Fire on the mountain

It's hard to convey to our friends and family in Great Lakes states (water, water everywhere) how the possibility of forest fires weighs on the minds of Westerners. The current level of fire risk is posted on roads and trailheads all over the mountains; we pay more attention to it than to the terrorism threat level.

In the 17 months we've lived in Colorado, the state hasn't had anything like the California fires near Jill's house earlier this summer. So we felt uneasy yesterday when we saw a fire burning near the wooded area we had planned to hike through late in the day. Open space being plentiful here, we opted to hike on a mesa farther from the fire, but we could still see the smoke across the plains.

Oddly, the fire didn't seem to bother the herd of cattle and the colony of prairie dogs—including a fellow so relaxed he was stretched across the opening to his burrow, just watching the humans and cows parade by—sharing the open space with us.

We found out later in the evening that the animals' nonchalance was justified: the fire was a "controlled burn" designed to prevent an inferno like that in California. The news made us feel less guilty for enjoying the fire-enhanced evening sky, which looked ready to open up to a choir of the heavenly host.