Saving My Self-Importance
Recently, I saved Oakland. Not a big deal, saving the eighth most populous city in California. I don’t want any special attention for it, or anything.
Oh, you want to hear all about it? Well, I don’t want to deny you. I mean, I don’t think it’s a very important story or anything, but you’re so insistent.
It all started on December 27th. My family was at home, getting ready to leave after lunch for our long-planned vacation to…San Francisco. I thought I’d just take a little morning walk so I wouldn’t have to adjudicate the inevitable Outerwear Debates that arise whenever we travel seven miles across the Bay Bridge in a westerly direction. Marching along at a “I’m-fixing-to-eat-everything-I-can-on-vacation” pace, I realized that I smelled smoke.
The last few days of rain notwithstanding, it’s been a dry, dry winter– were it not for the crazy rainy season last year that filled up all the reservoirs (and caused one of them to overflow,) we’d all be panicking. And of course, with the North Bay fires in October and the SoCal fires in December fresh in our minds, every person walking around inside the Golden State has good reason to freak out around the smell of non-pot smoke.
So in addition to the hiking, I started sniffing at intervals, and scanning up and down the ravine in the middle of which my trail passed. Hike, sniff, scan, repeat. I was getting a cardiovascular workout, a sinus clearing, AND earning heavenly kudos from my late dad, the firefighter.
I had just about convinced myself that it was chimney smoke from one of the houses on the far side of the ravine, when I arrived at the exact spot on the trail where Achilles used to roll pine cones downhill and chase them. I glanced up the slope next to me. About twenty feet away, at the base of a tree, sat a pile of glowing embers, emitting big puffs of smoke.
There was no one else anywhere in sight, up or down the trail. So I scrambled up the steep slope, on hands and knees at a couple points, and threw dirt on the embers, and then more dirt, then I stamped on the spot, then I threw more dirt on top of that for good measure and stamped again for better measure, until there was no more smoke. The whole operation, from discovery to extinguishment, probably took 3.5 minutes.
Fire’s out
I am 95% sure the embers would have burned themselves out. There wasn’t a lot of brush around. But after I buried the coals and felt around with my hand, I realized the ground was warm in a much wider radius. That’s called a hot spot, in fire lingo, and it can start up again if it’s not completely drenched. (What do you want, I grew up in a home where Fire Apparatus and Emergency Equipment Magazine counted as bathroom reading.)
So I whipped out my cell phone and called the Oakland emergency number, reported the hot spot, then trot-marched ten minutes back to the trailhead to meet the OFD truck. Two firefighters carrying a shoulder-mount water tank and shovels hiked back in with me. When last I saw them, those two guys were spraying down the area and raking it out to make sure they’d gotten everything.
There were some empty wine bottles and food wrappers strewn about so it seems likely that some people thought Achilles’ ravine was an awesome place to start a campfire during a drought. Dummies.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t stay for the forensics because I had to hurry home and tell this story to my family who would, no doubt, be nearly paralyzed with gratitude and excitement over my heroic deed. I would never call it heroic, of course; that would be their word for it. Especially when I showed off the dirt caked under my fingernails from my ember-dirt-tossing.
I called them to the kitchen where I acted out the story, playing myself, both firefighters, and for good measure, the ghost of my dad. The general reaction by my husband and daughters to my story? “Wow. That’s great. Hey, should I take the down coat or the rain jacket? How cold do you really think it’s going to be?”
So I think you’ll understand that, in search of a somewhat more enthusiastic reception, perhaps but not necessarily including fireworks and confetti, I shared my story with nearly every person we encountered in San Francisco during our staycation including Lyft drivers, random waiters, and a clerk named Bailey at American Eagle.
A post shared by Nancy Davis Kho (@midlifemixtape) on Dec 29, 2017 at 8:45pm PST
I certainly didn’t want to keep it from you, my blog readers.
Because if I can’t impress my family, I can always embarrass them instead.
Too many “fire” songs to choose from. I picked the one that always makes me laugh.
CommentsI knew I had to use that clip. Was almost worth finding a fire ... by Nancy Davis KhoGreat story – No one is ever as impressed with our heroic ... by Scott AttenboroughYou learned your training lessons well. Congrats ! Uncle R by Ray DavisYou’re a hero! Thanks, and thanks to your dad, for doing the ... by Risa NyeRelated StoriesDay of the DeadHappy Better Year Next YearBest End of Year List 2017
