Our twenty-something year old ranch house is perched on a wooded hillside overlooking a creek valley neighborhood like in middle many in middle Tennessee. I am the lord of just a tad over two acres of Williamson county and I love this little piece of land.

Eighteen months ago we did a major yard renovation. Years of storm silt, leaves and grass clippings had effectively eliminated any of the modest run off that once was behind our house so that rain water ran down the hill, up against our house then directly into the crawl space under our house. A french drain intended to catch the water had long since filled up with cedar roots and dirt and the threat of mold and mildew in our crawl space forced me into action. I will one day write story of my epic battle with that project but that is for another time.

The trouble occurred one afternoon when I was at the office and one of the zealous dozer operators pushed some HUGE trees over the edge of the shelf onto the rocky hillside below. I had intended to leave them on the shelf and burn them but the dozer operator decided otherwise and there was no recourse. The outcome was a twisted, craggy mess of tree trunks and limbs that would decompose on their own over the next 10 years but would look nasty and be a danger to any kiddos that dare venture there.

So on a cool January day, armed with a chainsaw and a duraflame fire starter. I mounted my assault.  Burning on a hillside is a stupid thing to do in the first place; trying to burn the amount and size of lumber I was attacking was downright idiotic. That has never stopped me before.

I cut and piled and engineered the bonfire the best I could under the circumstances. In the center of the mess were 2 huge oak logs that came from a rotten giant we had to fell because was endangering our house. The bottom and largest log was about 20 feet long and nearly 3 feet in diameter. it’s top log was about 15 feet long and had landed somewhat precariously on top of it.  I situated the fire uphill of the oaks and hoped they would contain the inferno without too many coals washing down hill.

I underestimated the speed and ferocity of the fire. It quickly consumed the smaller limbs I had cut and piled on the uphill side and the coals slid under the big log and the fire soon engulfed all the wood on the hillside. I had visions of the wind blowing the flames up the hill and across the winter dry grass to our house. I ran to the house to get the water hose to try to control the fire and the spread of the coals.  The immediate danger was the fire spreading down the hill and into the woods below. I managed to gather enough hose to reach the fire but I could not get enough water over the fire to make a difference on the downhill side. I was trying to battle an inferno with the rough equivalent of a squirt gun. my choice was clear now; call the fire department or string the hose through the woods to the downhill side of the fire and try to fight it there.  I did what any pride soaked over zealous weekend warrior would do, I decided to fight.

Threading the hose through the dense undergrowth of the wooded hillside to the underside of the fire felt like it took an eternity. The flames were raging and it was only minutes before the woods would catch and the game would be over.  My heart was in my throat and my face burned from a combination of its’ exposure to the heat of the flames and flush desperation. I was amazed as I turned the hose on the base of the flames that it actually began to control the spread.  I was able to gain some ground.

So there I was, just me and my TrueValue vinyl reinforced 5/8” garden hose standing downhill from an inferno trying to save my paradise from destruction.  The “stupid meter” was spinning out of control.  I had quenched the coals along the first half of the big log and I needed to free some more hose up if I was going to be able to reach the second half, so I clamored back toward the woods where I could find where the hose was stuck. I found the knot and as I turned around to make my way back toward the fire a thorn from a very thick vine grabbed my ear and dug in. I am not sure what choice expletives I managed in that moment but it hurt and I was not in a particularly guarded mood at that point. 

I turned back around to free myself and at that moment it was if there was a huge earthquake behind me, I instinctively jumped forward away from the fire and fell to the ground. A wave of heat surrounded me and ashes were flying everywhere. As soon as I could manage, I looked back toward the fire and saw that the top oak log had dislodged and tumbled down the hill and had landed in the place I was standing only seconds before.

Then I felt something dripping down my neck. I first mistook it as sweat but then I realized that my ear was bleeding determinedly. My mortality was echoing through me entering like a siren through my blood soaked ear and amplified by the hot fire that waved in front of me wondering how it had missed it’s sure victim.

I have never been thankful for thorns. They have poked through my leather gloves, punctured the soles of my shoes, torn my clothes and my flesh countless times but I will surely never look at them the same again.

Briar patch

Darken judgment of the sovereign One

but enter His forest

and fiercely challenge and search the briars —

for love will wind through the densest, thickest

blood-stained clash

and prove itself sharper than pain of this temporary.

—John Farkas 2008