A sunny October afternoon on highway 20. Fall colors along Minnechaduza Creek are just coming out. I’m glad for the outing, and a visit with family and friends at a baby shower for a, soon to be, newest great grandbaby. Storm clouds build as I head west and I’m in and out of showers after leaving Gordon. Watching lightning and praying for no fires to start. Arriving home to the news of a big forest fire at Halsey that has jumped the river and highway, and knowing my family will be involved in efforts to contain it on grassland. And the news that the brother of one of my daughters in law died at the fire scene.
A cold, cloudy October day later in the week. Colors along the Middle Loup Valley brighten the day, if not our hearts. Highway 2 can be a pretty drive this time of year, but as we approach Halsey, burned ground at the highway’s edge reminds us why we are here. As we approach Dunning, a sign warns of emergency traffic ahead. Flashing red and blue lights on vehicles at the edge of the highway slow the through traffic, a boom truck displays a large flag, and there’s no parking within blocks of the school auditorium. There are law enforcement people and fire and rescue vehicles everywhere, and a line of people out the door and down the street. An eighteen-wheeler feed truck is parked next to the school. Mike owned the feed store at Purdum, and he likely saw this same truck weekly. Most of his life, he had been involved with the volunteer fire department, much of it serving as chief.
We find seats on the bleachers, which are almost full, although we are nearly an hour ahead of service time. An honor guard stands at the front, beside the table where the urn is placed; after the family is seated, the echo of approaching footsteps precedes the parade of law enforcement and fire and rescue volunteers from every surrounding community, and the Rocky Mountain unit that has been on scene all week. A hundred or more, I’d guess. Single file, they approach the urn and salute, before filling chairs reserved for them; the rest lining the walls during the service. A uniformed officer explains the meaning of this ceremony and says that the flag displayed at the front goes all over the nation to honor folks who volunteer to run toward danger instead of away from it. A youth plays Amazing Grace on the bagpipes and as he marches out of the auditorium, notes fading away, there are a lot of tough old Sandhillers wiping an eye.
It’s not every day that one gets to be the company of so many heroes. Too often we think of them as ordinary men and women. Neighbors, local businessmen, school teachers, nurses, grocery clerks, gas station attendants, truck drivers… They carry the pager, answer the call, and shed their tears in private for the memories that will never leave them. Not ordinary. Not by a long shot.