Fire season

When it gets so smokey in the caretaker's house that I have tears running down my cheeks, I throw the bean pot in the dishpan to soak, scoop up Jenni's orange kitten, and trot out the back door. The air is hazy with smoke, and I run with my eyes half closed, which leads me into various vines and sticks along the way.

There is a fire over to the right which is getting awfully close to Jose's chacra, there is another one back behind it close to the pavilion, and there is yet another to the left near the border of our lawn past the houses. The fires are loud and snappy because there is so much greenness that they are burning up. They change directions often, because the wind is wild and unpredictable.

The boys and the Peruvian workers started these fires, and now they are running around wildly, trying to manage them. The fires are for clearing the land, killing the poisonous snakes, and making way for school buildings and orchards.

I don't like fire days. Our houses usually get quite smoked, and then our clothing and bedding reek of smoke for days. The houses also get ash baths, and the boys track in feathery ash bits on their shoes.

The burned ground smells bad after the fires, and it smells even worse after it rains.

But most of all, I am afraid. I am afraid that the fires will get too big or change direction suddenly, and our houses will go down. Or worse, that someone will get burned while working on a fire, or breathe in too much smoke.

I sit in our house with the little kitten and worry.