Da Nang, Vietnam- Back in 2006, I was aimlessly wandering around South-East Asia, doing some soul searching, trying to figure out what i wanted to do with my life. One morning, while i was somewhere near Da Nang, Vietnam, i got up early, hopped on my bicycle, and headed out for a ride. Feeling the cool morning breeze on my face was a reprieve from the swamp air that haunted me during the day. Winding along the coast on a one lane empty road, my thoughts circled back in on themselves. After about 30 minutes, I arrived at a harbor, just as the sun was coming up. I stopped to take in the sights and instantly the smell of fish and gasoline burned my nose. I climbed off my bike and walked down to the shore. There was a faint bustle, with people first starting to wake. The sounds of the harbor were coming to life; the waves lapped against the shore, motors turned on, a general sense of business. Just then, two people pushed off from the coast and were headed out to their boat for the day. I sat there, watching as they toiled to get out from the shore. Suddenly, my life seemed very easy. As they disappeared among the large boats, I was happy that our paths crossed, even if they didn't know it.
Fading Whispers
Foros, Ukraine- The sun sets on the Black Sea. Tan bodies sprawled over beach towels quickly gather their things and trek back to their cars as the sea breeze pushes inland. The sun moves further beyond the horizon and the night air cools off. The beach is empty except for a few people combing the rocks for souvenirs. A pair of lovers walking hand in hand, telling secrets only meant for each other, walk past me, their whispers fading as the distance grows. They make their way out on an old unfinished retaining wall. An older couple sits under them, completely oblivious to the wonder and sentiments shared above them.
Landing in a Marsh
Alaska - In 2009 I was working for the Bonneville Hotshots, a wildland firefighting crew based out of Salt Lake City, Utah. At the beginning of the season, we flew up to Alaska to help fight a massive wild fire raging out of control. After flying in to Fairbanks and jumping on a chartered bus, we arrived at the helibase and flew in to the fire on helicopters. Flying in low over the timber, we landed near a marsh. On the second load, the helicopter ended up landing in the middle of the marsh, It's tail rotor sinking dangerously close to the ground. The pilot knew the danger and ordered everyone out. I watched as the crewmembers jumped out of the helicopter into waist deep water, wading toward dry land, holding their bags above their heads like they were in Vietnam.
For two weeks, we worked 18 hour days, cutting line, and securing the edge of the fire. Toward the end of our tour, we were assigned to burn out a section of line. For this particular assignment, my saw team, along with two other saw teams and a handful of diggers, were assigned to the hold the line, meaning we were going to spread out and make sure that our burnout operation didn't jump the line. We were positioned so that if it did cross, a handful of us could jump on it before it got out of control. As the burners staggered down the line, igniting the undergrowth, we crossed our fingers and prayed for good wind. They passed us with glazed looks on their faces, a result of the insane work schedule we all had for the last two weeks. Zach Henseler, a lead firefighter at the time, paused to check out his work as he moved by me. On our way home after our tour, we found out that the fire had blown up and destroyed all the work that we had just put in. Such is the life of a Hotshot.
Wraiths in the Night
Xi'an, China - Lonely silhouettes pass in the night. Like wraiths they float by, their journey unknown to all.
The Earth and Decay
Idaho- Farmlife. Every spring gives rise to new crops, new livestock, new trials. Under the watchful eye of the farmer, the cycle is never ending. However, as hard times wash over the land and the light fades in his soul, the farm falls into disarray. Bills pile up high on the kitchen table. Phone calls from collectors go unanswered. What was once a fruitful farm is now a monument to the past. As the farmer drives away, looking back one last time, tears escape his eyes and fall to the ground. Ground that he shaped with his bare hands. Ground that created so much life.
Like a river, time carries us through life. Weaving in and out of currents, crossing paths with others only to be separated just as quickly. Every rock changes our course and every waterfall sends us spinning out of control. Past and present mix, while the future is always around the next corner, waiting for us.
I'm standing outside, peering through windows to the past. A breeze blows the dead grass around me. Insects and birds chirp from the fields, buzzing about, fluttering overhead. I step inside. Pink wallpaper peels down the walls as the smell of earth and decay rises up. Forgotten memories of footsteps race down the hallway. The inhabitants have long since vanished, but their past remains. As I walk down the hall, Their memories float around me like leaves on the wind, echoing a life lived and lost. The the only audible sound is the creaking of the floorboards under my weight.
I glance out the window to the back. A windmill stands erect, rusted, motionless. Equipment that used to till the land lay scattered about in the weeds. What was once a beloved farm, is now forgotten. Garbage. A blight on the land. With each cautious step I feel connected and for a brief moment, my heart fills with sadness for those whose lives had been upended.
Driving away, I can't help but anxiously think about the path that I have chosen in life, who I might run in to, and where it might take me.