When you are a parent one of the toughest things to try to
explain to a child is why they have to have certain rules and
responsibilities. Why you have to give
them boundaries. It is in our human
nature, left unopposed, to push as far past the established rules as we
can. Testing our limits, our own and
those imposed upon us. And when left to
our own devices we oft times learn lessons the hard way, or in some cases learn
lessons while narrowly escaping by the ‘skin of our teeth’.
Now the following account is true. The only thing that is not accurate is the
date. Time is so fleeting and when I was
recounting this I had a difficult time pinpointing the exact day, month, and
year. However, I am sure there is
someone still alive that will remember something about this particular event.
It was a cool, dry, windy fall day, a Saturday as I
remember. Doug and I were making a day
of it on the open desert. Now this was
not unusual for me to be off in the desert by myself on any given day in the
year, as long as school was not in session, but for an 8 year old it was still
pretty amazing. Doug on the other hand
was at least 2 years my junior and possible 3.
My memory was that he was 5 years old, but definitely not over 6.
Looking over the terrain of our family dwelling on Abington
road our 5 acre parcel was backed up to a deep wash (or dry river bed) that
served as a culvert for the summer monsoons.
During the rainy seasons it often filled with rushing water and caused
havoc in the low lying areas for residents wanting to get home after a long day
of work. But for my young neighbor,
Doug, and myself it served as the path to adventure. For you see the wash wandered through the
desert, behind houses, under Silverbell road, and out to the mighty Santa Cruz
River.
The Santa Cruz was a respite from the heat and ran slow and
shallow at our end of the city. In fact
it is the only place it ran at all. East
of the city it was as dry as a bone. But
a short half mile from our house it was a place that kids went to play. Older kids generally. There was even a high point in the sand where
you could jump off safely into the water from a protruding mesquite tree.
So on this one particular Saturday, I asked Doug if he
wanted to head on down to the river where we could explore, swim, and even cook
hotdogs by the river. This was going to
be epic! Two kids, that honestly should
not have been left unattended, heading out into the desert for some fun! Carrying a pack of hotdogs, a pack of buns,
and a bottle of soda we headed out.
During the trek we would look for interesting items, things
that had been rushed down the mountain is a desert rain storm. We found fossils, saw rattlesnakes, handled
horned toads, and saw the occasional tarantula.
When we arrived at the river we set up camp. This consisted of clearing out some brush in
the middle of 2 dunes created by flash floods and digging down enough to be
protected by the breezes that often came up on a fall afternoon. After getting the area prepared we left our foods
and headed for the area that rose above the river. Over the years people had brought chairs, a
table, and old wire spool left by the power company and even a grocery
cart. Today it would look similar to a
Hollywood depiction of what a homeless camp looked like, but back in 1968 I did
not even know of the term homeless person.
In all of the times we had wandered there over the years we never saw
anything that would make us nervous or scared to be there alone. But then again, we were 8 and 6 years old. Almost independent!
So Doug and I spent a little time having fun at the “fort”
area and even waded a bit in the water.
But not for long. The walk
through the desert and the playing in the water soon meant that our bodies were
needing nourishment. Time for food!
We walked back over to where we had left our provisions and
I dug a deep hole with plenty of sand up the sides so that we could start a
small fire in a pit. Doug went and
gathered a few dried mesquite sticks which would make the perfect firewood for
hotdogs. A lovely mesquite flavor which
of course is the preferred wood of any grilled meat in the southwest. We also found a couple of long sticks that we
could use to cook our hotdogs. And since
I forgot to mention it earlier, I also grabbed pickled relish and mustard from
the cabinet at home. Who am I kidding,
even at 8 I knew the important condiments for a successful hotdog roast.
Doug and I wolfed down a couple of dogs each. And were
satiated. But being an unpredictable
fall day in Arizona the wind began to pick up a little and it actually got
chilly. We hunkered down beneath the
dunes to protect ourselves from the wind, but it was obvious that we were going
to need to stoke the fire, or head back to the house.
I decided to stoke the fire.
I say it was me, not because it was or wasn’t, but because I don’t see
Doug at 5, or no more than 6, deciding that on his own. The fire started burning nicely and providing
some good heat, at least if you sat really close to it, but as the coals began to
get really hot the ash started to twirl in the pit. And the fire, causing its own breeze began to
lift the embers into the air.
Surrounding the sand dunes on the banks of the river were
tall, dry grasses. Some even taller than
the 5, and not more than 6, year old as well as the 8 year old.
I remember specifically the culprit. Still to this day I can see it in my
mind. A tiny, glowing ember rising out
of the fire and floating across the air and over the dune. And even at 8 years old I knew that this was
nothing but bad!
Instantly the brush on the other side of the sand caught
fire. At first Doug and I tried to throw
sand on it and hit it with our jackets, but it spread quickly and was soon out
of control. Doug and I looked at each
other and decided that it was time to run.
Partly because of the danger of the fire surrounding us and partly
because we did not want to be there when the authorities got there.
My memory is not completely clear here, but I believed we
grabbed the remainder of our things and leftovers and headed back toward the
house through the wash. Luckily the wind
was blowing westerly and took the fire down the river. It was also lucky that there were no homes or
property that could be damaged.
As we got to the bridge on Silverbell Road that passed over
the wash we climbed to the top and made it to the road. We looked out over the trees and could see
the smoke and even the occasional flame as the fire spread down the river. In the distance we could hear the sounds of
sirens and got to a high point along the road and watched as firetruck after
firetruck pulled up on the scene. In a
short period of time there were 5 trucks and still the sirens of more coming
down the road. The problem was that they
were on the other side of the river.
They would have to attempt to put it out from across the way.
Doug and I knew that the situation was out of our control
and did not want to be anywhere near the area.
So even though we wanted to watch to see what happened we quickly went
back to the house.
Now I don’t know if we ever discussed not telling anyone, or
made a pact to keep it secret, we never talked about it. And we never had hotdogs at the river
again. Of course we did go back a few
days later to see exactly what damaged was caused, and luckily, with the
exception of some scorched grass, there was no apparent damage. Our only hope that no wildlife was injured.
We didn’t know enough to check the news or to read the paper
to see if it was covered, but we knew it happened, and that was enough for
us.
Needless to say, that was my last attempt to mess with fire
in an uncontrolled environment. Well,
there was this ONE time…
Oh, and for those of you who are not familiar with the Santa
Cruz river around the area of Silverbell and Ina road, just east of the river
is the water treatment plant. Come to
find out the reason the river only ran at this end of the city? Runoff!
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