Fire officials give out the numbers all day — record numbers of fireworks permits sold in Washington this year, 432 incidents of traumatic injury and fire damage directly attritibuted to fireworks on or near July 4, 2014, 306 wildfires started already this year. People talk about the high risk of fire in the coffee shops, on the radio, and in online community groups. I’ve been hearing about it several times a day for the past month, and noticing the August-level rivers everywhere I drive.
I had started to develop some vague fears about fires, not just on the Fourth, but for the entire summer.
They got a huge boost on Friday, when I took off for a long weekend on Whidbey Island. I stayed at a place in the woods, near the water, and I went barefoot a lot, since the area was mostly dirt trails and grassy fields. I discovered that pine needles, if they’ve dried out long enough, are surprisingly soft to walk on. But the grass really got my attention. It was uniformly straw-colored and brittle in a lot of places, and it didn’t crackle under my feet, like snow or dry leaves; it just got crushed. My footsteps whispered.
That’s when I really started to get scared.
To be fair, it’s not just the fireworks I’m worried about. The wildfire that closed off Mount Si Road in July, 2013, was declared to be human-caused. The guess I’ve heard most often is that a hiker didn’t properly dispose of his or her lit cigarette butt, but dropped it on a trail. That fire was, luckily, contained to mainly DNR lands and no one got hurt. And my experience with it was kind of exciting. I “toured” the fire, or at least the parts that had been mostly extinguished. I saw how it affected wildlife, learned what an impressive the DNR system has in place for fighting these fires, and I got a photo of a burning rock. Going into the fire area, I had a strong craving for bacon, but it was gone by the time I was out.
Fireworks are on my mind right now, because officials are asking people to go to shows instead of setting off their own, but also because I’ve been hearing them in my neighborhood for about two weeks. That’s typical for this time of year, and we all know it’s not the adults who set them off early. I really have to give my neighborhood’s parents a pat on the back, though, because there haven’t been nearly as many early igniters as in past years.
It’s a good sign. People are aware and being cautious. But that is always true.
The number of responsible people who annually indulge their pyrotechnics obsessions safely — on pavement, away from trees and grass, with water hoses and buckets nearby — is probably five or six times as high as the number of people who have decided they just won’t make a mistake. It takes only one mistake, though.
This year, I am going to take my own precautions. Hose down the roof — it’s metal, but there is moss — and the yard, then watch the fireworks and try not to worry.
