With forest fires destroying large parts of California and other parts of the western United States, today's story reminds us summer's heat is the least of what could be happening. Back in 2010 I had a house flood. Nothing on the scale of what's going on in Baton Rouge currently, nor Hurricane Sandy, which hit in 2012, but I encourage people to check out my earlier
disaster segments here since, from time to time, disasters change our lives. Whether total loss or adjusting to the chaos of any major crisis, I tried to find as many ways for working through it all from others who had the same or worse events. Right now I'm reading
Wayne Muller's
A Life of Being, Having, and Doing Enough. In some cases I wish I could sit with Muller and disagree or question some of what he says, but on pages 136 and 137 is "What Grows After a Fire" and he talks about visiting an area only three weeks after a major fire destroyed dozens of homes. Already, in the midst of the blackened refuse was a sea of green from 6 to 10" oak seedlings blanketing the forest floor without human interference. His conclusion is that life is like this and "When we learn this, when we finally realize who we are, what we know, and of what we are truly capable, any fear of never having enough of anything gradually and inevitably falls away."
After today's story I will mention some Michigan forest fires mainly pre-dating the
U.S. Forest Service. I initially thought today's story was about an incident experienced by the great ornithologist, John James Audubon. I found "A Forest on Fire" in
Story Hour Readings, Fifth Year, which was part of a series for 1921 readers by educator, Ernest Clark Hartwell, for the American Book Company. Hartwell gives some sources on his Acknowledgements page, but gave only a by-line attributing it to Audubon.
Of course that sent me hunting. Audubon's
Wikipedia article gave me a clue it might have happened while he lived in Kentucky. Prowling Project Gutenberg, I found the story in
Audubon and His Journals, volume 2 by Maria R. Audubon. (This is the continuation of the Missouri River journals by
John James Audubon in volume 1.) The problem is Hartwell's reader simplifies the story and also doesn't explain this is a story told to Audubon by an unnamed hunter in Maine talking about an incident with his equally anonymous wife and daughter. It's still a worthwhile story and, to identify where the actual story started in the reader, I'll
give the introductory phrase in red.
I can't even identify the illustrator for the story's header as the title page explains. By the way, as of this writing there are other years of the Story Hour Readings online, but not yet the Fifth Year. The reader's version is easier to tell. If you would like me to scan it and send you a copy, email me with Forest Fire Story Request in the Subject line.
or as the journal calls it
THE BURNING OF THE FORESTS.
With what pleasure have I seated myself by the blazing fire of some lonely
cabin, when, faint with fatigue, and chilled with the piercing blast, I had
forced my way to it through the drifted snows that covered the face of the
country as with a mantle. The affectionate mother is hushing her dear babe to
repose, while a group of sturdy children surround their father, who has just
returned from the chase, and deposited on the rough flooring of his hut the
varied game which he has procured. The great back-log, that with some
difficulty has been rolled into the ample chimney, urged, as it were, by
lighted pieces of pine, sends forth a blaze of light over the happy family. The
dogs of the hunter are already licking away the trickling waters of the thawing
icicles that sparkle over their shaggy coats, and the comfort-loving cat is
busied in passing her furry paws over each ear, or with her rough tongue
smoothing her glossy coat.
How delightful to me has it been when, kindly received and hospitably
treated under such a roof, by persons whose means were as scanty as their
generosity was great, I have entered into conversation with them respecting
subjects of interest to me, and received gratifying information. When the
humble but plentiful repast was ended, the mother would take from the shelf the
Book of books, and mildly request the attention of her family, while the father
read aloud a chapter. Then to Heaven would ascend their humble prayers, and a
good-night would be bidden to all friends far and near. How comfortably have I
laid my wearied frame on the Buffalo hide, and covered me with the furry skin
of some huge Bear! How pleasing have been my dreams of home and happiness, as I
there lay, secure from danger and sheltered from the inclemency of the weather.
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I recollect that once while in the State of Maine, I passed such a night as
I have described. Next morning the face of nature was obscured by the heavy
rains that fell in torrents, and my generous host begged me to remain, in such
pressing terms that I was well content to accept his offer. Breakfast over, the
business of the day commenced; the spinning-wheels went round, and the boys
employed themselves, one in searching for knowledge, another in attempting to
solve some ticklish arithmetical problem. In a corner lay the dogs, dreaming of
plunder, while close to the ashes stood grimalkin, seriously purring in concert
with the wheels. The hunter and I seated ourselves each on a stool, while the
matron looked after her domestic arrangements.
"Puss," quoth the dame, "get away; you told me last night of
this day's rain, and I fear you may now give us worse news with tricky
paws." Puss accordingly went off, leaped on a bed, and rolling herself in
a ball, composed herself for a comfortable nap. I asked the husband what his
wife meant by what she had just said. "The good woman," said he,
"has some curious notions at times, and she believes, I think, in the ways
of animals of all kinds. Now, her talk to the cat refers to the fires of the
woods around us, and although they have happened long ago, she fears them quite
as much as ever, and, indeed, she and I and all of us have good reason to dread
them, as they have brought us many calamities." Having read of the great
fires to which my host alluded, and frequently observed with sorrow the
mournful state of the forests, I felt anxious to know something of the causes
by which these direful effects had been produced. I therefore requested him to
give me an account of the events resulting from those fires which he had
witnessed. Willingly he at once went on, nearly as follows:—
"About twenty-five years ago the larch, or hackmatack, trees were
nearly all killed by insects. This took place in
296 what hereabouts is called the
'black soft growth' land, that is, the spruce, pine, and all other firs. The
destruction of the trees was effected by the insects cutting the leaves, and
you must know that, although other trees are not killed by the loss of their
leaves, the evergreens always are. Some few years after this destruction of the
larch, the same insects attacked the spruces, pines, and other firs, in such a
manner that, before half a dozen years were over, they began to fall, and,
tumbling in all directions, they covered the whole country with matted masses.
You may suppose that when partially dried or seasoned, they would prove capital
fuel, as well as supplies for the devouring flames, which accidentally, or
perhaps by intention, afterwards raged over the country, and continued burning
at intervals for years, in many places stopping all communication by the roads;
the resinous nature of the firs being of course best fitted to insure and keep
up the burning of the deep beds of dry leaves or of the other trees." Here
I begged him to give me some idea of the form of the insects which had caused
such havoc.
"The insects," said he, "were, in their caterpillar form,
about three quarters of an inch in length, and as green as the leaves of the
trees they fed on, when they committed their ravages. I must tell you also
that, in most of the places over which the fire passed, a new growth of wood
has already sprung up, of what we lumberers call hard wood, which consists of
all other sorts but pine or fir; and I have always remarked that wherever the
first natural growth of a forest is destroyed, either by the axe, the
hurricane, or the fire, there springs up spontaneously another of quite a
different kind." I again stopped my host to inquire if he knew the method
or nature of the first kindling of the fires.
"Why, sir," said he, "there are different opinions about
this. Many believe that the Indians did it, either to be the better able to
kill the game, or to punish their
297 enemies the Pale-faces. My opinion, however, is
different; and I derive it from my experience in the woods as a lumberer. I
have always thought that the fires began by the accidental fall of a dry trunk
against another, when their rubbing together, especially as many of them are covered
with resin, would produce fire. The dry leaves on the ground are at once
kindled, next the twigs and branches, when nothing but the intervention of the
Almighty could stop the progress of the fire.
"In some instances, owing to the wind, the destructive element
approached the dwellings of the inhabitants of the woods so rapidly that it was
difficult for them to escape. In some parts, indeed, hundreds of families were
obliged to flee from their homes, leaving all they had behind them, and here
and there some of the affrighted fugitives were burnt alive."
At this moment a rush of wind came down the chimney, blowing the blaze of
the fire towards the room. The wife and daughter, imagining for a moment that
the woods were again on fire, made for the door, but the husband explaining the
cause of their terror, they resumed their work.
"Poor things," said the lumberer, "I dare say that what I
have told you brings sad recollections to the minds of my wife and eldest
daughter, who, with myself, had to fly from our home, at the time of the great
fires." I felt so interested in his relation of the causes of the burnings
that I asked him to describe to me the particulars of his misfortunes at the
time. "If Prudence and Polly," said he, looking towards his wife and
daughter, "will promise to sit still should another puff of smoke come
down the chimney, I will do so." The good-natured smile with which he made
this remark elicited a return from the women and he proceeded:—
"It is a difficult thing, sir, to describe, but I will do my best to
make your time pass pleasantly.
We were sound asleep one night in a cabin about
a hundred miles from
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this, when, about two hours before day, the snorting of the horses and lowing
of the cattle which I had ranging in the woods suddenly awakened us. I took yon
rifle and went to the door, to see what beast had caused the hubbub, when I was
struck by the glare of light reflected on all the trees before me, as far as I
could see through the woods. My horses were leaping about, snorting loudly, and
the cattle ran among them with their tails raised straight over their backs. On
going to the back of the house, I plainly heard the crackling made by the
burning brushwood, and saw the flames coming towards us in a far extended line.
I ran to the house, told my wife to dress herself and the child as quick as
possible, and take the little money we had, while I managed to catch and saddle
the two best horses. All this was done in a very short time, for I guessed that
every moment was precious to us.
"We then mounted, and made off from the fire. My wife, who is an
excellent rider, stuck close to me; my daughter, who was then a small child, I
took in one arm. When making off as I said, I looked back and saw that the
frightful blaze was close upon us, and had already laid hold of the house. By
good luck, there was a horn attached to my hunting-clothes, and I blew it, to
bring after us, if possible, the remainder of my live stock, as well as the
dogs. The cattle followed for a while; but, before an hour had elapsed, they
all ran as if mad through the woods, and that, sir, was the last of them. My
dogs, too, although at other times extremely tractable, ran after the Deer that
in bodies sprung before us, as if fully aware of the death that was so rapidly
approaching.
"We heard blasts from the horns of our neighbors as we proceeded, and
knew that they were in the same predicament. Intent on striving to the utmost
to preserve our lives, I thought of a large lake some miles off, which might
possibly check the flames; and, urging my wife to
299 whip up her horse, we set off
at full speed, making the best way we could over the fallen trees and
brush-heaps, which lay like so many articles placed on purpose to keep up the
terrific fires that advanced with a broad front upon us.
"By this time we could feel the heat; and we were afraid that our
horses would drop every instant. A singular kind of breeze was passing over our
heads, and the glare of the atmosphere shone over the daylight. I was sensible
of a slight faintness, and my wife looked pale. The heat had produced such a
flush in the child's face that when she turned towards either of us, our grief
and perplexity were greatly increased. Ten miles, you know, are soon gone over
on swift horses; but, notwithstanding this, when we reached the borders of the
lake, covered with sweat and quite exhausted, our hearts failed us. The heat of
the smoke was insufferable, and sheets of blazing fire flew over us in a manner
beyond belief. We reached the shores, however, coasted the lake for a while,
and got round to the lee side. There we gave up our horses, which we never saw
again. Down among the rushes we plunged by the edge of the water, and laid
ourselves flat, to wait the chance of escaping from being burnt or devoured.
The water refreshed us, and we enjoyed the coolness.
"On went the fire, rushing and crashing through the woods. Such a sight
may we never see! The heavens, themselves, I thought were frightened, for all
above us was a red glare mixed with clouds of smoke, rolling and sweeping away.
Our bodies were cool enough, but our heads were scorching, and the child, who
now seemed to understand the matter, cried so as nearly to break our hearts.
"The day passed on, and we became hungry. Many wild beasts came
plunging into the water beside us, and others swam across to our side and stood
still. Although
300
faint and weary, I managed to shoot a Porcupine, and we all tasted its flesh.
The night passed, I cannot tell you how. Smouldering fires covered the ground,
and trees stood like pillars of fire, or fell across each other. The stifling
and sickening smoke still rushed over us, and the burnt cinders and ashes fell
thick about us. How we got through that night I really cannot tell, for about
some of it I remember nothing." Here the hunter paused, and took breath.
The recital of his adventure seemed to have exhausted him. His wife proposed
that we should have a bowl of milk, and the daughter having handed it to us, we
each took a draught.
"Now," said he, "I will proceed. Towards morning, although
the heat did not abate, the smoke became less, and blasts of fresh air
sometimes made their way to us. When morning came, all was calm, but a dismal
smoke still filled the air, and the smell seemed worse than ever. We were now
cooled enough, and shivered as if in an ague fit; so we removed from the water,
and went up to a burning log, where we warmed ourselves. What was to become of
us, I did not know. My wife hugged the child to her breast, and wept bitterly;
but God had preserved us through the worst of the danger, and the flames had
gone past, so I thought it would be both ungrateful to him and unmanly to
despair now. Hunger once more pressed upon us, but this was easily remedied.
Several Deer were still standing in the water, up to the head, and I shot one
of them. Some of its flesh was soon roasted; and after eating it we felt
wonderfully strengthened.
"By this time the blaze of the fire was beyond our sight, although the
ground was still burning in many places, and it was dangerous to go among the
burnt trees. After resting awhile, and trimming ourselves, we prepared to
commence our march. Taking up the child, I led the way over the hot ground and
rocks; and, after two weary days and nights, during which we shifted in the
best
301 manner
we could, we at last reached the 'hard woods' which had been free of the fire.
Soon after we came to a house, where we were kindly treated for a while. Since
then, sir, I have worked hard and constantly as a lumberer; but, thanks be to
God, here we are safe, sound, and happy!"
*******
All that talk about the hunter now calling himself a lumberer brings me to thinking about the
List of Michigan wildfires and in 1881 how it changed the face of
Michigan's Thumb area into cleared farmland. Ten years earlier, on October 8, 1871, at the very same time everybody's attention was switched to
the Great Chicago Fire (so familiarly attributed by a song to Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicking a lantern over), the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and on into Wisconsin with the
Peshtigo Fire, came history's deadliest wildfire. It even left evidence in concrete reminiscent of the atomic bomb. I read books about that fire and was impressed to learn it not only was missed because of Chicago's disaster, but it was also on the same day as a fire across the bay in Wisconsin's Door Peninsula and several locations in Michigan at Holland, Manistee, and Port Huron. Here it was just called the
Great Michigan Fire.
It's been a long time since I grew up hearing
Smokey the Bear cautioning us about not carelessly starting fires. Even that bit of official public service announcement gathered a story, after the fact, when a black bear cub was rescued after being rescued from a New Mexico wildfire. Of course the cub was later named Smokey after the advertising mascot. He lived a long and apparently happy life at the National Zoo. The hotlink manages to give even more information about him. Nowadays, while careless fires still can start devastating fires,
controlled burns supposedly eliminate the brush that can fuel a wildfire. I remember walking my dog past one at Orion Oaks Park and seeing an emerald green snake gasping at the edge of the burn. He was half burnt up. The next time I walked there he was gone. Probably eaten. Rather like the story of the unknown hunter who told his story to Audubon and killed a deer after the fire was over.
********
Today's story was long, but I want to include
this is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, "Keeping the Public in
Public Domain." The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our
cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were
compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent
on works of the 20th century. My own library of folklore includes
so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from
them. I hope you enjoy discovering new
stories.
At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly
creates projects requiring
research as part of my
sharing stories with an audience. Whenever that research needs to be
shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that
week. This is a return to my regular posting of a
research project here. (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my
research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)
Response has convinced me that "Keeping the
Public in Public Domain" should continue along with
my other postings as often as I can manage it.
Other Public Domain story resources I recommend -
- There are many online resources for Public Domain stories, maybe none for
folklore is as ambitious as fellow storyteller, Yoel Perez's database, Yashpeh, the International Folktales Collection. I have long recommended it and continue to do so. He has loaded Stith Thompson's Motif Index into his server as a database so you can search the whole 6 volumes for whatever word or
expression you like by pressing one key. http://folkmasa.org/motiv/motif.htm
- You may have noticed I'm no longer certain Dr. Perez has the largest
database, although his offering the Motif Index certainly qualifies for
those of us seeking specific types of stories. There's another site, FairyTalez
claiming to be the largest, with "over 2000 fairy tales, folktales, and
fables" and they are "fully optimized for phones, tablets, and PCs",
free and presented without ads.
Between those two sites, there is much for story-lovers, but as they say in infomercials,
"Wait, there's more!"
- The email list for storytellers, Storytell, discussed Online Story Sources and came up with these additional suggestions:
- David K. Brown - http://people.ucalgary.ca/~dkbrown/stories.html
- Karen Chace - http://karenchace.blogspot.com/search?q=public+domain
- Richard Martin - http://www.tellatale.eu/tales_page.html
- Spirit of Trees - http://spiritoftrees.org/featured-folktales
- Story-Lovers - http://www.story-lovers.com/
- Tim Sheppard - http://www.timsheppard.co.uk/story/storylinks.html
This reminds me, you're going to find many of the links on these sites have gone down, BUT go to the Internet Archive Wayback Machine
to find some of these old links. Tim's site is so huge, probably
updating it would be a full-time job. In the case of Story-Lovers, it's
great that Jackie Baldwin set it up to stay online after she could no
longer maintain it. For an example of using the "Wayback Machine", list
member, Papa
Joe is on both Time Sheppard's site and Story-Lovers, but he no longer
maintains his old Papa Joe's Traveling Storytelling Show website and his
Library (something you want to see!) is gone, but you can still see
it. I put in his site's address, then chose 2006 since it was a later
year and clicked until I reached the Library at
http://www.pjtss.net/library/.
You can see why I recommend these to you.
Have fun discovering even more stories!
Today's some stories first appealed to me as possible stories to tell at a Rescue event. Stories Witty and Pictures Pretty, is one of those anonymously produced 19th century children's books I would normally reject. I try to sample a book of stories before buying it. Today's book, has some tales in it about a St. Bernard named Bose that captured me right away. Bose, too, like my own "malamutt" had to adapt to a new human. The stories were in the reverse order of the way I'm presenting them as I prefer to give them chronologically. Possibly the publisher, W.B. Conkey Company, of New York and Chicago was correct, as right away I could think of similar incidents that matched the final episode with Bose and his canine friend, Sam. It would be too easy to dismiss as being from another era and possibly sentimental. It's not. It and the other stories are good examples of why so many people can't help but love dogs. When I mention the word "dog" beyond the mirror image of "God", I'm also convinced dogs are His best creation. They certainly surpass humans in many ways. Today's stories give a good taste of why I say that.
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