Page 73 of If You Give a Grump a Christmas Tree Farm
Orange light seems to dance through the haze of rain.
“Shit, call 911.” JJ runs to grab his jacket.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, punching in the number.
“See if I can do anything.” With that, he’s through the door and bounding down the steps, Buddy at his heels.
“911, what’s the location of your emergency?”
“Holly Jolly Christmas Tree Farms,” I spew off the address.
“What’s your emergency?”
“There’s a fire.” I glance out the window, and the flames are now visible through the rain. “It’s pretty big. I think a lightning strike started it.” I run to the kitchen and grab a large bucket to fill with water.
“All right, ma’am. I’m sending the fire department. But I’m going to warn you, there are a lot of trees and power lines down. It may take them a little time to get to you.”
“Great.” I disconnect and move as fast as I can, carrying one of those large five-gallon buckets from Wilson’s Hardware.
JJ is spraying the trees with water from the hose.
“I can’t get it to stretch any farther,” he shouts over the wind.
I glance at the fire and see at least five trees ablaze. Even with the rain, I don’t think it has a chance of extinguishing them.
“Use this bucket. I think we have another. I’ll go grab it, and we can try to refill as fast as we can.”
“What about the fire department?” JJ yells, taking the bucket from me.
“Trees and power lines are down. We’re on our own until they can get to us.” I shout over my shoulder.
Soon we’ve got a system going. I fill the bucket, and he takes it to dose the trees, but it’s hard to keep up with the wind, and the blasted rain has eased to a drizzle, so we’re not getting much help there. I can tell JJ is exhausted. His steps slow with each return trip. Not to mention carrying a five-gallon bucket full of water is not light.
I carry one bucket until JJ meets me. Then sprint back to the hose with the empty. It’s heart-wrenching to watch our business going up in flames.
Both of us are now soaking wet, and then the rain turns to a pelting hail.
Just when I think neither of us has the energy to keep going, I hear the sirens cresting over the ridge. Thank God, they made it to us.
The fire department gets the rest of the flames extinguished in about fifteen minutes.
JJ and I stand under the porch roof and watch, knowing there’s nothing else we can do now.
He puts his arm around me and gives me a squeeze.
I feel like crying, but try to stay strong.
After talking to the fire chief and watching them pull out, we head inside.
“We should get out of these wet clothes before we get sick,” JJ murmurs.
“Yes.” I move to the bedroom and strip out of my soggy clothes, hearing him trudge up the steps.
When I return to the living room, JJ has his sweats on and a new dry thermal shirt. He stands with a blanket ready for me.
“I thought about starting a fire, but I figured we both had enough of that already.”
“Definitely,” I chuckle, but it comes out sounding hollow. “JJ, what are we going to do?”
