The dusty smell of monsoon rain in the air this past week reminded me that we have reached another anniversary of the Yarnell Hill Fire and the tragic deaths of the 19 Granite Mountain Interagency Hotshots.
Eleven years ago, we were still pretty new to Prescott. I had seen a few guys wearing Hotshots T-shirts as they worked out on the treadmills at the YMCA and figured it was related to firefighting, but that’s all I knew. I was about to get a much deeper education.
It was the first time I realized the deep roots of this town, after the terrible news of their deaths spread and memorials grew along the fence outside Station 7. The community’s collective grief filled every minute of the days that followed. I have never heard so many people stand in silence as I did the day the endless white hearses passed through downtown Prescott and Whiskey Row as the firefighters took their final ride home.
Every year, when the white “19” suddenly appeared below the “P” on Badger Mountain, I would think about the firefighters’ families and wonder how they were holding up. Most of us, when we lose a person we love, it isn’t in such a public way, with annual commemorations of the loss, movies made, museums opened, murals painted, state parks created, memorials installed.
I hope there’s comfort in knowing someone you love lives on, not just in your heart but in the hearts of a whole town of people who were devastated alongside you, even if they had never met your son, husband or dad. Eleven years later, I still see Granite Mountain Hotshots window stickers on cars around town, another reminder that they are not forgotten.
On warm summer evenings, Mike and I like to sit on our porch and listen to the wind blow through the trees around us. The bats swoop overhead eating bugs, and hummingbirds come in for a final drink at the feeders before dark. We can see Prescott National Forest looming up the mountain behind our house. This year, a few rows of dead pine trees stand out along the ridge from their dark green neighbors. I’ll admit seeing them puts a small knot in my stomach, knowing how quickly they would burn if a spark or lightning strike caused them to ignite.
Some nights we’ll smell smoke in the air, do a quick search for fires in the area and discover there’s a controlled burn nearby. It’s comforting to know fire crews are working hard to make this beautiful place we call home as safe as possible. I’m thankful there are people like the Granite Mountain Interagency Hotshots, brave men and women who are willing to step up and risk their lives each day to fight fires wherever they are needed.
I pray that they all come back safe to their families and friends. And as the years pass by, I hope we as a community will always take the time to remember the names and the stories of the 19 who never made it home.