The first time I heard it, I was so shocked and confused that I really couldn't even think about it. I simply replied, "You're joking, right?", as I swung into the driver's seat and feigned receiving an emergency dispatch over my unsquelched radio. A quick "10-4" followed by a stab on the mic button that produced a giant static burst allowed me the opportunity to speed away without further comment, but I could see as I left that the guy who had posed the question wasn't joking. He really had no clue. It was as if he thought there really was a reason to buy a fire truck or that if there was, I would feel the need to have one. I guess I feel the same way that Sir Edmond must have felt when someone asked him why he had scaled Mt. Everest. His reply, "Because it is there." And, I'm sure he disdained the attention it afforded him in much the same way that I do as I recount the tale over and over again to anyone who will listen.
Seriously, though, it made me realize that the interesting nature of my circumstance would continue to draw me into contact with people and good manners would dictate that I needed to have a better answer to their questions than a non-interested brush off. I had actually considered a few reasons to buy a fire truck during the bidding and seeking wife's permission phases of the process. Oklahoma has been experiencing dryer than normal conditions over the past several years. Various parts of the state have been rated anywhere from a little dry to extreme drought conditions since 2010. Less than sixty miles from my home, hundreds of homes, including the major portion of a small town were destroyed by wild fires last summer, partially because the rural fire companies did not have adequate manpower or equipment to overcome these wind driven infernos. Even though I live in the city limits of a town with a well equipped and well manned fire department, I do live on the recently annexed, expanded city limit so there is a half mile of vacant land between my property and the developed part of the city proper. Vacant land in this part of Oklahoma implies heavily vegetated grasslands interspersed with natures fire bombs, red cedar trees, and scrub brush, the natural beginning of development for native Oak-Hickory forests. So even small, untilled areas become extremely volatile, especially in dry weather. The major use of this property at present is for trail riding, unsupervised teen beer parties and as an outdoor adventure area for groups of young boys whiling away the hours of a hot summer day. I used to belong to one of those groups of young boys and recall that one of the most exciting things to do while whiling away hot summer hours was to see how big a fire we could build and still be able to put it out. So it is not totally inconceivable to me that the vacant area between the city and my property could become a raging inferno at anytime for any number of reasons, Karma being one of the foremost. It is also not inconceivable that, given the choice of protecting my property or a whole subdivision of houses, the fire chief might choose the latter, hence the need for my own fire truck did in fact exist.
As I mentioned earlier, wild fires from the previous fire season had prevailed in the area and much of the equipment used in battling them had been seriously depleted in the effort. It stood to reason that it should not be difficult to resell my truck at a good profit. The reasons were really starting to pile up. In a dry period sometimes watering bans go into effect. I had the perfect mobile irrigation system. I can make it rain on someone's yard or garden even if Mother Nature, herself, is unwilling or unable to do so. No disrespect intended, Mother. And last but not least, the local fest. Every community has at least one summer fest on its town-promoting agenda. These usually include parades, street dances, food booths and perhaps a wiener dog race or some other shameless spectacle, but heretofore, no fire truck rides. The key to success, find a need and fill it.
But the actual use for my fire truck, so far, has been none of those things. It turns out that the Lord really does work in mysterious ways.
The Owalla Road Baptist Church sponsors a vacation bible school and either by design, my wife is on the VBS committee, or by divine intervention, I'm still not sure but I'm going with the latter, the VBS theme involved fire. Specifically kindling one's heart for God, but anyone who has ever tried to inspire children knows that abstract concepts must be closely related to real experiences. The fire truck was pressed into service. Applying adult logic, though, fire trucks being what they are, devices to control fire, I saw myself as the antithesis to kindling. The devil showing up every morning with extinguishing equipment to make sure hearts kindled for God did not actually get out of control. It seems to me that this metaphor is not entirely lost on many adult members, myself included, of many churches with no harsh judgement intended toward the Owalla Road Church or any church. I think many of us show up occasionally, or even more often, with our fire retarding equipment well in place, but there is an old saying that says something about the futility of admonishing people over politics or religion, so I choose to respect that since there is hardly ever any humor in it. Just sayin'.
The children loved it. They regarded me as the exciting old man (can you say "oxymoron") who showed up in a fire truck every morning, moments before the van transporting them pulled in, to flash emergency lights and blow sirens while they were unloading in the parking lot. Clapping their hands tightly over their ears, squealing with excitement or (as it occurred to me the last day when I left the siren blaring and actually stepped in front of the truck) pain, they would run for the church door anticipating another day of fire kindling fun. A real fire man showed up one day to explain some of the clothing and equipment used to actually enter a burning structure, but I couldn't help notice that he didn't have a fire truck. The kids didn't, though. They were well impressed and learned some fire survival techniques. I was left alone with my petty jealousy.
Mid-week was when the rubber hit the road, or more accurately the water hit the kids. I fired up the pumps and made it rain. Not just rain, but rain sideways to some extent. The younger groups had fun playing in the falling spray, but as the age groups reached upper elementary levels the inevitable gauntlets were hurled, "Betcha can't knock me down with that thing". Increasing the pressure to water-cannon levels I was able to demonstrate not only fire fighting capabilities but riot control effectiveness as well. It wasn't hard to get them to admit it was fun being pinned to the ground by hundreds of pounds of pummeling water spray, so all in all, I think everyone had a good time. I know I did.
The culmination of VBS on Sunday evening was a celebration. The parents proudly watching the performances of their children, the director receiving accolades for another great season, the teachers and staff volunteers quietly thanking God that it was finally over. But the crowning event was a fire truck ride for all the kids. Twenty-five children precariously perched on top of a careening fire truck hurtling down the highway with lights flashing and sirens blaring. That would have been really exciting. But the way we did it, minus the precariousness, not really careening or hurtling but with lights and sirens all the same, was exciting enough for little hearts that had been kindled for God. But for an attention seeking, exciting old man, priceless.
This is probably the last fire truck installment for a while at least. There may be one more in the future perhaps written by my protege, if I had a protege, who will continue my legacy with another fire truck story. It probably won't be as good as these last few have been but the title I'm suggesting is "Burying The Old Man In His Fire Truck". As for the first step, dig a pretty big hole.
1 comment:
Where is a picture of your truck?
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