local news anchors dished out passive information about wildfires when they could’ve been explaining how to reduce the potential for unnecessary destruction. People can live with fire, but they need to play by its rules.

A trio of elderly ladies sat in the booth in front of Prentice. At one time or another each of them had been his teacher in the Garnet school system. Their paths often crossed in town, and they usually asked about his dad, or if he was eating right or had a girlfriend. This morning he kept his head down, but he caught snippets of their conversation as they clucked about the fires in California.

Isn’t it awful! one said, with her back to him.

The smoke makes my asthma act up, said the second lady, Mrs. Smith, who’d been his teacher in first grade. I wish it would rain so we wouldn’t have to worry about a fire here.

Prentice’s shoulders tensed up under his blue station-uniform t-shirt. All we need is some rain was one misconception he battled about wildfire risks. No, he said. But he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

What’s that? asked a third lady, Mrs. Everett. She’d taught him in elementary school too. Prentice, did you say something?

He shook his head. Why don’t I just wait until a person actually asks me a question? But he met her gaze. Colorado’s wildfire season is year ‘round. It’ll burn any time there’s no snow on the ground and it’s not currently raining. He spoke with energy, trying to turn it into a teachable moment. It’s the fuel in your yard you have to worry about.

What do you mean? I don’t have fuel in my yard. Mrs. Smith argued.

He nodded and applied what he hoped was a positive expression to his face. Sure you do. Most everyone does.

She shook her head.

He went on, focusing on keeping his voice under control. I’ve seen your yard, Mrs. Smith. It’s full of flammable junipers and ten times more pine trees than the soil can support.

My goodness Prentice, she retorted. You talk as if we’re in danger from our own beautiful trees!

He worked at maintaining the smile, but his hazel eyes were serious. Why don’t I just leave right now and go to the station? But no, he had to finish this. He kept talking. When it rains, it just postpones the inevitable. It all dries out again in hours or days. The vegetation keeps growing—

She interrupted him. Yes, that’s how nature works.

His jaw tightened at her casual dismissal of his point. Yeah, and nature wants to send fire through, on a regular basis, to clean out the understory. If not, you have to manage it yourself by cutting back brush and thinning the saplings.

The first lady turned around on the bench now and said, That’s enough of this. We’re just here having breakfast.

Prentice blinked hard. You’re not listening! He spoke loudly enough that the other diner patrons glanced over, and Elva peered out from the kitchen.

Prentice Keene, you’re getting yourself all worked up. Mrs. Everett spoke in her calmest grade-school teacher voice. We know how fires upset you. You and your father have been through so much…

Why do they always have to bring that up? That’s not it, he said in a voice he hoped was calm and professional. Removing a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet, he set it on the table and slid out of the booth. You ladies taught me in school, he said, standing near them. But now I need to educate you. We’re definitely gonna have a wildfire here. This town is a tinderbox.

The ladies’ eyes widened. Mrs. Everett said, I’m sure you don’t mean—

I sure do! There’s tons more action you can take to be safer than to cross your fingers and hope it rains. We live in the high desert, a desert full of trees and grass. Why don’t people wake up and smell the coff− no, the smoke in the air!

He exhaled. His early life tragedies and their consequences would be the topic of their conversation as soon as he left.

Clearing his throat, he spoke with quiet authority. We’re surrounded by the potential for extreme wildfire. We all need to manage the forests on our land, not just let them grow wild. He saw by the glances they exchanged that his lesson had missed its mark. They couldn’t see him as an adult with knowledge that could help them.

He made it out the door. In the parking lot, he spotted the stray gray cat peeking out from behind the dumpster. Hey, cat. I forgot to save you some food. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. Then he headed to his shift at the station.

That night in the bunk room, he dreamed he was in a scraggly oak and pine forest filled with spot fires. Prentice was a kid, holding a blue plastic bucket with a white handle, like he and his brother used to play with at the lakeshore where their mom took them so long ago.

His dad’s voice echoed all around him, scolding him to stay out of trouble, but he couldn’t see him. He called out, Where are you? Are you okay? No one answered.

Alone and surrounded by flames popping up around him, he tipped the bucket out, but it was empty.

He woke up in a sweat, gasping for air, fighting to connect with reality. Getting off his bunk, he went down the hall to the fire station’s kitchen, drank a glass of water, and polished off half a bag of Fritos before he realized what he was doing. He didn’t want the junk. Why was he eating it?

So of course, he grabbed two Ding-Dongs from the white-and-blue box and ate them without tasting, staring into space. It was a while before the sugar took hold and numbed his brain enough to go back to bed.

He didn’t know how much time passed before the crackle of the dispatch radio on the loudspeakers roused the crew. It was time to go. Medical call. Firefighters and paramedics got into their turnout gear. They moved like water flowing into the bay, into the trucks, and out into the night.

Fire danger in Garnet was a reality almost every day in the summer, and in recent years, fire season pushed into the other three seasons, too. In winter the threat loomed if there was no snow, and the wind desiccated the vegetation. Spring rain only delayed the danger. Green plants eventually browned and dried out, adding to the accumulation of fuel.

The National Weather Service posted a Red Flag warning again on Wednesday, as it had every other day for the last few weeks of August. Sustained drying winds, low humidity, and high temperatures increased risks. The warning meant, We really mean it now! No slip-ups! No lawnmower sparks, no cigarettes, no fooling.

Although Prentice made sure the arrow on the Today’s Fire Danger sign board in front of Station #1 still pointed to Extreme, people didn’t notice it as they drove by on the way to live their lives. He and the crew worked through the shift. More medical calls. Some vehicle maintenance. Exercise in the weight room. Lots of time to think. Too much. It was better when he stayed busy and didn’t think.

As he washed lunch dishes, he took in the view out the window at Two-Mile Lake, the same one where his mom used to bring him and Michael. He shook off remnants of last night’s dream, just another variation on an endless theme: Prentice alone, trying to connect with his distant dad.

He put the last pot on the rack, watered the basil plant on the windowsill, and looked out the window again.

What the….! A little plume of smoke! It was a grass fire, right behind the station, at the picnic area at the north end of the lake. Grabbing two pots off the rack, Prentice banged them together three times, shouting, Fire! Wildfire at the lake! He ran toward the bay, yelling at the top of his voice, We’ve gotta go right now, B Shift! There’s a fire at the lake! This is not a drill!

Keene, Owens, Wisniewski, Minetti, Nguyen and Lt. Grimaldi hit the ground, pulling on their wildland gear over their station wear. On the short drive to the lake, the guys in the engine reviewed their planned tactics and how grass fires behaved. This department’s training focused mainly on structure fires, despite their location in the dry high plains. Prentice, however, had his Red Card and more training in wildland fires. He’d fought small grass fires like this before, but he’d never been deployed to a severe one.

Lt. Grimaldi called dispatch to document the action and the location of their rigs. His innate calm and cool authority rang through his booming voice as he handled the call. He’d told Prentice once, briefly, about his response to the 9/11 attacks and his subsequent departure from the New York Fire Department in search of peace. He seemed to have found it, too, in the wide open spaces of Colorado. Prentice was always glad to see Grimaldi relax. When he smiled, his white teeth contrasted with his deep black skin, and his eyes shone. Generous with his praise to the firefighters when they deserved it, he was a genuinely caring man. The crew looked up to him.

B Shift got to the lake in a few minutes. Two young women in jogging outfits were trying to stamp out the grass fire with their sneakers. Black soot covered their shoes, and they both coughed. One of them was on the line with 9-1-1. It’s okay, thank God. They’re already here, she told the dispatcher and hung up.

The joggers got into their car but just moved it to the corner of the parking lot out of the firefighters’ way, then sat with the windows open, watching and taking photos as the firefighters took over and worked to contain the fire.

Four of them dug a fire line to stop its spread through the grass. The wind blew from the southwest, pushing the fire from the picnic area toward the parking lot, and soon the fire ran out of grass to burn. Wisniewski used a shovel to smother sparks blowing to the far side of the lot.

Prentice’s job was to run the hose from the engine’s tank. On this small fire, attacked early, it was enough to put out hot spots.

Soon, a circle of blackened grass was all that remained of the fire. One of the joggers approached the crew again as they packed up and said, A boy dropped a lit cigarette into the grass.

Any idea who it was? Lt. Grimaldi asked.

No, there were three of them. Maybe high school or college age.

Well, school’s in session today, he said. If they were cutting class from Garnet High, we might be able to track them down.

The other lady said, It’s amazing you got here so fast with the fire engine to put the fire out.

Prentice spoke up. Well, if you noticed, we really used the fire line and the parking lot to contain this one. We don’t generally fight wildfires with water.

The lady looked at him as if he had two heads, just like his teachers had yesterday in the diner. The public perception was that wildfires were fought the same as house fires, with water.

On the way back to the station, Lt. Grimaldi grinned at Prentice, and said, Good eyes, Smokey. That’s why we named you Smokey Bear.

Oh, I hate that nickname. Prentice shrugged but he made himself receive the praise, Thanks, Lieutenant. Good luck rounding up the kids that started it. But see how much the Red Flag warning actually changes people’s behavior?

2

www.Tinderbox.tips - Class A Roofs:

If a three-inch chunk of burning charcoal lands on a roof, what happens?

Roofs made of non-flammable materials have the least chance of igniting.

Good examples: slate, clay, stone-coated steel, fiberglass asphalt composition shingles.

Even a Class A Roof won’t help if the ember lands in leaf litter in a gutter or next to flammable siding.

The primary mission of an urban firefighter is structure fires and emergency medical services. Prentice Keene was in Garnet again today but not as a firefighter. He spent most of his off-duty time with his Tinderbox side business doing chainsaw and wood chipping work, helping people deal with overgrown vegetation on their land. And, as insurance against having any down time beyond that, he also earned money giving people transportation via a ride-share app.

As he breakfasted in the diner, he was pretty sure the coast was clear of past teachers since they only met once a month. Today, his first Tinderbox appointment wasn’t until nine, when he would do a property evaluation, so he logged into the ride-share app to look for a client.

A local client popped up right away, a lady needing a ride from Garnet to Pioneersburg. He could drive her there and be back north in time for his appointment. He clicked to accept it.

On his way out to the truck, the gray cat let Prentice find her, and he set a paper napkin full of scrambled eggs next to the dumpster for her to eat. She meowed at him and then acted like she’d rustled it up herself.

The address on Crystal Street was a few blocks from the diner on the west side of historic Garnet. Parking on the street, the first thing he noticed was the tall grass around the house. He doubted anyone had mowed it all summer. Leggy evergreen bushes crammed the space below the front picture window. Metal sculptures of daisies and sunflowers poked up through the ragged grass in a crooked line. It was artsy. A dog’s happy bark echoed from inside the house.

A petite lady came out onto the weathered porch. She was in her mid-twenties, he guessed, and noticeably pretty, even from a distance. She had tied her long, light-brown hair back in a ponytail. Dressed business-casual, with a light purple button-down shirt tucked neatly into khaki pants that highlighted her attractive curves.

He got out and said, Hi, I’m Prentice. Did you call for a ride?

Yes, she answered as she compared the information on her phone to the illuminated ride-share sign on the dashboard and the license plate and picked up her briefcase. She called through the open living room window. Bye, Mom. See you tonight.

He went to the passenger side and opened the door for her as she walked out to his truck.

Thanks for helping me get to work. She climbed up, using the running board as a step, and closed the door, smiling at him as he looked at her in the passenger window. He noticed her eyes were brown like milk chocolate and their shape hinted at some Asian ancestry. Black eyeliner, which only showed when she blinked, accented the outside corners.

Walking around to the driver’s side of the cab, Prentice was distracted, and it unnerved him. He prided himself on being a no-nonsense guy, a first responder, cool under pressure. Well, at work that was true, but out in the world, he wasn’t confident at all. She could be a model. She’s so out of my league.

The app had already given him the address where she needed to go, a big government contractor at the north end of Pioneersburg, the city ten miles south of Garnet. I was visiting my mom up here last night, but this morning my car wouldn’t start. I’ll deal with it later. Big stuff to do today.

Her mouth crinkled up at the corners when she smiled, nicely complimenting her nose, which was prominent in a more European way. The combination of her narrow eyes and wide smile captivated him. Prentice glanced at her and quickly away again. Better to just be himself, the quiet version of himself, and let her into and back out of his life.

However, as he put the truck in gear, he completely surprised himself by asking her, What do you do?

She lowered her voice in mock seriousness. Vital national security work! Email accounts to set up. Backups to retrieve, you know. She smiled again.

Who knew if that was really it, or a more serious job? He realized he just liked hearing her talk, that it didn’t matter what she was saying. She had the kind of voice that would make it worth listening to her read the dictionary aloud.

You’re Prentice? I’m Jessie. Named after my Grandmother Jiexen. She came here from China. Jessie was her English name. She laughed. Why’d I just tell you all that?

He chuckled too. Yeah, Prentice. I don’t have any relatives from China. Just America, he offered. It was a dumb comment, but she laughed anyway.

She asked, Where are you from? Where’s your family?

Oh, we moved to Garnet when I was four. A few years after that my dad retired from the Air Force.

You were pretty young to have a retired dad.

Yeah, in the military you can retire after twenty years and get a whole ‘nother career. He still lives here, works as an accountant. I live in Pioneersburg now. That’s about it. Phew. That does pretty much cover it.

That’s a problem when you meet a squirrel like me. I always ask too many questions.

Nah, it’s fine.

He wanted to ask her more, but she got more questions in first. How about you? You’re dressed for hard work, not driving.

Right. I’m doing a wildfire evaluation and some chainsaw work today. I’m not due in Garnet until later.

Wow, a lumberjack?

He laughed. I work for the fire department, but I’m not on shift today.

So, why’re you doing chainsaw work? she asked.

Oh, I have my own company. I help people reduce wildfire risk and improve forest health. He went on, despite his intention to not talk too much, telling her a little about benign neglect of vegetation. She joked about the tall, dry grass at her mom’s place having rattlesnakes in it.

Tall grass is actually one of the easiest risks to reduce. But… He didn’t want to ruin things by trying to convince her of anything.

But what? she persisted.

It’s just that tall grasses make fuel for a fire too. It’s better to keep it mowed close to your house.

Hm, she mused. Dad won’t like hearing that. Seriously, that’s a lot of responsibility you’ve taken on. Fire department. Chainsaws. And driving people like me around.

Yep, I keep pretty busy. Keep moving.

I’m that way too, and I have to remind myself to stop and have fun, she said.

He exited the interstate and soon pulled up in the drop-off zone in front of the modern white building on Contractor Boulevard. Do you need a ride home, too?

Yes, I was about to ask you. That would be great. Can you be here at 5:30?

Sure thing. I’ll meet you right here. She could never be interested in me. Just forget it.

He watched until she’d disappeared inside the building, and then, shaking his head, he put the truck into gear and left the city to do the wildfire risk evaluation and then a day full of tree thinning work in Garnet.

He stopped the chainsaw job a little early. It was only 4 p.m., but he wanted to clean up the work area and stow the equipment into his truck, packing it neatly, taking his time, trying to be as methodical as always. He’d tried, unsuccessfully, not to think about Jessie all day while he worked. Finally, he’d decided that he’d go a few miles out of his way to his apartment in Pioneersburg to get cleaned up before his scheduled 5:30 p.m. pick-up.

Jessie hopped up into the truck and said, Thanks for taking me back up to Garnet. This is a big help. He nodded, looking at her, smiling a little, and he was gratified when she returned his smile. He wished he could think of something clever to ask her but then realized he didn’t need to worry about it.

In the background, the classic rock band Boston came on the radio. Without prologue, Jessie reached over to turn up the volume and sang all the words in a beautiful voice, an octave higher than the singers. It was about having a higher power and beginning another day. At the end, she turned the volume down again and addressed Prentice.

That song is so deep, she said.

One of my favorites, but I don’t really get the lyrics, he said. I think it came out the year before I was born, though. Old school.

My mom and dad’s influence on me too. They love the classics, she said. So, we’re heading back up to her place to get my car, but I still don’t know what’s wrong with it. That won’t do me much good, will it? She laughed.

"I know