Walhonding, Ohio is a beautiful place. It’s been almost twenty years since I have been there, but I remember well its hills and valleys, pastures and forests of hardwoods mixed with pines. The waters of the Walhonding River run strong through those hills. I can remember the Walhonding River like a silver ribbon sparkling and winding its way through those hills.
It was December, 1995. I was fourteen years old. We always lived in rented a house and my family was between houses. It was Christmas time. It must have been a discouraging time for my parents, but that is not how I remember it. It was an adventure. We had to move out of the beautiful, new home we were renting because it was bought by someone. Dad promised the home owner we would move within thirty days, but we couldn’t find a place. Some Amish friends heard of a house that was empty. It sat on the crest of a hill above Walhonding in one of the most beautiful locations I have ever been. The house was more like a dilapidated deer shack than a house. It was a house with old wooden siding that had been painted green years before we got there. There was a garage of the same color and a barn that used to be red. The house hadn’t been lived in for a long time. It was musty, creaky, filled with dead bugs, not fit for a pet much less a family, but it was our only option. We took it. On top of it all a new baby boy, Wesley was born to our family on the 9th of December. We didn’t plan on being there long. It was more like a storage unit for our belongings.
The back yard was a valley of alfalfa. It was used by a local farmer to make hay.
Since we lived there for only a short time we didn’t want to spend the money on trash service. As the oldest boy in the family I was the trash service. It was my job to take the trash out and burn it. I only remember doing this once. There was no barrel, just a bit of a fire ring of a few rocks. I remember my dad telling me,
“Son, you watch that fire the entire time and when it is done burning make sure it is out!”
I assured him I would. After burning the trash and snuffing the fire was we loaded up in our mini-van for some time in town to eat and look at Christmas lights. I took one more trip to the backyard to make sure the fire was out and then ran to the van. Dad asked again.
“Are you sure the fire is out, son?”
I said
“Yes Dad.” And we left.
We were excited. We loved to go out to eat. We had our favorite meal, two large pepperoni pizzas from Little Caesars and our own twelve ounce can of pop from a convenience store called Woosley’s. The kids would get the .25 cent pop, mom and dad got the .35 cent pop. Dad made sure Anne Murry, Julie Andrews and Michael Card sang continuous Christmas music through the cassette deck. The heat was cranked in our ’87 GMC Safari mini-van. Mom and Dad were happy, we were happy.
It took the better part of an hour to get home from town. It was a beautiful drive. We took it for granted then. Now I live in the cornfields of Indiana, I would love to take a drive through those hills again.
We neared the old house. At one stop sign a fire truck drove in front of us toward Walhonding. Dad snickered and said, “wouldn’t that be funny if it was coming from our place?”
We turned onto our dirt road. Dad noticed the road was deeply rutted were it hadn’t been before. He mentioned it. Up the hill another fire truck drove toward us. Now Dad really was concerned they may be coming from our place. We crested the hill to find our yard filled with fire trucks. Fire trucks from five different counties. The house was standing, the garage was standing and the barn too. We turned into the drive. Beyond the house and garage and barn was a charred black valley. All forty acres. Dad talked to the firemen for what seemed like forever.
I knew it was my fault. But I was sure that fire was out!
Dad finished talking to the firemen and came over to me. It was determined the fire that started the valley ablaze came from the fire ring. The winds had picked up while we were gone and revived what I thought was a dead fire. The firemen said the flames came up around the garage, which held my dad’s entire library, but didn’t hurt the garage a bit. I came right up to the old barn, but didn’t catch the barn on fire either. That barn would have burned like an old couch. They said the fire did hit an old vat of motor oil sitting beside the garage. The billowing black smoke from that could be seen in five counties and they each sent trucks toward it.
We never heard another thing about it after the blaze. If my dad did he didn’t tell me. I haven’t forgotten it though, I never will. Burning entire valleys seems to stick in your memory.
We were blessed the fire didn’t burn every building down and all our belongings with it. When I think of it I remember looking at what I thought was a dead fire. Devastation can come from something that looks harmless.
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