Emily Skeggs
The Path that leadeth on is lighted by one fire - the light of daring burning in the heart. The more one dares, the more he shall obtain. -Helena Petrovna Blavatsky

I thought the best part of the trip was waking up each morning to the birds nesting in the walls of our one room schoolhouse and the sun peeking through the cracks in the ceiling. I stumbled across creaky floorboards, dodging sleeping bodies and muddy sneakers, to fling the door open and marvel at what was before me. The New York City sky is littered with steel and concrete, while here the sky seemed to go on uninterrupted. A beautiful expanse of Colorado sky and warmth seemed to bounce from the thirsty red soil and onto my cheeks in a way I never felt on the sidewalks of the city. I thought the best part was starting my day with ten strangers, fellow teen volunteers from all over the country. We cooked a cowboy’s breakfast, complete with coffee that could float a horseshoe. Pulling on our boots and jeans, we hopped in the back of our pickup and rode the ten miles of dusty road to the main camp. Knowing we’d be greeted with “howdys" and a tip of the hat, we’d eagerly await the arrival of Dave, the ranch manager, who would assign us our daily task. Anticipation vibrated in the air that only eager volunteers can create. Each day brought something new, often something I had only experienced in front of a television. I herded cattle, bathed in a lake, slept under the stars, and was chased by the ranch’s rowdiest bull. I thought it couldn’t get any better or more exciting than this. I thought wrong.

Chico Basin Ranch practices sustainable ranching-- the idea that people can raise herds and live off the land without destroying it. The cattle graze on naturally grown prairie grasses and can roam for miles, coexisting with wild animals. The tumbleweed collects along the fences, trapping wild animals in the confines of the ranch and making the prairie more vulnerable to wild fires started by lightning. Our task was to eliminate the tumbleweed. Today was controlled burning day.

I was the youngest of the group and appeared even younger with my small frame and chin length bob. I considered myself a mature and hardworking girl but knew there would always be things in life I could not do. I could ride the horses well enough, but my attempts at lifting lumber for the renovation of an old cabin on the ranch had all ended with someone rushing to my side as I gradually gave under the pressure. For this reason, Dave gave me the job of driving the tractor, hauling a tank of water for fire emergencies to the burn site. While others carried heavy containers of gasoline, or pulled tumbleweed from the fence’s grasp, I’d sit in my tractor in ready position to watch for a line of fire drew itself for miles along the horizon. I was proud of my job. Not many others could drive the tractor, but I was also painfully aware of my inability to lift and haul.

We drove back to the main camp for lunch, where we lay in the grass eating cheese sandwiches and beef jerky. We listened to the ranch hands’ lunchtime conversation-- animated and slightly ridiculous stories of being awakened in the night by strange singing far off in the prairie, or having to remove hundreds of porcupine spikes from the face of a horse. Today’s lunch seemed like any other. Then, out of the dust, a ranch hand came galloping up on his horse. There was commotion and yelling, and the next thing I knew I was flooring the tractor towards this morning’s burn site, where the fire raged uncontrollably.

At the site, I jumped out of the tractor hose in hand and was surprised to find no one ready to receive the heavy nozzle. The shock didn’t set in until I made the connection between the hose in my hand and the blaze before me. It was me or no one.

I tied my bandana around my nose and mouth to protect myself from the harsh smoke, twisted the handle on the water tank until liquid gushed from the nozzle, and ran towards the flames. With both hands strong on the nozzle and the hose resting over my shoulder, I directed the steady stream towards the heart of the flames, while Dave and the ranch hands shoveled sand around the blaze to keep it from spreading. I stood in the heat, sweat instantly evaporating from my skin, the rubber on my shoes melting, and the hem of my jeans slowly singed black, until, a half hour later, the ground sizzled with defeat.

I was physically and emotionally exhausted, but strangely exhilarated. I stepped up to the plate. I found and exercised strength I thought I would never be capable of. I dropped my prior beliefs about my limitations and boundaries, and extinguished a prairie fire that could have destroyed hundreds of miles of land and endangered not only animals and neighboring communities, but my team members and the ranch I had come to love.

Then came the words I will never forget. “You know, for your age, you’re a really remarkable young lady.” I looked to my right, and saw the old eyes and knowing smile of genuine simple respect--Dave.

I came to Chico Basin Ranch as a member of the organization Landmark Volunteers. I chose this program as an opportunity to do some community service, meet new people, and see a part of the country that I’d never seen before. What I didn’t expect to leave with was newfound confidence and an inner strength that matters more than muscle.

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