In the Middle of a Forest Fire … in a Wheelchair
Fire and Fear
It was a lovely weekend, Saturday, I think. By this time, we had moved back to Europe, to the Netherlands, from the USA. A new country, a new language (my third) which I couldn’t speak well at all yet. I was ten years old. And, at that time, I could not walk at all. Having just had two long sessions of radiotherapy at levels that, today, you would never be subjected to.
But all that was over, and my parents used the weekends to explore our new country of residence. Although the Netherlands is a small country, there are many beautiful places to explore. From the coastline with its long sandy beaches, the dunes that keep the sea away from the populated areas and are a haven for wildlife, to the inland areas and forested parts near to the German border.
That beautiful weekend, my parents decided we would take a walk in a large forest. I do not remember where exactly. The forest was for us an important and beautiful reminder of the country we had to leave — Czechoslovakia, when the Russians invaded.
Forests, the place with the tall trees, where the occasional sun-ray would find it’s way through the branches to paint a light-tableau. Forests, which would suddenly open up on an open grassy space, ideal to sit down and have a picnic. Forests where the unseen sounds of nature, wind, and animals play in a harmony that soothes a person into a relaxed state of half meditation.
My parents and I had found such a lovely grassy space in the middle of that forest, and we had just finished our little picnic. It has taken us some time to get to this space, as my dad was pushing me in my cheep little wheelchair that the state had graciously provide for me. It was a horrible light brown contraption with tiny wheels. The tiny wheels meant that when I was in it — I could not make it move by myself. Somebody had to push me. And at that time, I could not get out of this wheelchair by myself either. It was a hard push to get where we were on the sandy forest path.
Just as we finished out light lunch and were packing away, people around us seemed to be rushing past. It was very early on in our stay in the Netherlands, and we still did not speak Dutch apart from a few words. Thankfully, most Dutch people speak English. So, my dad went to ask someone hurrying past us what was happening. He was told that a fire started somewhere in the forest “in that direction” pointing to the path where we had come from and where we had parked our car.
We didn’t know what to do, as going further was difficult with my wheelchair and now there was apparently a fire where our car was. My dad, in his panic, decided to go and investigate. He left towards the fire while my mom and I waited.
And waited…and waited some more.
After a while — ten minutes or so — my mother told me to wait (as if I could go anywhere!) and that she is going to look for my father. Before I could voice my thoughts on that, she was gone.
Now I was alone — sitting in a wheelchair that I could not move. Facing the direction away from the fire and where my parents have gone. I still saw people walking past me, fast.
I was panicking. I felt totally trapped, and alone. Even though the sun was shining, and the sky was blue with white fluffy clouds, it did not feel like a good place to be. Additionally, even in my rising panic, I noticed that the birds has stopped singing and in fact that there was an eery quiet only broken, occasionally, by the rapid footsteps of people rushing past me.
Suddenly, that lovely sky had a tentacle of grey smoke obscuring the blue. The smoke was slowly gliding over the treetops. A light smell of burning reached my nostrils. My heart was beating fast, and I was close to tears. Alone, immobile in the midst of a forest that was on fire. The worst-case scenario that I could imagine was playing out right there and then.
Someone came to ask me something, but it was in Dutch, and I couldn’t understand. Thankfully, at that point both my mother and father had returned.
I was angry with them. “How could you leave me here when there is a fire?!” I screamed. My mother told me that she hadn’t gone far, and I was in her sight all the time…but I didn’t know that.
My father had been successful in speaking to one of the forest wardens and was told that there was indeed a fire, but it was under control and that we — because of me — could return to our car as we came. We would be escorted along the area that was on fire.
I do not remember much of the return journey…just how glad I was to see our car. I still do remember the beautiful sunny spot where we had our picnic and the fear afterwards. I still love forests and often go and “walk” in them in my all-terrain mobility scooter.
(It was a very small forest fire that was brought under control fast. It had started due to a cigarette butt thrown casually away. Statistics show that most forest fires are due to cigarette butts thrown out of a car. )
