Standing in the Green

As hard as I fought for my firefighter retirement, a “special” retirement provision in the US federal service that requires a mandatory retirement age of 57, I was not ready to retire.  As my 57^th birthday loomed I sought alternatives to retirement.   I could have moved into a non-fire position, but I really did not want to do anything except fire.  I really loved my job, and I honestly felt I had a lot I still wanted to do.  And that I still had a lot to offer. 

In early 2020 I saw an outreach for a fire position in my regional office that interested me.  I responded but was upfront that I would be “hitting mandatory” in less than a year.  The person who supervised that position responded to my email. He was very enthusiastic about me applying and said “we can work around your firefighter retirement.”  Wink, wink.  Nudge, nudge.  I know this had been done for a handful of others before me, so I knew it was doable.  I talked to my current supervisor, and she was supportive as well.  “I don’t want you to retire, I still want you in the Forest Service.  I will do what needs to be done to help with this.”

Over the new few weeks this person checked in with me a few times, giving me updates on where the process was, encouraging me to be patient, assuring me he really, really wanted me to apply for the position.  Finally, the job announcement came out, and I put my application in before the deadline.  As much as I knew there are no real promises, I started planning in my head that I was going to get this job.  I began looking on-line at apartments in Portland.    The time came for interviews, and I thought mine went really well.  I was heartened that several people on the panel had worked with me before and were supporters of my career.  I could not really imagine anyone out-competing me.  I had 30+ years of experience with the US Forest Service (USFS), I had worked on seven different national forests in five USFS regions.  I had experience on hand crews, a hotshot crew, engines, helitack, fuels.  I served on national cadres for a couple of upper-level fire courses.  I worked in management positions on three national forests with very complex fire programs.  My supervisor checked in with HR on what steps she would need to make to “get-around” my firefighter retirement.  We had a plan.

You probably know where this is going; I did not get the job.  I was stunned when I got the phone call telling me I was not selected.  It was August, 2020.  My 57^th birthday was in December.  I had less than five months.  I had not been preparing myself mentally for retirement, and I was in semi-panic mode.  What the hell was I going to do?

Like most first responders, so much of my identity and my life revolved around my career as a wildland firefighter and manager.  I had sacrificed so much for my career.  Relationships.  My personal life.  And, at times, my physical and mental health.  And I was proud, as one of few women in wildland fire, how far my career had taken me.

I scoured the outreach databases for jobs, not even knowing what I was looking for.  It was highly unlikely that anyone would “work-around” my firefighter retirement, and the clock was ticking anyway.  It takes months to fill a job in the USFS.  I saw an outreach for a position with the National Park Service and called my Park Service friend, Chad, to ask him about it.  “That’s a shitty job, Riva,” Chad said with his gentle Southern accent.  “Why are you looking at that kind of job?”  I told him the condensed version of my pitiful story, that I felt like the rug got yanked out from underneath me, and that I was panicking at the thought of retirement. “I would retire tomorrow if I could,” he said.  Chad is a few years younger than I, and he’d just accepted a new job, a promotion into a national level position.  But he told me about missing out on so much of his sons’ lives.  He reminded me of everything I had given to this career, the sacrifices I had made.  The toll the job takes on us all.  “Man, you’ve got that sweet VW Van; go travel!  Travel during fire season.  Have fun, and enjoy the gift of an early retirement.  You have other interests, not like some folks who have no other life outside work.”  That conversation with Chad was just what I had needed.  It was like a switched got flipped inside my brain.  I stopped freaking out over retiring.  And I started putting my plan into place.

Fire season of 2020, however, would not let me go gentle into that good night.  An historic, and forecasted, wind event struck Western OR and parts of Western WA starting on September 7.  High winds from the East raced down the slopes of the Cascades Mountains towards the coast.   While my national forest had no existing large fires at the time of the wind event, new fires started and grew large very quickly.  For the next several weeks, my co-workers and I, as well as firefighters and managers across Oregon and WA and Northern CA, were heavily engaged in the management and aftermath of large, destructive wildfires.  And while this wind event was not unprecedented (these East wind events had been taking place every 70-100 years on the Western slopes of Oregon and Washington), its affects were.  It was sobering.  Our communities around this fire were horribly affected, and we lost over 100 homes.  This was a glimpse of things to come with climate change and persistent droughts and the people who live in, and on the edge, of the wildlands.  How could I walk away now?

Time flowed like a river towards December 2020.  I lined up some intermittent work for after retirement, work I would enjoy with people I liked.  I started planning a three-week trip in my van that would start in January, right after I was done.

Because of COVID-19 there was little retirement fanfare.  A lot of people poo-poo having a party, but I wanted a big party.  I wanted friends to travel from other places I had worked.  I wanted funny stories told.  I wanted to laugh so hard my belly would hurt.  I wanted to shed tears and feel the love from my sisters and brothers.  I wanted to hug these magnificent human beings I had worked with.  Instead, my immediate fire co-workers put on a nice lunch for me and gave me thoughtful, wonderful gifts.  And it was good.  It was enough. These people and I had been through some shit, and I was happy they were the ones who sent me off. I had spent the previous couple of months mentally preparing myself for my last day, and as I walked out of the office, I felt acceptance for where I was and gratitude for where I had been.

I finally stopped clenching my teeth in my sleep a couple of months after I retired.  I slept better and longer.  I worked out regularly, not having to choose between that and sleep.  I started meditating more, something I had been trying to make a regular practice for years.  I cleaned out closets and dressers.  I set up my own business.  The agencies have a program where retired folks can sign up as an “emergency hire” to fight fires and support all-hazard incidents.  Some retirees practically do it full time, serving on incident management teams.  I did want to sign up, but I did not want to be on a team or spend my retirement as an emergency hire.  I wanted to choose when I went out.  I completed my paperwork, training, and fitness test by March.  I went out on a Critical Incident Stress Management assignment in May of 2021, my first as a retiree.  I went to New Mexico on a three-week Duty Officer assignment.  I developed fire training webinars for firefighters in the Ukraine.

I also took trips!  In my van and not.  Visited my family back East for the first time since the pandemic started.  Took naps.  Went to an outdoor music festival with dear friends.  One of those trips took me through Montana and Idaho.  Smoke from wildfires was a constant companion.  It was somewhat discomfiting driving through fires in these states.  Passing fire crews on the highways.  Not being part of it.

I knew the true test would come when my “home” forest busted a big fire.  And it happened.  Pretty early in fire season.  And then more fires.  Damn.  It was hard not being there.  Not being in the job.  Not helping out my friends and co-workers.  I texted a few folks, told them I was thinking of them, wished them well.  A couple responded, thanked me for checking in and acknowledged how weird it must be for me.  It was.  I felt like I was standing alone way out in “the green” while they were all standing next to, or in, “the black.”  They were in the middle of what was going on, and I was on the outside.  I used to love being in the flow when we were getting fires and I was the Duty Officer.  But then I had to remind myself what I was not missing.  I wasn’t missing dealing with Incident Management Teams who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, carry out our direction.  I wasn’t missing disagreeing with key cooperators on the appropriate course of action.  I wasn’t missing the exhausting 14-hour days and then lying awake at night worried about the firefighters on the line.  I wasn’t missing my diet going to shit because I barely had time to eat a decent, nutritious meal. I wasn’t missing the constant dread of my phone ringing in the middle of the night.

When the COVID-19 vaccine became a reality in the spring of 2021, my friend Jaime, retired for 10+ years off the Klamath National Forest and former Type 1 Operations Section Chief, asked if I wanted to go to Europe on a hiking adventure in the late summer.  At first, I thought, well, no, I can’t go, that’s fire season! Geesh, she knows better!  And then I remembered, wait, I could go!  I didn’t have to say no.  I said yes! We planned it for the beginning of September, and I knew I had that to look forward to.  I no longer had to schedule nearly everything around fire season.

With about 10 days before our flight to Zurich, I got an urgent call from a friend off the Lake Tahoe Basin Management Unit (LTBMU) in California asking if I could come down and help.  The Caldor Fire had started a few days earlier on the neighboring Eldorado National Forest, and it was pushing steadily towards Lake Tahoe and the LTBMU.  I reluctantly declined.  My trip was only a few days away, and I still had a lot to do to prepare.  The next day I got a text asking me to come for however long I could.  A typical fire assignment is 14 days, and it is unusual to accept one for anything shorter.  My friend said, “We really need the help.  We’ll take you for even just a couple of days if that’s all you can do.”  These were good friends of mine, and I knew what they were going through and what was yet to come.  I checked with my pet-sitter to see if she was available.  She was.  I got back in touch with my friend and said “I can give you five days.”  I left the next day.

The sun was dimmed by smoke, and ash fell in South Lake Tahoe while the Caldor Fire continued its march East. I cancelled a doctor’s appointment so I could stay an additional day.  Some of us made plans for the Caldor Fire to make it to the Basin while others refused to believe that it could.  I was so frustrated at the sheer denial of what this fire could do.  Many didn’t think the Dixie Fire would cross the Sierra divide from West to East, and yet it did.  No one thought the town of Greenville would burn to the ground, and yet it did.  And here we were arguing with the naysayers who did not want to accept the “new” reality of wildfires and just kept doing the same tactics, day after day.  Tactics that were not working.  It was infuriating.  And so our small group planned for the inevitable anyway.  And then I had to go.  I had to leave my friends, and I felt terrible doing so.  No one was mad at me; they understood.  They knew what I had given up all those years prior.  I think it was harder to convince myself that it was okay.

Three days later Jaime and I boarded our plane to Zurich.  She knew how I felt, as she’d also been there herself.  “It gets easier,” she said.  “And you will love this new freedom.”  We had an awesome time on our trip.  We hiked for seven days through the breathtaking Swiss Alps.  We spent several days in the sun on lakes in Northern Italy and even paddle-boarded.  We visited the Duomo in bustling Milan.  We ate cheesy fondue and sweet pastries.  We ate rustic, hand-made pasta, creamy gelato, and the best pizza ever.  We drank dark coffee and delicious local wine.  We rode fast trains and slow trains and made new friends.  It was wonderful.

It’s been over a year and a half since I retired.  Now I’m grateful that I was “forced” to retire.  I’m so glad I didn’t get that job! I got to take a once-in-a-lifetime, 3-week trip rafting the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon.  I likely couldn’t have done that if I were still working.

I still miss some things, mostly the people.  But I don’t miss a lot of things.  And I’m still connected to the wildland fire community in many ways.  I’ve been able to go out on some good assignments, but I pretty much only go where I have good friends who need the help.  My work with Grassroots Wildland Firefighters provides me connection and satisfaction.  I’m aware I have a “shelf life” as an emergency hire, but I also know there are many other things I can do to support our community.  I can continue advocate for the boots on the ground.  I can advocate for more good fire on the land.  I can talk and write about my experience in seeing the effects of climate change on the land, on wildfires, and on the people who fight them.  And I can do all of that, happily, from “the green.”

-end-

Now I see fire
Inside the mountain
And I see fire
Burning the trees
And I see fire
Hollowing souls
And I see fire
Blood in the breeze
And I hope that you remember me

Ed Sheeran, “I See Fire”