Memories of a Fire Lookout

Daily Haiku

the smell of hot grass

hoppers shelter beneath rocks

all waiting for rain

We hit the century mark today. Only about the second time this summer. It seems only yesterday we had summers that were hot, dry and 110' each day for 6-8 weeks. Thank God for this pleasant summer that has been relatively cool and wet. Even so, up on the hill here, with no shade trees the sun pelts down on the house and I have to draw the blinds after 11.00 am, and use the a/c units in the afternoon.

Tomorrow we have a cold front coming in that will probably set off some crackerjack thunderstorms, and I get nervous after the bad one we had earlier this summer. Birney stayed green for most of this month, but mounting temps in the last week are rapidly drying the grass and turning everything to it's fall shade of tan.

When I was widowed the first time, I spent the end of the summer manning the fire tower at Poker Jim Butte, on Custer National Forest 10 miles from Birney. It was a wonderful experience. Here is an essay I wrote about the memory of that time:

Morning on Poker Jim Butte

It was 1973. I was newly widowed, and the summer was long and hot. In August I found temporary work as the Lookout on a fire tower in southeastern Montana, Poker Jim Butte.

I always enjoyed solitude and since my husband died, was getting used that state again.

The mornings were fairly uneventful, the cool air suppressing most smoldering wood, until the hotter afternoon came along with it’s thunderstorms and lightning strikes that ignited old dead wood and grass, and fanning yesterday’s embers. The evenings were pretty exciting. Storms rolling in from the Big Horns meant that I had to stand on an insulated stool and mark the lightning strikes on the map, ready to watch those places next day for “smokes” to call in to HQ.

It took me a long time to learn how to judge distances. I made the usual mistake calling in to HQ the smoke from a local sawmill; I am sure they got a chuckle about “the greenhorn up on Poker Jim”. Then a local rancher stopped by and showed me some key points along with their distances and I was up and running, able to give coordinates of a “smoke” and estimate the distance from the tower with the best of them.

In the mornings I did chores. Kept the little room clean, cooked food for later in the day, and went to the local spring for drinking water. My dogs loved the place; they chased rabbits in the morning and lay in the shade of the tower in the afternoon. But the best time was early morning. Up with the sun, I made coffee and took it out to one of the picnic tables on the end of the Butte. I could see all the way to the Big Horns most days and the view of the surrounding countryside was fantastic. It was so cool and quiet. Nothing but the swish of a light breeze through the pines and the gentle lowing of a cow here and there. I felt so in touch with the Creator, did a lot of praying for myself and others. I felt my husband’s presence in many ways but mostly a warm sense of happiness as though he was still there in this place we had often walked in together. It was a healing time.

Halfway through September the thunderstorms gave way to rain for several days, and the work came to an end as the fire danger subsided for the fall. I packed my belongings and left for home. But I will always remember the peace and healing that came from that month working on the Fire Tower, the feeling is always close to me, all I have to do is close my eyes.