Fireweed

When I was a child growing up in the 1970’s, Smokey Bear was already a well established U.S. Forest Service campaign for wildfire prevention. Saturday morning cartoons were regularly interrupted with commercials including those created by the Forest Service’s partner, the U.S. Ad Council warning Americans, “Only YOU can prevent wildfires.” In between episodes of Bugs Bunny and Scooby Doo, my brothers and I were informed of the shameful statistic that 9 out of every 10 wildfires were caused by humans. The message was clear: be good stewards of the earth and understand that our failure to do so can have grave consequences.

In 1989, during the fall of my junior year of high school, musician Billy Joel turned 40 years old and released the song, “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” It was a catchy tune capturing four decades of historical headlines, reminding listeners that the more things change, the more they stay the same:

(All of you Gen X’ers and probably more than a few Baby Boomers just sang that in your head, didn’t you?)

In more recent years I have learned that a large number of wildfires actually have nothing to do with human folly and are often caused by lightning strikes. In 2019, over 2.5 million acres burned in Alaska from wildfires. Most of Alaska’s wildfires occur in vastly remote areas, but not always. Last summer, the Swan Lake fire was especially troubling for my family and hundreds of others as it endangered many homes and businesses on the Kenai Peninsula including our cabin in Cooper Landing. My husband, a couple dear friends and some incredible hot shot crews worked tirelessly to protect our property, but in late August, as the fire crept to less than a mile from our place, we were forced to accept that sometimes what you may have spent years building and have fiercely tried to secure can go up in flames. Nature does not discriminate between the guilty and the innocent and it can be downright merciless. Some forces are simply beyond our control.

And then it rained. We were spared. Life continued.

Lately, it seems the whole world is on fire. As 2020 began the world watched in horror as 27 million acres in Australia burned and an estimated 1.25 billion animals have been lost. I imagine Smokey wanted to put down his shovel and weep. Covid-19 is a global pandemic with no sign of letting up soon. Developing strategies to protect public health AND the economy have become needlessly but predictably embroiled by political partisanship. The United States is in turmoil during an election year that’s threatening to rip apart the fabric of our nation. Racial tensions have peaked and protests rightfully insisting that Black Lives Matter are taking place not just nationally, but worldwide. Some peacefully, others not. In the past year the Amazon has been burning, California faces ongoing wildfires, there were riots and looting in George Floyd’s Minneapolis neighborhood and beyond, and fire was set to Washington D.C.’s St. John’s Episcopal Church, also known as the Church of the Presidents. The smoke is thick. Our collective vision is clouded. From sea to shining sea, far too many for far too long cannot breathe. Pepper spray, rubber bullets and water hoses turned on peaceful protesters, shot the messengers and fanned the flames. The world is a tinderbox. People are feeling powerless and anxious from so much uncertainty. One more spark and it feels like we might explode.

Can these fires ever be fully contained? To what degree can we minimize unnecessary destruction? What might we let burn to the ground? How much is beyond our control?

Seeking solutions to these complicated issues can be frustrating, infuriating, frightening, overwhelming. These feelings are all so uncomfortable that it is human nature to want to avoid or dismiss them, and to desperately wish for quick answers. When the fire is thousands of miles from your home, it can be easy to ignore. When it’s at your front door, you have no choice but to face it.

Here’s the good news: crises present opportunities for growth. As destructive as fire can be, it can also be beneficial. Many wildfires are left to run their own course as they quickly clear away what is dead or rotting, making space for new life. Controlled burns can help keep forests healthy. Maybe we can’t prevent all wildfires, but some are raging which we cannot ignore. While we may not have started the fire and some things may never change, that doesn’t mean that we can’t change. If we’re not growing, we’re dying. As Maya Angelou said, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.” I believe many people try to live their lives this way already. Imagine the healing that could occur and the progress that could be made if each of us committed to double down on this concept.

It’s the 4th of July, the day my fellow Americans and I celebrate our nation’s birth. If you are unfamiliar with the birthing process, let me tell you it’s messy and painful and if you and your creation manage to survive all of that then it’s definitely worth celebrating. Traditionally, the 4th of July is a day when people put their differences on hold and gather together, often in large numbers, and cap off the evening watching fireworks. Last year, Anchorage canceled its fireworks because of the hazardous dry conditions. This year, all major events were canceled here because of the pandemic. Dry conditions also continue.

So, it’s another summer without fireworks, but you know what we’re never without here in Alaska? Fireweed.

It can take years for land to recover after a fire. Doesn’t growth often take much longer than we wish it would? Chamaenerion angustifolium gets its nickname ‘fireweed’ because it is known to be the first wildflower to flourish in the ashy soil left after a wildfire. Alaskans mark the seasons by fireweed’s life cycle. Its green stalks appear in early spring; the bright pink blooms brighten summer days; when they reach the top of their stalks, then fall is fast approaching; by the time the spent blooms have turned to white feathery fluff, winter is not far away. Fireweed is tenacious and prolific, growing in abundance anywhere and everywhere. Whether fireweed is a weed or wildflower is in the eye of the beholder. It has been used in tea, jellies and for medicinal purposes to treat inflammation, tumors and wounds. Fireweed’s obvious symbolism of resilience is a welcome reminder after surviving any Alaskan winter. Its perennial nature is testament that life can bring forth beauty even after great loss.

It may feel strange to celebrate this 4th of July. We have so many fires to address. I take heart in this: our country and the world at large have seen and met great challenges throughout history, some man made and some from forces beyond our control. If there is anything we should all know by now it’s that sometimes there is no way around a problem. We have to genuinely acknowledge it, meet it head on and work to resolve it the best that we can. It can be difficult, dangerous, exhausting. The way we meet life’s challenges defines us. The United States is still a very young country in the grand scheme of things. We have accomplished so much AND have so much left to learn. May we never stop striving to be better stewards for our nation and the world. May we learn how to perennially flourish. Happy Birthday, America! May God shed his grace on thee!