People ask me why I loved such a dangerous profession. Some have accused me of being an "adrenalin junkie" or being just plain crazy. They ask why I risked my life. Why would I want to work so hard for so little pay. Why did I put up with the discrimination.
Recently I found a book by Philip Connors called Fire Season: Field Notes from a Wilderness Lookout. Although not a firefighter, Philip captures the essence of one in such a lovely, poetic way, I'm jealous.
Simply put, he describes firefighting this way:
"That
wildfire could be fun was a fact known mainly by those who fought it.
You slept outdoors. You felt a kinship with your crew members, brothers
and sisters in a tough line of work. You hiked, parachuted, and rode
helicopters over beautiful forests; you drove scenic roads, told dirty
jokes under the stars, did your work in the wild."
Yup, that's why I did it. That's why I loved my job.