Where There's Smoke...

Have you ever been on an adventure that just didn’t go as planned? Your picnic was rained out? Traffic prevented you from getting to the theme park when it opened, so you had fewer hours to enjoy your sizable investment? You were on a hike and the baby’s diaper blew out?

There’s something Southerners say when they make plans, “Lawd willin’ an the crick don’t rise!” 

What they mean is, we’ll do it as long as nothing unforeseen arises.   Like those Southerners, I’m a planner.

The pastor said the other day, “Some of you probably make lists that include when you will read your Bible and when you work out.”

My 14-year-old looked straight at me. “MOM!” his eyes said emphatically even though his lips never moved.

Plans help me. I like to be on task. I don’t want to waste time or money. I need the reminder to go get gas or pick up a graduation card. (Writing that one down now). But what happens when you make plans for an adventure?

My parents came to visit this past spring. We’d been in Kansas for eight months before their arrival. I don’t like to just stare at my guests and I don’t expect them to entertain me the whole time either. I like a plan.

Pancakes and Prairies

Kansas. What comes to mind when I say Kansas?  Pancakes? As in, Kansas is flatter than most of them?   Me too… prior to moving here.

The scenery around us is really quite lovely. We live in the Flint Hills, an area that has some of the only remaining wild prairie grassland in the United States.

There are also hiking trails all over our town and the surrounding area. Since the Flint Hills does not have extreme terrain, I thought we could take my parents on a hike. They are 15 years out of retirement, but they’re still pretty active. However, they were not very interested in walking among the grasses.

My Dad said, “I think I’d get bored.”

It’s true.  There would only be grass to look at on the prairie. That doesn’t sound like fun to a man who likes mountains and lakes and big trees.   So, I needed to think of at least one other option.

I thought a good alternative to a medium-sized hike might be a very short drive to an overlook near the house. I knew that view of the town from the top would be stunning, thus providing my Dad more to look at than grass.

The overlook sits atop of a small grassland reservation maintained by the university in our town. We would be able to take advantage of a short trail from the parking area to the overlook, see the view, appreciate the grass and head back home. No one would have time to get bored.

Everyone was agreeable. No big hills. No big commitment. We get a walk and a view. Or so we thought.

The Ecology of Fire

Here is where our (small) adventure that was to be an opportunity to breath fresh air and see the view turned into a (bigger) adventure that included less fresh air, less view, and the local university’s ecology project.

My parents and I arrived at the trail parking area closest to the overlook. Earlier the boys had decided to run up the trails from our house. They would meet us at the top.

So Mom, Dad and I parked and read the information board about the Flint Hills, the local university’s preserved land, and how its name-sake got interested in conservation.

We started along the path to the overlook and noticed that there were a couple men in the grass below. They were lighting a controlled burn of the prairie grass. It was March, so I knew this was the season for such things. It didn’t worry me.

We continued to the overlook and passed a woman about age 60 walking her dog.

“They’re burning down there. We’re leaving just in time,” she stated matter-of-factly as she passed us.

We observed the fire as it continued up the hill. It was indeed closer, but it still didn’t worry me. It was a controlled burn, after all.

We were at the overlook. “Oh, this is really nice,” Mom said.

“Yeah,” said Dad.

We had plenty of time to look because this is where we were supposed to meet the boys when they arrived from their runs.

As we looked, we noticed the smoke had started to waft more toward us.

Boy #2 saw us from behind. He approached from around the far side of the burn.

“It’s smokey,” he said, trying to catch his breath.

“Wow! Did you run up from the bottom that fast?” asked his grandma.

“Yes!” he said still panting and out of breath.

“Did you run around the fire?” I asked.

Pointing to the trail, he showed how he came up to the overlook by way of the trail on the far side of the fire. He ran through the smoke.

“I’m glad you beat the fire up here!” I said, thinking I was making a joke.

Kinda.

We continued to observe the fire as we awaited Boy #1. He started his run from home, so he would take a few more minutes to arrive.

Then controlled burn started to work its way up the hill toward us.

The men conducting the burn moved their truck up the hill. Were they now just watching? Would they keep burning the grass?

You Know It’s On Fire, Right?

Boy #1 finally arrived. He came straight up the face of the hill. My parents “oooed and ahhed” over his impressive stride and speed.

He looked past us and said, “You know the grass is on fire, right?”

He thought in our distraction we might have been oblivious to the hot show around us.

“Yes. We know. It’s a controlled burn. The university does those in the spring. It prevents wild fires,” I said.

We all took pictures and enjoyed the smokey view of town.  Then we started back toward the car.

“OH!” I exclaimed in surprise.

The grass at the top of the hill, the area we needed to pass to get to the car, was now on fire.  This reminded me a of a scene from Little House on the Prairie.

While I read the Little House in the Big Woods as a child, I reread most of the series to my boys about 10 years ago. The prairie came alive to me because of those books. There was drama, adventure and history.

But it was the prairie fire scene that popped into my mind now.  Ma and Pa had to race to keep their home and family safe. There were no firemen to call on or neighbors to help douse the flames. Instead, they quickly dug a trench and filled it with water to keep the flames at bay.

Living on the prairie in those days was full of adventure, often adventure that was out to kill its inhabitants!

Thankful I didn’t need to dig a trench to save my house. I came back to reality with a thud. We were all staring at the fire, slack-jawed in amazement.

Controlled burn?

But we needn’t have worried.  The men worked quickly. They seemed to be very aware that they were near the path and the parking lot.

We started slowly toward the car. Watching.

“I think we need to get going,” said one of the boys.

OK, he had a point.  This probably was not the safest place to hang out.  We carefully made it to the car. Then down the hill we went.

As it turned out, my nice little sightseeing event had even more adventure than I planned on providing.  The best part? My Dad definitely wasn’t bored looking at prairie grass.

After the Fire:

If You Go:

• Remember your adventurous spirit. I don’t recommend leaving the house without it. Be willing to learn from the new location, even the people you pass walking their dogs! Be ready for the unexpected! And of course, share your story.