Out here in the country, we get local news by using our senses. When locusts begin to sing, we say, “six weeks to frost,” and it’s more or less accurate. Crickets chirping after sundown warn that summer is on the wane.
Our neighbor said last week that he hopes for an open winter, since the hay crop is short but, on the other hand, he notes sunflowers are pretty tall. If the snow really gets as deep as the sunflowers are tall, we will at least make up for the lack of summer moisture.
We were in Kearney last weekend and, along the way, noticed yellow leaves and red sumac. We don’t have color here yet, probably because it’s so dry that leaves are just turning brown and falling early.
Country folks know you can smell snow coming or grass starting to green in spring.
What we smell lately is the freshness of water from sprinklers, and smoke. Prairie fire grass smoke smells different than forest fire smoke, but neither is a good message. We have been lucky in these parts so far, but I wonder how we’d know if there was a prairie fire. You’d not see the plume of smoke right away, because of the thick haze we’re living under. We watch constantly, all the same. Most of us still have a land line to warn one another of imminent threat, because cell service is sketchy this far out. Good thing too, because on days when the smoke is thick, my cell phone doesn’t work at all.
The West has been on fire for months, and I pray for the firefighters, people whose homes and livelihoods are under threat, and for the wildlife. Montana has about burned up, and the part where my family lives is battening down and battling. The ranch where my granddaughter and family work has taken in some horses from a neighbor whose property is closer to the blaze. Power poles are burned out, predictions for repairs are uncertain, and they sometimes need to use a generator to pump water for the stock. Neighboring communities are being evacuated and roads are closed. Everyone is poised to flee at a moment’s notice.
Last week, I looked out the window to see a hawk huddled under the sprinkler in our yard. He didn’t leave when I stepped out, just stood there soaking up the cool. A day later, on my way to town, a golden eagle sat on the shoulder of the county road looking lost and dejected. He didn’t fly until I was right alongside. These birds are sight hunters, and we wonder if the smoke has them so discombulated they are having trouble finding dinner. If that is true here, the ones close to real danger are probably dead by now, along with deer, bears, small animals and birds. People have a better chance of escaping than the furry and feathered ones.
Don’t complain about the smoke on days when it’s heavy, even if you are having trouble breathing. Save your breath to pray for rain, and for the two and four leggeds that are literally in the thick of it.