Second Story Addition: Fire on the Mountain

These chapters are best viewed in order:

Design

Foundation

First Story

Second Story

Second Story Addition

Roof




The flames could be seen from anywhere in the Valley, giant rolling, towering columns dancing in the dawn light. Racing around the side of the mountain to get there by truck, I could see them almost all the way, all the time trying to make them arise from another spot, an empty place.

But there was nothing else it could be.

On February 4, 1978, Tom and Lane's house burned and life became marked as "before the fire" or "after". The linseed rags smoldered in the dark empty entry all through the wet night, only taking hold and turning to flame to waken us to the horror at dawn. Leaping from the truck, I could hear the sirens so far away beginning the long climb up the mountain. At the window I'd just built so carefully, I strained to see inside, but all was black and amazingly still and silent compared to the roar around me (little did I know how close my escape from death just then, how stupid to be so close to the inferno hidden by soot on the hot, ready-to-explode glass).

Desperate to make a difference, I grabbed the hose and tried to spray the back wall, but it only was a drip, drip of useless drops (of course, the lines were broken inside). I threw the hose on the fire and with a shovel beat out sparks falling in the grass all around me.

In truth, it was all useless, way beyond my control and ability. What had been so lovingly brought to life was dying before me. Nothing to do but stand out of the way and weep, four of us huddled, comforting each other where no hope could be found. When the windows finally did blow, great balls of fire as big as Volkswagens lept out, and 25 years later talking to me on the phone as she weeds the garden, Lane still found glass.


Finally, the trucks (hundreds of them it seemed--fire trucks followed pick-ups) arrived onto that tiny lot, men pouring out and running everywhere. I saw three from the lumber company, one who had delivered the concrete and helped us so patiently when our forms blew out. Two more had hooked the pipes in our trench to the water system below. They all came to help and soon it was out.

The house (too young to be a home yet) was still standing, but freshly oiled, it was scorched all the way through. We would have to tear it down, and the worst call--telling Tom and Lane the sad news--was still ahead of me.

Roof

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