It's the crack of dawn. Breeze... well wind.. bangs the blind back and forth against the open window. It's cold.
A foggy mother's day in Mendo. The banging doesn't bother me. I snuggle deeper into the down comforter. A siren wails.
Wow! t
he first siren I've heard in almost a year. I'm not a fire chaser. I'm content to turn over, wrap the comforter tighter, drift iiiinnn and ooouuut. Screeching louder ... banging blind... my reverie.
Hhmmm. Fire... must be close. Hmmm.
Have to be. About eight streets in the Village? Hhmmm. Hhmmm.Screech
Closer.Bang.Closer.Louder.Bang.Closer.Bang.Hmmm.
Could be this street. Sudden Silence in front of my house. Instantly awake. Sniffing.
Oh my god!
Is MY house on fire?
Holy S**t! Sudden silence in front of one's house is louder than the screaming siren and the banging blind. Did you know that?
Jump from bed.
Alarms Silent. Good sign.
Are they functioning? Run from room. Bang head. Slanted ceiling. Curse. Cross hall. Front window.
Decent pajamas.
Outside my house. The one and only Mendocino Firetruck. Fire Fighters in full regalia, yanking the hose, flipping gears, running, wasting not a second.
It's not me. Across the street. Stop everything now. Stop and heave a long, deep, relieving sigh all the way from my head down to my toes.
Thank you, God! Within a second my blogging instinct, natural to me now, kicks me down the stairs, I grab my camera and begin to record the scene.
Maybe I am a firechaser.
Maybe it's just been too long since something happened in Mendocino.
The Baptist Church. Relief ...
it's not my house! Sadness ... the young reverend whose name I can never remember and his parishioners. It's Mother's Day! A Sunday!
Must be more than the usual steam billowing out the upstairs vent.
The big guns from Ft. Bragg arrive.
Better get dressed. May have to move my car. I hope there's no one inside the church. It's so early, probably not.
I've never witnessed firefighters in action from such a close vantage point before.
They really do risk life and limb. Especially this one who climbs right up to the smoking vent to survey the situation.
Who knows what's going on inside that building?
I hope no one's in there. Eric Sondeen, a firefighter and friend from Boulder, comes to mind.
This brave man stays on his perch quite awhile before reversing his steps. The men below stand at the ready waiting for instructions.
They talk quite awhile after he's down. When they begin to move, it takes them no time at all to re-roll the fire hose, re-secure the ladder, turn off levers, switches, and gears, remove their hats, open their jackets and leave.
I guess it was just the steam from the boiler.
As they prepare to climb into the firetruck, it seems to me their shoulders are slumped just a bit.
Are they dejected? The adrenaline rush has to be ginormous... receiving the call, leaping into immediate action, completely prepared to risk their life, to do their job. And it's a false alarm. Has to be a letdown.
Or are they relieved to return to the fire house. Take up their usual positions and discuss the almost-drama on Mother's Day in Mendocino.
Probably a bit of both. Maybe Eric will let me know. Anyway, I'm impressed with the quick response of the men who volunteer their time and are willing to put their lives on the line to fight fires.
As I think of the mothers of these young men who showed up at the crack of dawn on Mother's Day to fight fire, this blogger and this mother is grateful for the gift of
almost-drama to blog about rather than the real thing.
And I've done it without one photo of flowers... well, except for the wild ones in the field next to the church. I bet you wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't told you about them.
