It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend, a weekend where I could get some cleaning done in the house. I’m starting to panic because the house is in such a mess and I’m already into my second trimester without even a clue as to what we’ll need for a baby. Both rooms I have for the baby are filled with junk. I had thought that the weather was warm enough I could get into the crawl space where we stashed all of our junk (because we are hoarders) and pull out a few empty boxes.
Because my husband and I are hoarders, we stashed every empty box we had from moving into the crawl space for someone else to use at a later date. Six years later, someone finally needs those boxes. I’m finally getting space in my crawl space and I’m finally feeling the urge to pitch every fucking thing I don’t use (but that’s another story, along with the god damn box story dealing with my hoarder husband).
I didn’t get much done, other than pulling out all the empty boxes and making the bedroom a complete disaster. It wasn’t a big deal because I had all afternoon to reorganize and stuff all the junk back in to the crawl space. I had it all planned out.
God spites me every time I have a plan.
While I was trying to take it easy, my husband was outside playing with god knows what. By that point, I was happy to be rid of him and happy to finally feel like I was accomplishing something. Being 16 weeks pregnant and not being able to move for the first 15 weeks made me appreciate my new found energy. I was still trying to take it easy knowing that later in the afternoon I’d probably go downhill and then I’d be up shit creek with trying to put away my mess.
I was happily going through a box that hadn’t been opened in the six years since we moved. All the junk was scattered throughout the living room but I at least had a huge box empty and ready for someone else. I felt great. I went through the box, and put all the unnecessary papers in a bag. I headed outside to check on the husband and get rid of the papers.
Here in lies the problem. We don’t have garbage service. We are stuck burning trash. Originally my husband went down to the far corner to burn trash and he would stand there until the flames were out. When the barrel filled, he decided that instead of taking another barrel down to the corner, that he would leave the barrel next to the garage, taking the easy way out. I didn’t like the idea but you have to pick your battles with your husband and that wasn’t one of them. I just prayed that when he actually burned trash that he wouldn’t burn down our house. We’ve had the barrel near the garage for a long time. It’s almost full of burned trash. We’ve talked about getting garbage service but I hate calling people. It’s a phobia I have. But because my husband is lazy (or I don’t nag enough), a second barrel never appeared to burn trash. Instead he piled up some of the trash, including the papers and started burning.
Ten minutes after I put my little bag of papers into the barrel, my husband came in. Not thinking anything of it, and not wanting to nag, we sat down for lunch and a quick TV show. Everything was fine until the TV show finished and for some odd reason I decided I’d take a peek through a window to see what the weather was like (it’s an odd habit).
I don’t remember what window I looked through but all I saw was smoke. At first it didn’t register because I thought it was the trash fire. “But trash fires shouldn’t have that much smoke.” No, they don’t. I stood there for a minute longer to figure out where the smoke was billowing from and saw flames.
FLAMES!!!
I yelled FIRE, ran to the utility room, threw on my shoes and coat and raced outside to see what was really on fire.
To my horror of horrors, I first saw the burned grass all around the burn barrel. The burned grass went up against the dog pen (with the dogs still in the pen), up to the chicken coop, all the way over to where my poor injured horse was standing (with only enough room for her to stand, and a three foot burned hole gapping in the chicken coop.
Now when I say chicken coop, I’m not talking an itty little building. The width is as long as a truck and the length is longer than a standard sized ranch house with an attached garage. And no, we did not have chickens in the chicken coop. We used the chicken coop as storage. But I’m getting side tracked.
Smoke was billowing out of the chicken coop and flames were licking out of the roof alongside the hole. I at first ran to the barn (thank god THAT didn’t catch on fire) and started filling a bucket. I figured a few good buckets might put out the fire (of course that was at first glance). My husband said instead to get the hose, so while he called the fire department I hooked the hose up (which of course isn’t long enough to reach the damn chicken coop). My husband connected a second hose and we started spraying down the fire. Luckily most of the grass had stopped burning. I gave the hose over to the husband and went to check on my poor horse.
My poor horse was covered in sweat. Of course she was sporting her winter coat. Thank god I’d taken off her blanket and thrown it far enough away from her pile of hay/straw she’d been lying on. At least one thing was saved. But my poor mare was injured and could barely walk. I tried to get her in with the other mares but she wouldn’t move closer to the building. Smart girl. I tore the electric fence down and let her go wherever she wanted. She can’t go far being injured on one leg and lame on another. I started scooping water out of her water trough to make sure that the bedding wouldn’t start up another fire.
I took over the hose again and did my best to wet down the sides of the chicken coop (in hopes of keeping the building). The husband went to get the dogs out of the pen and put them in the horse trailer. We had no idea if the dog house was going to go up in flames too. I decided I’d best start spraying down the dog house just in case the wind changed and the flames started to lick the dog house (which would invariably start the garage on fire next).
Half way through my procession of watering down the dog house the firetrucks started rolling in. I got out of the way and tried moving some of the junk that had accumulated around the temporary pen for the horse.
Once the hoses were out, I went to stand next to the injured horse as more and more fire trucks rolled into the yard and more and more firefighters emerged from the trucks.
I lost count of how many fire trucks and firefighters were on our place. We had trucks everywhere, including our front lawn. I think I counted five fire trucks, one search/rescue truck, an ambulance, the sheriff, and a couple of other people (probably looky loos. It’s a good thing I didn’t talk to them because I would have told them to mind their own god damn business and get the fuck off my property).
After an hour and a half of fighting the fire, I had had enough. So many people were standing around and one ass hole was standing around laughing. LAUGHING! Excuse me but my building is on fire and all you can do is LAUGH?!?! Get the fuck off my property. It’s a good thing I’m a Wall Flower and don’t have balls enough to confront assholes. I managed to get my poor injured horse into the barn away from all the commotion. She needed to lie down and was showing her fatigue. I scrambled around to put another horse in the barn so she wouldn’t freak out about being alone.
As I was coming out of the barn, the fire chief approached me. He said that they needed to cut the power off to the chicken coop (something I’d thought about but didn’t even want to ask). He also said that they would have to cut the power to the house and asked if that was ok. My dumb response “sure”. Well of course Yes! Get the damn building put out!
I headed in to the house after that and hid. Being 16 weeks pregnant and emerged in smoke had taken its toll. After I changed into non-smokey clothes, I discovered I’d picked up the “smoker cough”. I was only around the smoke for a short period of time but it sure had a lasting effect on my lungs. Even now a week later my lungs still hurt (and my stomach still revolts at the smell of fire).
more to come
