Ankle-deep gray muddy ash sticky after rain
walking wet burnt forest floor
(one-armed mechanic working on a trailer-mounted generator
a little barbecue by a parked trailer,
grilling steak after ten hours checking out the diesels)
— we’re clumping through slippery ashes to a sugar pine
— a planner from a private timber company
a fire expert from the State, a woman County Supervisor
a former Forest Service line officer, the regional District Ranger,
a businessman-scientist who managed early retirement and does good
deeds,
the superintendent of the county schools,
& the supervisor of one of the most productive public forests in the
country —
pretty high back in the mountains
after a long hot summer wildfire and a week of rain.
Drove here through miles of standing dead trees
gazed across the mountain valley,
the sweep of black snags with no needles,
stands of snags with burnt needles dangling,
patches of green trees that still look live.
They say the duff layers glowed for weeks as the fire sank down.
This noble sugar pine we came to see is green
seven feet dbh, “diameter at breast height”
first limb a hundred feet above.
The District Ranger chips four little notches
round the trunkbase, just above the ashy dust:
cambium layer dry and brown
cooked by the slow duff burn.
He says, “Likely die in three more years
I circumambulate it and invoke, “Good luck — long life —
Sarvamangalam — I hope you prove him wrong”
pacing charred twigs crisscrossed on the ground.
(Field trip to the aftermath of the Star Fire, 5 November 2001)