Like all relationships, ours went through various stages of 'growth & development'. My personal learning curve and eagerness to achieve some form of 'consistent balance' with Josh's job schedule would dictate the tone and duration of each. What you've read up until now is what I like to call "Naivety".
For over a year, and from a distance, I was still figuring things out, as Josh remained patient. There were times when I would hang up the phone after talking to him and have to Google terminology (like bambi bucket, crowning fire, or 'what is initial attack'). I was only just starting to grasp the demands of the job including spending long periods of time apart and spotty communication, but still battling some pretty unrealistic expectations. My brain knew he was busy, but my heart wanted him to call every day. I foolishly yearned for a sense of normalcy and routine.
Prior to the holidays and making my cross country trek to Utah, Josh had expressed a desire to run a fundraiser that would be meaningful. He envisioned a ski/snowboard scavenger hunt with music, raffles, auction items, and a BBQ. An awards ceremony would be held to present the top 3 winning teams with trophies such as an engraved Pulaski or chainsaw blade. Every cent earned would be donated to the Wildland Firefighter Foundation, a nonprofit organization that disperses funds to families of fallen or injured wildland firefighters. It would be called: the Wasatch Showdown.
Josh set up a meeting at a small pub with some of his crew members to discuss the fundraiser idea over some of the best cheese fries and beer. I happily attended (this was during my October 2012 visit) and vowed to be his lovely scribe. Working together, thus making it a charity event run ‘for us, by us’, a local mountain was agreed upon as the best place to host our day. It was known to have great trails, hippie vibes, and a large parking area at the base that would work perfectly for our set up. Josh and his fellow crewmembers worked tirelessly to pin down the location and come up with a map for the snowy mountain scramble.
Lining up the rest should be easy enough, we thought. A crude set-up of folding tables and camping chairs, with some speakers for music would do. What I learned though, is that running a fundraiser is wicked hard. Countless nights and weekend hours were spent organizing spreadsheets, gathering donated items, drafting letters, talking to sponsors, or honing in on other small details. It was like having another full time job that winter.
On the day of the shindig, March 1, 2013, we arrived early, excited to set up and get the show started. The day’s forecast was absolutely perfect, sunny and bright, we couldn’t have asked for better weather. Volunteers began to pour in first, fellow wildland firefighters from Josh’s and other surrounding Utah crews. Camping and lawn chairs were smashed into the snow at the base of the mountain, designating the area of the parking lot as ours for the day.
My sister was visiting at the time and even lent a hand. As folks rolled in, we helped teams get all the necessary paperwork and fees handled while Josh coordinated with the other volunteers. Each team member was given a lanyard for display around their neck and a copy of the scavenger hunt map. You could feel the excitement building as folks waited for the race to start, eager to win the grand prize, a shiny, engraved Pulaski.
With the sound of a bullhorn, the race was off. My sister and I set up raffle items with old coffee containers for tickets while teams bumped around the mountain hitting the checkpoints on their maps. Tons of amazing stuff had been donated, including brand new skis, a gift card for a new pair of fire boots, and even a guided Heli-ski trip. As teams began crossing the finish line, donated food was set up on tables for participants to gorge as they perused the goodies we had on display. My sister and I happily collected money and doled out raffle tickets from our camping chairs, keeping note of how many participants were left on the hill. Music bumped from a sound system in a crewmate’s trailer, everyone was smiling and having a blast.
After about 2 hours the final team appeared on the mountainside and crossed the finish line, just in time for the awards ceremony. The first place team were presented with the coveted Pulaski, the shiny chrome head gleamed against the sun as everyone marveled at the beautifully engraved wooden handle. The second place group were bestowed a similarly engraved chainsaw blade. These prizes were symbolic of our cause. Raffle tickets spilled out of the containers and our day was complete after announcing all the winners. We had succeeded, our first annual Wasatch Showdown was a success. The vibes were phenomenal, the sun was starting to set and everyone was pleasantly beaming.
It felt like all those preparations had paid off as we surpassed our goal that first year. We had close to 60 attendants and raised over $2000 for the Foundation. Our little event would live on for another 4 years and it only grew with each. Guest speakers made appearances, attendance soared, and proceeds increased. The Wasatch Showdown raised in excess of $24,000 for families of the fallen over the course of those 5 years, and we were damn proud.
A little trip down memory lane: the flyer for our first year, Josh and Jason holding the first place prize, me divvying out raffle tickets and a handful of our winners over the years.
Partaking in the planning and execution of the fundraiser helped me appreciate wildland firefighting and the community that comes with it. I was ecstatic to meet Josh's crew members, and attain a better understanding of their friendships and work bonds. Slowly, I was gaining a new perspective. I respected him for his bravery and dedication to his career and fellow crew mates. In turn I began to realize my importance as his partner, to do my best to support him and hold down the fort while he's away.
Reality set in when Josh started cracking down on getting ready for fire season. For the second year in a row, he didn't get the permanent job with his crew, and would again be returning as a Seasonal. He could get the call to start any day. 'Already?' I thought. He busied himself with cleaning out and organizing his big red fire bags. All his gear, clothing, and work items scattered across the living room floor for days as he meticulously picked through each item. He went on runs and worked out at home to ensure he was ready for the annual pack test and strenuous physical exertion of the job.
Using my science degree to my advantage, I managed to land a job working in medical device quality in Salt Lake City. I was excited to be challenged with a new ‘big girl’ job that would help keep me busy. As my work commenced that May, so did Josh’s. His long daily commutes turned into resource orders for the helicopter and just like that, he was called to a large, ominous, and remote fire for who knows how long.
Now I wasn’t surrounded by familiar places or loving family and large groups of friends to keep me busy. I had my job, but the nights and weekends would leave too much time to myself. I was abruptly alone. Solo wake-ups. Solo dinners. Solo bedtimes. My snuggle buddy was gone and I was still learning my way around the area. He was spending more time away than he was at home. Although I should have known and picked up on this, I still felt shocked by his sudden absence. Everything seems easier in theory. I was going to have a hard time grasping this new reality.
Josh was amazed at my ability to remember certain details. When I asked if he would like to add anything he simply said "nope, sounds good, babe". That's my man, incredibly supportive and to the point! xoxo
Until next time,
Erin
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