Fire in the Hills

Fire In the Hills

August 23, 2017

Swinging through the high hills east of Yakima, Washington, on Route 24. Land covered by yellowed dry grass and the infrequent scrubby bushes, the area shuts down until fall rains come. Winter snow melt and spring rains cause the hills to green and explode into blooming color. Then the summer sun sucks out all moisture on those same hills; they wait, parched and silent, for the rains to return.

In low areas and crevasses streams run, chattering over rocks, splashing around bends. Where water is abundant, vegetation grows tall and colorful, waving in the breeze. Varying shades of green: small trees, rushes topped with brown heads, all manner of grasses and weeds.

Further east, the hills are black and bare. Fire has swept this area, one of many. Fire maps show dozens of active fires at present, ranging from 450 acres in size to upwards of 50,000 acres. A smoky blue-gray haze hangs over the mountains for hundreds of miles, obscuring the scenic view and crinkling the insides of noses.

The black, burned out acres are interspersed with small, untouched sections of yellow grass. Many places, the flames have come right up to the road, on both sides. At four way intersections, it appears they have come up to the corners where roads meet, and burned out, for lack of fuel. The hundreds of miles of fencing along both sides of the road – now I understand why it is comprised of metal poles with barbed wire. The fencing here remains unscathed.

I think about the contrast between the areas where moisture is consistently plentiful, and where it is not. A landscape filled with golden brown, dried grasses is pretty, when contrasted with the green grass below. Yet, it hasn’t much to offer, alone. Its life has retreated to the underground roots, out of sight. Areas of moisture have color, gentle sound, coolness, restfulness. They draw one toward themselves.

The hills and the lowlands have the same potential. Consistent moisture is the key.

When the gentle, soaking rains come, the hills and the valleys respond together to create astounding beauty, and a haven for creatures that live here. But when the rains stop, there is no provision to continue nourishing the hills. Dry, empty stalks are left to rustle in the wind. When the fire comes, it rushes unchecked, feeding on dried grasses. Flames stop their destruction only when coming to an end of their fuel, or meeting a well watered valley.

Our lives mirror the hills and valleys. I am wondering, do I take advantage of the Creator’s provision to keep my soul well watered and fruitful, a defense against the flames of adversity? Or do I stand complacently when the rains stop, making no effort to tap into the water of life for myself, thus withering and dying, serving only to feed the flames that will come? Am I a well watered valley, attractive and restful, a refuge? Or do I simply exist, until consumed by fire, leaving useless black earth in my place?