On a walk

It's almost fall here.  The temperature doesn't say so, but the grass does.  It's gone from vibrant, lush green to drab, crunchy straw.  The park's bug quota has dropped, thankfully.  Lots of water fowl in the ponds and dogs on the trails.  Amber and Lily are just happy to run through the long grass and feel free.  Their joy is contagious.  Walking by myself no longer holds any appeal--it's not nearly as giddy as when they run along in front of me, dip in the pond, sniff every new smell and look back at me occasionally to make sure I'm along for the ride.

On today's walk a new scent was mixed with the smell of pond, grass and trees.  Smoke is in the air.  After a long, wet spring, I was sure fire season would skip us again this year.  However, days and weeks of heat have dried out everything that was damp.  The area is likely to light up soon or just become covered in a thick blanket of smoke from other fires in the region.

I know we live in something of a suburbia bubble.  The town in which we live is growing with new families, old houses are being renovated and re-appreciated.  There are no "scary" neighborhoods I'd avoid.  The only people I try to steer clear of are tourists, if only because I'm likely to growl at them for passing along the word of how wonderful this place is.

It's so wonderful here that people come from other states to build their homes or second homes in the wildland-urban interface.  They love the feel of living in the wild...until the wildfires come.  Without the proper precautions, all they love about the wilderness becomes something to fear.  There isn't enough space between the trees and their house and it can all go up in smoke so quickly.
Suburbia may be a place of scorn and disgust for some, but at least I can feel a little reassured that my house, and neighborhood, isn't in a wild place it doesn't belong.