Where there’s Smoke

I am sure you have heard the expression “where there’s smoke, there’s fire” more than a few times.

I would like to amend that expression. 

Here is the new: “Where there’s fire, there’s smoke.”  Sometimes a lot of smoke.  So much smoke, my brother-in-law (who often requires an inhaler to help him with his compromised breathing), is on the verge of visiting Urgent Care.

The West is ablaze.  Not just Western Montana.  Bigger.  Fires are presently scouring through all the Northwestern U.S. as well as British Columbia.  The monster fires, the type that throw six-foot logs up in the air, create their own weather patterns, and cause trees to explode into flames like rags dipped in gasoline are, in fact, roiling through the mountains of British Columbia.

This year, with the table set for plenty more fire season, British Columbia has seen something approaching three million acres scorched.  That’s already a grim record.

And that’s a lot of smoke.

Clouds, veils, walls of smoke, and sometimes ash, have invaded our valley over the last few weeks.  Much of the smoke has swooped down from British Columbia.  Some from across the Continental Divide here in Montana.  Some from other states to our west.

We have experienced hours where we cannot see for more than a mile or two.  Our mountain views come and go.

It’s awful.

Most mornings have, fortunately, arrived fairly clear.  As soon as I wake, I scamper from room to room opening windows to let in sweet, cool air while it lasts.  Last night, the smoke in the air was thick as pudding.  I woke this morning to a view of the Big Belt Mountains behind my house and only a light gauze across the expanse.

My windows are open.

I now sit drinking coffee, waiting for the next wall of smoke to arrive.

--Mitchell Hegman