Mud Can be Fun Sometimes

My mom is now helping spur old stories back into my old head...    

Not sure if you remember but thought about a story for you. Was not long after you got into IVFD, was a Thanksgiving or Xmas and you drove #01 into a old Pole house fire off the road going into Forks Park. Up a narrow road, big mud hole, numerous big stumps and Dixon Davies got in your face about backing the truck out, not getting it stuck or scratching the fenders. As I remember you finally came home to reheated left over dinner, soaking wet but not from working the fire, but sweating blood backing the truck out. Mom


...you will have to climb into the way back machine with me for this adventure.  As mom stated this call occurred just a short time after I had joined the Illinois Valley Volunteer Fire Department some thirty years ago.  We didn't have the extensive drivers training programs for new engine operators like we have for today's new fire recruits.  No, no it was almost like if you had a pulse you could drive the big fire engine screaming down the road going code three (lights and siren) to an alarm.  How do you think we recruited new volunteer firefighters?  Yep, we promised the new souls that they too could drive a big shiny fire engine if they came an joined our motley firefighting crew.  Again I'm not sure how we didn't kill more firefighters or pedestrians in the old days by awkwardly doing things the way we did back then.  Wearing no breathing apparatus when it was so smoky in the house you couldn't see your own hand in front of your face.  Getting dressed into our turn-out gear while standing on the tailboard of the engine as it responded quickly to the next big event (Hell it's deemed too dangerous for firefighters to even ride the tailboard today let alone dress themselves while riding on it).  Or letting new people drive really fast down the highway while talking on the fire radio, with the siren and horn blaring in the background. And they say just chatting on a cell phone while driving is dangerous today?

...it was only my second or third time driving the engine to a actual structure fire so I was still very nervous that I was going to screw-up.  During trainings we had been told over and over by Dixon that if the engine didn't get to the scene safely we could never help save any ones life or their belongings.   He had really scared this point home with me during our weekly Tuesday night trainings.  It had been raining for several days before as I headed up the nicely graveled driveway leading to where a plume of dark smoke was billowing over the tree tops.  The solidly graveled driveway quickly changed though as I could begin to see the flames coming from the burning home through the thick forest.  Soon the road narrowed even more with deep mud holes in it, filled with two feet of water, coming as high as the running boards on the truck.  I was afraid of driving further down the rough road for fear of getting stuck in the middle of it but also afraid of not getting to the house on fire and letting the peoples things burn up because this "newbie" couldn't get the engine there.  So I gritted my teeth, told my passenger to pull the mirror on his side of the engine in and I went for it.  With my foot nervously pressing hard on the throttle pedal, helping keep my momentum up so I could plow through those deep mud holes, I kept moving down the narrowing cow path slipping and sliding around the corners, leading to this ramshackle of a home but I finally made it to where the real work began...

...we already had the flames knocked down pretty well when the duty officer, Dixon , finally arrived on scene.  He walked straight over to me, not to congratulate me on the fine job I did getting the engine in there or about the great job we had done knocking the fire down so quickly.  He firmly grabbed my shoulder and swung me around and yelled "If you put one GOD DAMN scratch on my engine I'm going to KICK YOUR ASS".  Still very nervous from the harrowing adventure I was able to meekly squeak out, " I... I didn't Sir" as he stomped off to look for proof on his engine.  He didn't even care about what the fire was doing, just if I had scratched his darn engine.

Miraculously I hadn't scratched the engine but it was decided that Aaron Gates would drive the rig back out the driveway when the alarm was over because he had so much more experience driving big trucks.  The rest of us were sent back to the station in a different rig where we began cleaning the gear before the next alarm.  Quite some time later the engine finally arrived back at the station.  Aaron sheepishly climbed down out of the truck cab and came over and asked, Bill (I was still so new I didn't have a cool nickname like today, other than maybe, Horses Ass) "How'd you get that damn engine in there?". "Hell we had to cut some trees down next to the driveway so we could get the engine back out of there because the corners in the road were too tight for the engine to negotiate around them".  I just said "good driving skills I guess" and went about washing the red mud off of my new engine.

Send me some of the stories you remember from the old days and I can make myself look bigger and better in them then you may have remembered.

This Phone is Out of Order

...one Saturday afternoon I was lounging around my house when the fire alarm sounded on the Plectron (home fire radio).  My mom, who was the fire dispatcher back in those days, began to reveal the location and jest of our next fire adventure.  I soon realized the house that was on fire was just up the road slightly and across the highway from my own house.  In fact it was located between my house and the fire station a couple blocks farther up Caves Hwy.

Back in the day when I was much younger I didn't drive to the fire station when I responded to an alarm.  I ran to the fire station.  I found it was faster then getting in my van and starting it up, stopping at the busy highway and sometimes having to wait for a long line of traffic before I could proceed to the station.  In those days too, we had several volunteer firefighters who lived very close to our station so a sort of parking war would ensue when arriving at the station for a fire alarm.  You did not want to be a casual pedestrian walking near the fire station bay doors when we began to arrive, especially when it was cold and icy out.  Our motto was "every man for himself" when arriving at the station and "every man for each other" after we left together in the engine.

For many years I have been accused of even running to the fire station wearing just my underwear.  Which of coarse would have been ludicrous unless I thought I could have shaved off a few seconds getting to the station quicker.  Actually I had a white pair of running shorts I would wear to bed.  I could see where the unsuspecting motorist driving by seeing this nearly naked guy running up the roadside at all hours of the night and early mornings, to them it probably did look like I was wearing only underwear.  We firefighters had invented an ingenious plan.  We had purchased a garage door opener and installed it on the big bay door in front of our engine.  I would come sprinting up the road on a dead run in my white shorts, mom would look across the highway from her office, located directly across the street from the station, and punch the door opener and I would duck under the door as it was still retracting.  The sooner I got inside the building the safer I would be during "parking time".  This plan worked 99% of the time except for the few times mom got so busy with an incoming call where she would forget to hit the door opener button for us.  I suppose to the passing motorist it again probably did look like a nearly naked guy was jumping up and down in front of the fire station waving his arms frantically in only his underwear, yelling, "Open the Door, OPEN the DOOR", trying to get his moms attention from across the road.

On this particular fire I ran to the station which was sort of weird for me running by the house which was ON FIRE.  Not knowing if I should quickly stop and see what I could do to help or just keep on running and go get the engine.  It's the only fire I did a critique on as I ran by it. No other firefighters were arriving fast enough for me that day so I responded in the engine back down the road to my neighbors burning house by myself.  Pulling in and coming to a lurching stop in the driveway. The dragon was really getting prepared to break out by observing the thickness of the smoke pouring from under the eves.  Streching the limp hose line to the front door.  Running back to the engine to engage the pumper, I nervously looked out the driveway for reinforcements to arrive but there were none to be seen.  I throw the lever on the pump panel and pressurized water quickly brings the dragon killer to life.  I run back to the nozzle laying next to the front door steps, I pull the strap on my helmet tight, with one last glance back over my shoulder towards the road, damn, still nobody, my neighbors stuff is burning I surmise,  so I head inside alone.

I caught the ball of fire just as it was rolling across the ceiling tiles headed towards the living room.  Gathering the flames up in my powerful fog stream I stuff that cranky old dragon back into the kitchen from where he was trying to escape.  On one knee, staying low under the heat, by myself, suddenly to my left side I hear a phone ring.  It was hanging on the wall next to the dining room table. Back then everybody still had landline telephones, cell phones weren't even invented yet, at least not in our neck of the woods.  It starts ringing and ringing and ringing as I scoot over next to it.  I've got most of the fight knocked out of this dragon by now, as I reach to pick the phone receiver up.  I'm going to answer it in some clever voice with something official sounding like,  "this phone number is temporarily out of order, due to the HOUSE IS ON FIRE!!!".  The darn receiver had gotten so hot that it had melted to the phone body itself and I couldn't pull the two parts apart.  About then the phone stopped ringing so I went about finishing off this old beast for good.

After all the excitement had finally died down. I was back at the fire station helping clean our gear up with the rest of the guys whom had finally showed up to help.  I got to thinking, it probably wouldn't have been a very smart idea to answer that hot phone.  Placing the molten receiver against my fleshy ear.  This happened well before when we started wearing the protective fire hoods we use today.  Back then we still used our thin skinned ears you help us judge the heat trapped in a room we had a fire fight going on in. I probably instead would have blurted out saying something to the effect "this phone number, HOLY SHIT, my EAR is on FIRE!!! 

Over the River and through the Woods...

...over the river and through the snow to grandpa Lauren's house we did go.  Thank goodness we didn't have to travel in a sleigh,  because I most likely would have slipped into a coma if I had to make the trip in an open topped sledding vehicle enduring the frigid twenty degree weather.

After a quick hey how-ya-doing when we arrived our hosts quickly whisked us off on a beautiful snowshoeing adventure not far from Sunriver.  Fall River was our destination, a perfect spot for a afternoon's frolic on Larrieann's an my own dust laden snowshoes.  They had been stored away far to long in our downstairs closet.  All four of us headed out down the snowy trail with Lauren leading the way tramping down the two feet of snow ahead of us.  Elk tracks cris-crossed our path everywhere.  Fresh elk sign littered the icy snow. I couldn't convince Larriean into trying some of the naturally occurring yellow snow left behind the herd for some reason.  She murmured something about the time, many years ago, when I got her very young son Doug, to eat some moss from the north facing side of a Douglas Fir tree when we were on one of our hikes.  I told Doug the deer really like it and eat it but that's another story in it's self.

Fall River is one of those pristine rivers Oregon is known for.  It too simply boils out of from underground in several spots , much like the Rogue River does on the lower slopes of Crater Lakes, Mt. Mazama.  Three or four foot deep water so clear you could see salamanders crawling on the river bottom if they hadn't gone into hibernation already because of the bitterly cold water, a fly fisherman's paradise.  On the way driving back home Lauren and I made one of our normal quick rescues of some very unprepared kids stuck in the snow in their all wheel drive Subaru on a side road.

My favorite part of the weekend was getting to visit with Lauren and Ellen's children Randy and Rachael.  Even better then that was getting to meet again their own children. Rachael's,  Annika (aka Princess Toots alot) her words not mine, and Eli (Chunky Money).  Randy's, Casey, who walks, talks and dresses everything Indiana Jones.  I was advised not to get him one of those leather whips, and little Katie who inscribes to be Clara the Ballerina.  All four, really cute kids. It is so satisfying to see Rachael and Randy following in my foot steps already nicknaming their children like I have done too myself, billy blaze.  It was enjoyable watching grandpa Lauren interact with them all. 

Sometimes I actually think Lauren moved away from Southern Oregon so I would not be a poor influence on his grandchildren as they were growing up.  Teaching them how to catch hundreds of salamanders and put them into the preachers daughters tent.  Having them play sardines with me till all hours of night at Beaver Hollow and of coarse that moss eating thing too.  I can't wait till the next visit...

When You are Brothers, You are Never Alone

It's 3:30 in the morning and I can't sleep.  I'm like a anxious kid waiting to go on vacation to Disneyland.  Larrieann and I are headed to Sunriver in the morning to visit my good friend Lauren and his wife Ellen.  He moved away after retiring some years ago and frankly my life has not been the same without him around.  Rather then to continue tossing and turning in bed disturbing Larrieann I decided to slip to the computer and noticed this is my 100th blog entry.  After reading back through some of my fire stories I could see how the unwitting reader might begin to think that billy blaze must have been the only firefighter that poor little volunteer fire department had involved in it. 

I can assure you if you are having that thought about me it could be no further from the truth.  Yes, often times I have been the stone attached to the leading edge of an arrow shaft.  But we all know it takes a fine craftsmen (training officer) putting all the parts of an arrow together properly to make a wooden stick fly straight to it's target.  A fire training officer picks a straight stick and then begins slowly chipping a raw obsidian stone into a sharpened arrowhead.  After some effort he carefully attaches it to the slotted arrow shaft holding it in place with sinew and then he decorates the back of the shaft with feathers to make all the parts work together so it will fly straight.

I can fervently remember looking back across the swollen Illinois River during my big river rescue several years ago, seeing the five firefighters in a row poised sternly, leaning hard against my weight while not letting me get swept down the raging river.  I couldn't tell you who a single one of them was today but they were just as much apart of that rescue that day as any roll I played in it. 

Seeing pictures a couple days after a nighttime steep angle rescue we had several months ago I was amazed by what I saw.  Yes, I was one of the firefighters being dangled over the edge like live bait but the fifteen firefighters dug in on top, trying to find traction on that slick road were the real hero's in my mind that night.  They literally held all our lives over the cliff in their gloved hands.

I have got to fight fire with lots of folks over the years but there are a few guys and gals that stand out in my mind.  Darren, big hulk of a man, drives a semi hauling bread up and down I-5.  I loved having him on the attack line with me, especially when he was in front of me.  I can remember him nervously one time turning to me during one of our roaring house fires and mumbling through his breathing apparatus to me "shouldn't we put some more of this out before advancing?  It's getting hot up here", as I've got my hand firmly placed in the middle of his back pushing him towards the seat of the fire.  I was feeling no effect from the heat standing in the shadow of this man. 

Netta, I can't think of another paramedic I would rather work with when the "shit has hit the fan" at some accident scene.  Calm and decisive under pressure though she does cry too easily afterwards which makes it harder for me to keep my rough tuff side showing.

Rudy the best tender (water tanker) operator of all times.  Hearing crackle over my portable radio a stern message from fire command.  "Tell that Damn Guy from I.V. (Rudy operating the tender) to SLOW DOWN!."  We were fighting this huge mill fire over in Rogue River where all the water had to be shipped to us from town a mile away.  We were spraying thousands of gallons of water per minute and it all had to be hauled to us using a round robin of tenders converging from all over the surrounding counties. It wasn't a half hour later that the meek fire commanders voice came back over the air, "tell that guy from I.V. to pick it back up again".  Rudy was the only one out there that day keeping his dump tank full.  We laughed and laughed about that on the fire ground, as we could hear Rudy again shifting through the many gears on that big truck pulling everything that rig had from it that day.

The point being ninety nine times out of a hundred none of my fire adventures were ever accomplished alone.  The one thing I enjoy most about being a fireman is the camaraderie.  I know that if I were trapped in a burning building that firefighters from adjoining towns, counties, across Oregon and the west coast would keep coming to my aid till either they got me out or there was nothing left but a deep black smoldering hole.  And then they would still be standing there looking into the abyss just by chance that I would crawl back over the edge so they could help me stand and brush me off.  That's what being a fireman is all about the camaraderie towards each other and our communities.

I sure wish Larrieann would wake-up so we could leave, 6 o-clock in the morning...

Scars on the Heart

I have struggled for some time not knowing if this next story would be appropriate to write about due to it's raw graphic nature.  My mom wrote a few comments back, about people she knows who are following along with my blog. She writes, "...for some it reminds them of their own days in Emergency Service and to others it has opened there eyes to the behind the scene happenings and feelings that remain."  Please don't misjudge me, for my 30 year fire career has been spent at a very small volunteer department and now at a only slightly bigger paid department.  I have not witnessed or had to deal with the tragedy that my brothers had to endure when the towers fell in N.Y. or resolve the horror when some large aircraft smashes into the earth.  As a typical fireman's life goes I have lived a sheltered life.  Most guys in the big city fire departments, due to the large call volume they respond to have seen and been left with far deeper wounds then I carry.  I worry that I will not be able to convey the sadness and emotion to my readers that I felt that fateful night along another chunk of lonely country road, aptly named Lone Mountain Road.  Even as I sit here gathering my thoughts for the story I can feel my throat tightening, my lips pursing and moisture coming to my eyes...

...it was on a night not to different to the one we are having tonight.  A deeply dark, very foggy and near freezing night when I stepped onto the accident scene.  Seeing a mans limp body laying in the middle of the two lane road, not moving and a overturned ATV a few feet away would peak almost anyone's interest.  But what the hell is that screaming?  In my life I have never heard that kind of pain coming from any human being as my eyes scanned for the source of the blood curdling screaming coming from a short distance out in the woods.  Pointing to my comrades to address the mans injuries I went to find out what the hell was going on in the even darker forest. 

Shinning my Streamlite towards the noise and commotion at first I thought my eyes were seeing things or in this case not seeing things, as I fought through the thick underbrush creeping ever closer to the sound I was horrified to see...  I had always thought that some injuries would be so devastating to a body that the victim would just immediately die relieving them from the pain associated with such an injury, but life is not that way and sometimes death does not arrive easy.  The other thing that aids firemen when they arrive on a scene is we most often times don't know who is to blame for the carnage so we just go about helping to resolve it.  I am so thankful for not knowing all the details until later that cold night because I most likely would have crawled back through the brush an kicked the shit out of the "drunk" guy laying in the road.

...it was a horse screaming in unimaginable pain.  The drunk guy zooming up and down the road on an ATV, in the dark had spooked the horse from it's pasture and then proceeded to run into it, not seeing it in the thick fog and darkness.  The impact of the vehicle hitting the horse had torn the whole hind quarters from the animal at the hip.  I had never seen a wound so massive.  As the horse would fall an then fight to re-stand while missing it's rear leg.  All the time screaming in terror and pain.  I have dealt with hundreds of injured people and no matter how horrific their injuries are you can still console, comfort and offer them hope of recovery, plus the ambulance carries some pretty good drugs to help manage the pain, for people.  This animal needed to be put down and right now.

We couldn't find the horses owner, the Sheriff couldn't shoot it without the owners consent, the neighbors didn't want to take the responsibility of trying to shoot this animal that was thrashing through the woods and a large animal vet was an hour away.  With help I finally managed to get him lashed to a tree so he could stand on his three remaining legs easier.  He was wearing some kind of halter and I would hold onto it as he would physically lift me off the ground as I tried to comfort him.  I am no horse whisperer but he finally laid his head on my shoulder as he became so exhausted and just roared his discomfort through his nose.  I watched as the steam rose into the night air from his beautiful body and I at that moment I could feel him bond to me and my voice as he pressed harder on my shoulder with his massive head.   He knew that I was the only pain relief he was going to get that cold dark night.  Eventually someone did come and finally put him down as I snuck away behind the engine and cried.

The next time you are out enjoying a evening and maybe have had to many drinks I hope this story can wedge back into your mind possibly saving tragedy for yourself or other innocents.  Please remember too, next time your local fire department levy comes up for a vote, that these guys and gals often have to deal with the undealable.  We are often left with deep personal scars while serving in our own local community. SUPPORT THEM.  Whether they are from a paid or volunteer fire department.

Good Bye Old Friend

Well, I have come to the sad conclusion that it is time for my old, paint peeling, van to go away. The guys at the fire department tease me that it looks like a "Chester Molester" van.  The creepy old van, with the curtains drawn, that drives down your street and your mom warns you as children not to go around.  It is no longer a dependable ride for me since it quits running sporadically when I'm driving down the road. Coasting to a stop along the freeway is sometimes a hair raising adventure as you dodge thru traffic trying to reach the safe side of the road. So far the engine has always started right back up again.  But not being a mechanic myself and after spending several hundred dollars already at a couple different mechanic shops we have not been able to resolve the problem. I have had a window van during most of my adult life. All through the years the van has carried my kids and their many friends, along with all their necessities, to Beaver Hollow hundreds of times. My van has served as sort of my support vehicle through all these many past years adventures. Loaded down with my 2 fire gear bags, a swift water rescue bag, a search and rescue gear bag, change of fresh dry cloths bag, plus the different bikes I rode, snow shoes and other paraphernalia I have stored under the seats. Jammed under the seats was food, water, tents, and a first aid kit along with a spare tire and jack. When I got tired I could move enough stuff around to clear a place on the back bed for myself and my ever present dog and still have room to take a nap, semi comfortably. A few years ago when I still lived in Cave Junction I was setting at my house, minding my own business...


...11:00 at night I was slowly drifting off, watching some T.V. before bed when I noticed the brake lights on my van flicker on through the window. My van was always parked out front, facing towards the fire station, faithfully waiting for a fire call to come in. I get to the front porch just in time to see my van lurching out my gravel driveway throwing stones at me as it sped away. Now here I have this reputation of being this "ruthless Baxter" of a fireman and all I can verbalize during the commotion was "hey", "HEY" with my hand waving in the air as my van speeds out my own driveway and heads up Caves Highway. My Grandma would have been so disappointed in me if she knew that I didn't get a least one "You Dirty Bastard" in before the vehicle left my property. Immediately I jumped in my spare ride and headed out the driveway in hot pursuit. Or as hot a pursuit as an old Forest Service colored Ford Ranger could pursue. Back in the day the old van still had some zip left in her and she quickly left me in the dust.

Stolen, some "sumbitch" just stole my precious van with all her cargo in it. In my mind I was still living in the age where you didn't even lock your house. Hell, leaving my van keys on the floor next to the drivers seat was common place me. For when that quick get-away was needed when the emergency call came down. I had given up running the block to the fire station a few years earlier. When I noticed after trying to climb into the drivers seat of the fire engine I couldn't speak on the radio for a few minutes because I was too out of breath from the exertion. For a moment I paused there along the road looking up the highway urning for my van, somewhat bewildered, now who do you call when you have an EMERGENCY? ...  Oh yeah 911.

A few days go by, everybody in the valley that we knew was on the lookout for my stolen old van. Fire guys, telephone repairmen, my mom's friends, guys I worked with at the mill.  I think the cops were even aware it was gone too. Out of the blue I get this call from the Illinois Valley High School office. I say, Hello? "Bill why is your van parked out on our football field", the kind voice on the other end conveys. Ahhh? "My van is parked on your football field?  How long has it been there?" I manage to mutter.  Ohh two, maybe three days the receptionist replies. As I dart out of the house leaving the phone still dangling from the cord and head that way in my now trusty, nobody even wants to steal, Ford Ranger. Of coarse everything was missing from inside the old girl, fuel was all gone too, a few things were broken inside side but ahhh "I got you back baby"  My homeowners insurance covered most of my loses but I have never since owned as nice of a mountain bike (Interloc) as I lost that horrible night.

I’m going to miss not having the old girl around. $500 or the best offer. She has served me very well, at least to this point.  We'll see if the new travel trailer serves me as well.  I know it's harder to turn around for sure.

2011, Here Comes billy blaze

As the New Year of 2011 begins to settle over us I always tend to look back at my accomplishments and failures over the past year.  During these difficult financial times stretching across America I feel very fortunate to have a stable, secure feeling job, even if it is working with pooh.  I always grin when my little west coast granddaughter chides in that grandpa works at the stinky pooh plant and holds her nose with her fingers.

I'm not sure if it's because I'm getting older and slowing down a bit or if I'm getting lazy.  I never climbed to the top of any mountain peak this past summer which is a new non-adventure for me.  I always have climbed at least one per summer before.  Maybe it's because I was too darn busy building a tree house for the kids and enjoying when Erica and Van brought Ka'mya to visit Oregon.  In actuality it's probably the fact that my knees hurt so bad for a week after I climb one of those Cascade mountain peaks that it's getting harder to motivate myself too feel the pain (wuss).  I didn't go snowshoeing at Crater Lake either, which is really odd being that Crater Lake is my favorite place to tromp around summer or winter.  It's hard to get there in the winter time since we no longer have the 4 wheel drive jeep to dash through the snow in.

Larrieann and I did go out and purchase a travel trailer the day after we spent a very uncomfortable night sleeping in the bed of my pickup, with Styker laying on top of us, when we went on our annual waterfall weekend hike this last summer.  I have enjoyed pulling it over to the coast where we were amazed watching the bull elk fight during their rutting / mating season. Having the west coast grand kids join us on beach combing weekends has been an adventure.  I never thought a kid could carry so much sand on their little body before coming inside a trailer.  I had a great time when we invited my son and his family, Larrieann's son and his family to the coast for a weekend stay.  I think Larrieann and I are going to make that outing an annual event.  It was enjoyable watching all the kids play on the beach, flying kites and building sand castles together.  It was a interesting adventure breaking into Micheal's car when he locked his only set of keys in it too.  Normally I have a big red truck with the Jaws of Life in it, to help me when I'm braking into cars.  Using a crudely fashioned device made of wire marshmallow skewers to gain access is tough on a rip and tear fireman.

Failures;  I failed to go to fire training as often as I know I should have.  Because even after all the years in the fire service I still don't know it all and I know training is the key to performing well on scene.  I failed to go to Search and Rescue training as often as I should have.  Because I play fireman on the weekends when the SAR trainings are happening.  I failed to loose any weight or eat any better this past year.  Though I was able to loose some more hair from my balding head but not enough to show any weight lose.

The thing that plagued me most about this past year was not getting to spend more time with my east coast granddaughter, Ka'mya.  I got to spend almost a week with her when Erica came west but that wasn't enough time for me.  Here I am suppose to be this macho fireman that can look at any crushed and mangled car and immediately figure a way to free a trapped family from the carnage, and here I can't even figure out how to spend more time with my own granddaughter.  I can't move east because I'm way too rooted out west.  They can't move here because they have family there that would miss them if they moved west.  I can't afford to fly to Maryland much more then once a year so here I sit brooding.  I can't wait till Ka'mya is old enough to have her own tree house.  Because I know a fire guy who is going to travel east and build one just for her someday.

I have a few more stories to tell this coming year before I run out of them and have to start making up real lies.  I hope everyone who is following along on the mis-adventures of billy blaze has a safe and profitable new year.