Over the weekend there was an anniversary. Five years since the Starbuck fire torched most of Clark County, Kansas on March 6, 2017. The Scott Farm took a direct hit that day.
It was also the day we buried my Dad. I remember looking out the window at the church following the meal thinking it would be hell to have a fire today. The wind was atrocious, although it held our weary bodies while putting Dad in the ground. More than once I thought, at least it was warm, otherwise it’d be miserable for someone like me who hates cold. Eighty some degrees I believe. But later in the day that quickly changed as a front blew through.
Once we made it home from the funeral, it wasn’t long before my husbands phone started ringing. A neighbor called to say there was a fire very close to the Clark State Lake and our farm; others nearby were being evacuated. He headed south and spent countless hours trying to save the cows and calves and protect the farmstead he’d practically grew up on.
He made it home that day. The old farmhouse and 100 year old barn didn’t make it. Lots of things didn’t make it that day. But our cows and calves were mostly accounted for. Some burned, some singed. Many gut wrenching decisions had to be made.
In the days, weeks, months and years since that terrible time, more than once I saw the good in people, despite the one we considered family, putting a damper on it all. In August 2017, my husband and I were able to purchase part of the Scott Farm and have managed to maintain a cowherd since. We honestly couldn’t have done it without some kind and generous folks and the Bank of Ashland who took a chance with us.
Looking back on it now, I learned a number of things in that dark time. I wrote about wildfire preparedness and having family succession plans. I shared my thoughts on what it was like to deal with the heartbreak of a wildfire and strained family relationships on my blog.
Now I’m hyper vigilant when the wind is blowing and the National Weather Service issues red flag warnings. I report dangerous activity to authorities when conditions merit. I’m not afraid to be that neighbor who turns you in for welding on a day when there’s single digit humidity, 30 mph winds and an active red flag warning.
I read somewhere recently that wildfires are becoming something people living on the high plains will just have to get used to. I’m not going to call it the ‘new normal’ as I despise that term, but it appears fires will be part of the landscape. Less rain, less often is a recipe for disaster.
But all we’ve gone through in the last 5 years has done one thing. Made us resourceful. Made us resilient. Cleared away all the unnecessary and made us new again. Much like the grass I didn’t figure would come back to us.
Here’s a couple links to some blog posts following the fire.
