These Western states have endured a relentless wildfire season — and it’s not over
In the American West, there has been little relief from a record-breaking fire season that has burned more than 5 million acres. Maggie Mullen of the Mountain West News Bureau in Wyoming, Cassandra Profita of Oregon Public Broadcasting and Sharon McNary of Southern California Public Radio join Judy Woodruff to discuss the remarkable destruction they have covered in their states.
Read in PBS NewsHour: https://apple.news/A-FysIvnWQR6AHu-nxYu4VQ
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The picture is of me and my Dad, Wally Moede. He served faithfully for many years on the Windom, Minnesota Fire Dept. Grandpa Chris Moede did the same in the early 1900’s. My cousin John Moede also served. I served on the Osceola, Indiana Fire Dept. back in the 80’s for 3 years. This picture had to be taken in the early 80’S.
A Fireman’s Glove
A fireman’s gloves hold many things
From elderly arms to a kids broken swing
From the hand they shake and the back they pat
To the tiny claw marks of another treed cat
At 2am they are filled with chrome
From the DUI who was on her way home
And the equipment they use to roll back the dash
From the family she involved in that crash
The brush rakes in spring, that wear the palms out
When the wind does a 90 to fill them with doubt
The thumb of the glove wipes the sweat from the brow
Of the face of a fireman who mutters What Now?
They hold an inch and three quarters flowing one twenty five
So the ones going in, come back alive
When the regulators ring; then there isn’t too much
But the bypass valve they eagerly clutch
The rescue equipment, the ropes, the C collars
The lives they saved never measured in dollars
Are the obvious things a fireman’s gloves hold
Or so that is what I’ve always been told
But there are other things those gloves do touch
Those are the things we all need so much
The hold back the rage on that 3am call
They hold in the fear when you’ve lost the wall
They hold back the pity, agony, sorrow
They hold in the desire to do it tomorrow.
A glove, just a glove till it’s on a firefighter
Who worked all day just to pull an all night’er
And into the fray they charge without fear
At the sound of help they think they hear.
Off comes the gloves when the call is done
And into the pocket until the next run
The hands become lonely and cold for a bit
And even shake just thinking of it
They’re not so brave now; their hands they can’t hind
I guess it just means they are human inside
And though some are paid and others are not
The gloves feel the same when its cold or its hot
To someone you’re helping to just get along
When you fill them with love, you always feel strong
And so when I go on my final big ride
I hope to have my gloves close by my side
To show to St. Peter at the heavenly Gates
Cause as we all know, Firefighters just don’t wait
