A Diane Intervention

We had a very close call at the cabin a couple weeks ago. A fire erupted between our Lower Stone Cabin and our neighbors to the west. This is the cabin we share with Bill’s Dad, the cabin we stayed in with him, Diane, and our kids when they were babies. At the moment of the fire, our other neighbor to the south just happened to be passing by, saw the smoke and called the Nisswa Volunteer Fire Department. I’m told they arrived within four minutes. How does one even get to the station and get your fireman suit on that fast? Then there’s sliding down the pole and starting up the engine. Getting the hoses untangled. I can’t even. Hitherto we only saw Santa Claus riding on that firetruck at the Nisswa City of Lights Christmas Festival the day after Thanksgiving every year. I guess it’s the real deal, not just for parades. Thank God. And volunteers. Sigh.

The area that burned was grass, wildflowers, little pine tress and medium pine trees. The tall pines were spared because their branches are higher and their bark is tough. The tops of them are already damaged from the eagles. These majestic birds take off the highest branches so they have a clear view around them to hunt and defend themselves. The little pines went up like Christmas trees. I don’t think the mediums will make it either.

The fire went up to our neighbor’s new garage, and up to the brick foundation of our Lower Stone Cabin. It seems like five more minutes of uncontrolled burn and both structures, plus our 100 year old garage, with a boat with a full tank of gas, would have all been lost. That would also have been very dangerous for the firemen.

The firemen were safe. The buildings were safe. Last weekend the burned ground between the properties was already sprouting new growth. The wildflowers will be up and at’em first. We will replace the line of medium trees that were lost, perhaps with a memorial one for our neighbor’s husband who recently died unexpectedly. He loved this property too.

Bill’s dad has done the lion’s share of the cleanup. Thank you, Dad.

Whenever I see wild turkeys I am reminded of my own father. It’s not that I think he visits me as a turkey, it’s more esoteric than that. The Holy Spirit moves in mysterious ways. The turkeys show up for me everywhere all the time, but also when I have big decisions to make, or when I’m feeling sad or uncertain about something. Often during a celebration we will look out and see one turkey loitering around in grace.

Saturday, Bill and were sitting at the picnic table in front of the Little Pines Lodge having lunch. I put on a YouTube video explaining some songs of the chickadees. To my complete surprise a chickadee came and landed on my leg. If I hadn’t been so startled and flapped my arms like a real bird, she might have stayed for a moment. When I told my mom she said chickadees remind her of my grandma Hope.

How often nature touches us. Eagles also especially remind me of lost loved ones—my grandmother, my dad, and Bill’s mom Diane. She loved eagles and the scriptural references to them, naming their cabin Eagle’s Wings. I wonder what the eagles were doing during the fire. Watching from above? It sure does seem like a miracle saved our memories. Not that we always get the miracles. We know that well enough, but this time? It does seem like we were protected. Bill and I are calling it a Diane intervention. It’s not good theology, but I like to think that Diane’s love for this property somehow encouraged the wind to still, and the neighbor to walk by, and the speedy firetrucks.

Here’s to good neighbors. Here’s to small town volunteer fire departments. Here’s to eagles and turkeys and chickadees. And here’s to the memory of loved one and the mysterious ways the Holy Spirit works. Amen.