I’ve loyally kept my silence, ‘til now.

————

It happened so fast.

My remembering seems as much dream as memory. I was four years old. That probably accounts for the haze. We were on a picnic; Dad, Mom, me, and Uncle Gordan. I remember the spindly grill being taken from the trunk of the car. I remember Dad lighting the charcoal.

I remember being surprised by the big burst of flame - I remember Mom trying to keep the blankets settled in the wind. I remember the wind getting stronger.

Dad said we’d let the fire burn down to embers before putting on the hot dogs.

This must have happened soon after we moved to Wisconsin. Uncle Gordan moved with us and left soon after. Don’t know why he came with us. Don’t know why he went back. His being there at the picnic is my only way of guessing 1947 as the year of the calamity.

We set-up just off the road. It was a warm day in fall. The steep hill across the road was covered with dry late summer grass. The gusting wind kept the charcoal flames jumping. Sparks were flying all over. I guess it was those sparks that set the hill on fire.

I was amazed that such tiny sparks could create such a big blaze - so suddenly.

Suddenly there was too much action for me to keep track of. Dad was pouring water on the charcoal. Mom and Uncle Gordan were pouring water on more blankets than I knew we had. I suppose the extra blankets and gallon-jugs of water came from the car trunk.

Dad, Mom, and Uncle Gordon ran to the burning hill, slapping wet blankets on the flames. I don’t know how long this went on. It seemed like a long time.

Finally, there was more smoke than fire. And then it was over.

We repacked our stuff, got in the car and drove on. Dad and Mom in the front seat, me and Uncle Gordan in the back seat. No one was talking except me. I was excitingly blabbing something or other about the big fire when Mom turned sharply around and said, “I don’t want you talking about this fire - to anyone – ever! Do you understand?

Tell me you understand”!

I understood. I definitely understood. Mom made it very clear.

I’ve loyally kept my silence, ‘til now.

Mom, Dad, and Uncle Gordon have long since gone to Heaven. Any statute of limitation must have expired long ago. And anyway, the sudden gusting wind was more responsible for the fire than they were, plus the burned grass certainly grew green again in the spring of ’48.

I don’t think I’ve done wrong now in breaking my silence.

It happened a long time ago.

By K. L. Shipley