Fire or ice?  Fire orice?  Robert Frost, in his poem, suggeststwo versions of how the world will end. Yet there are other possibilities to consider: swine flu, for instance; nuclearannihilation; asteroids; global drought — or flooding – just like Noah’s Ark. Just lately, I’vehad a glimpse of another version of the end: smoke, from the wildfires at North Myrtle Beach in April.  A slow, suffocating death, not the same asfire. Never did I think we might be consumed in flames. Our hotel was on thebeach, and we could have leapt into the ocean. We were across the IntercoastalWaterway, about a football field wide, which seemed a pretty effective barrier.There were tidal pools, wetlands and golf courses on our side, not the droughtstricken pines that fueled the fire.

We were on family vacation, and learned about the wildfire whenwe saw smoke plumes on Weds. afternoon as we were traveling north on Route 17.There was talk about the fire, and maybe an announcement on the radio. But nosirens from fire or police, as I recall. The smoke clouds were large, shapely, impressive, stemming from a fireten miles away, lifting higher and higher in the sky.  At dinner, we went out to a restaurant in thearea. What we thought were small gnats were soft gray ashes falling from thesky, slowly drifting as the winds died down, a good sign - we thought.

We’d met wildfire before, on a likewise clear, sunny daywith rising winds: in Lake Tahoe, CA in August of 2007.  I was frightened enough to suggest packingearly and leaving for a hotel in Reno,where we would fly out the next day.  Aswe departed the area, we heard and saw the helicopters and planes buzzingoverhead, dropping water from Lake Donner.  Crossing the mountain pass to Reno, we saw the enormous smoke clouddrifting east, obscuring the sun — high, high up in the sky.

In North Myrtle Beach, thesmoke cloud descended.  The late newssaid firefighters thought they’d got the worst of the fire by 11 ormidnight.  Unknown to us, it reignitedand “jumped” tree to tree, house to house, reaching Barefoot Landing Resort,about 3 miles away.  Around two in themorning, I awoke to the smell of smoke. Donald had cracked the slider door inour bedroom for air, but that air that came in was thick and acrid.  I closed the door quickly, pulling back thedrapes to look outside: everywhere gray as fog; I was barely able to see thewhite crests of the waves hitting shore. It wasn’t fog; it was hard to breathe,making me cough, stinging my throat, even inside the room.  Luckily, the living room and boys’ room hadbeen closed up, and were not noticeably smoky, so I let them be while I scannedthe news.

 The local TV stations posted alerts about the fire andevacuations; there was a number to call for information, so I called. The lady,in a thick Carolinaaccent, told me that our area was not in danger, they were setting up sheltersnearby, but that visibility was terrible. They were recommending staying insidewith AC on recirculation and towels at doors and windows to keep outsmoke.  It was both reassuring andterrifying to learn that our room was safe from fire, but that it was dangerousto go outside.  I woke Donald, andwondered if we should check out in the morning when visibility improved, and gosome place where the air was clear. He said “wait and see” and turned over togo back to sleep. Not me.

 Morning broke, still gray and smoky. There were ashes on ourpatio. But, slowly, the sunlight penetrated the thick air, and people beganwalking the beach.  The winds were light,but strong enough to push the smoke away. The fire was not out. It would not stay out. Finally, the National Guardwas called. At the end of the day, it was mostly contained, but stubbornlyrefusing to quit, and could go on for days. Acres burned, homes were lost, but no one died, to the vast credit ofthe rescuers, many of them experienced from hurricane disaster, no doubt.

 There is some odd connection between our trips and localdisasters, going way back – before boys. Donald and I sat on the Isle of Palmsbeach in Charleston, SC, late one night drinking beer under afull moon, one week to the day before Hurricane Hugo made a direct hit.  We toured New Orleans in April of 2005; thedocent of the aquarium told us that conditions were ripe for a disastrousflood, should a hurricane strike, which it did fourmonths later. Two wildfires have followed us on vacation that we could see andsmell, within short miles of where we stayed. God may move in mysterious ways, but He is not always subtle. I don’tknow what it means, other than to pay attention to the big things in life, notthe little worries. Do not be trivial, trite, petty or frivolous with thesevaluable days. It can be easy to ignore drought, global warming, global diseaseand lack of preparedness, if those things don’t affect you.  Some way, somehow, we are responsible for andrelated to the condition of the earth, which is our home.