At 11:32 p.m. on the night of November 29, an Escalante resident was awakened by flickering lights flashing through his bedroom bay window.
“Oh my gosh!” he exclaimed, sitting up in bed as he stared in disbelief at a blazing inferno in the neighbor’s backyard. His wife called the fire department while he got dressed and drove over to awaken the neighbors, who were sound asleep. When their dog, Emma, heard a loud banging on their porch door, she barked and awakened the Christensens.
Earlier in the day, and in keeping with tradition, Gregg had erected a star on a 20-foot mast. He had mounted the star on their home for 20 years, then moved it atop their chicken coop, its seasonal perch for the past 10 years. The star has cast a gentle glow on the neighborhood for three decades, and everyone looks forward to its appearance each Christmas season. But this year, the resulting glow was a bit too bright.
Firefighters responded within minutes, the majority of whom were also likely sound asleep when the call came in for a “barn on fire.” Two sheriff’s deputies also responded with the 15 firemen, plus four EMTs in the accompanying ambulance in case anyone got injured. The unfortunate casualties were the 20 hens roosting when the fire broke out.
The pump truck parked on Christensen’s lane and the hose was reeled out. Even from 60 feet away the firefighter was able to produce hissing steam when he hit the flames. They attached a second hose and achieved even more direct assault on the flames which were starting to lick along the wooden fence rails surrounding the adjacent goat pen.
Soon, the ladder truck crept across Christensen’s spacious lawn, sloping toward the Escalante River, to gain access to the back of the coop. The brilliant lights mounted on the top of the ladder provided clearer visibility to the entire scene which was billowing in white steamy clouds.
By 12:40 a.m., the structure was a sodden mass of wood and ashes, all hot spots saturated enough that they wouldn’t even think of sparking, the metal framework of the star among the rubble of the totaled coop. In barely more than an hour, a crisis was averted. The goats were safe, and the fire did not extend to any neighboring property or down the river, which is full of dry timber.
The owner and Don Porter, the Fire Chief, surmised the fire was started by a faulty timer. Mrs. Christensen wondered what the insurance agent thought of this redneck tradition of mounting a star on a chicken coop when they called to file a claim. No matter what he thought, we know this: We live where we take care of each other and we’re in good hands.
– The Byway
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