|Um..it sure looks like me. Hmm.|
Like Brett Favre, I announce periodically that I am quitting. I will never fight fire again, I say. It's not the same, it's changed, all of the reasons are stirred and trotted out each winter. I even wrote an article that was syndicated around the country. You can read it here.
I really thought I meant it at the time, but you know how addictions are. They pop up when you think you've kicked it and there you are, back on the fireline again.
In the years since, I've gotten older and the boys have gotten younger. I trotted at a frenetic pace trying to keep them in sight. When you burn strips like these, you spread out parallel in deep woods, laying down lines of fire that you hope will gather strength from each other and burn together. You want to be able to keep the pace.
My pack was too heavy, heavier than my backpacks are now. My boots were all wrong, the old style logger kind, and they skittered uselessly on the steep, rocky soil. I bashed through trees and rocks and cliffs. For a moment, I wondered if this was that day. You know, the day when you can't keep up, when it all catches up with you and you realize you are never going to be young again.
Any work type or athletic type thing you said you would give up, but just couldn't?