A few weekends ago, I drove through Hell.
I was riding the highway back to Yorkton. I’d just spent the day in Asessippi Park in Manitoba. Side-bar: I can’t recommend this park enough. It’s loaded with top-tier hiking trails and it has slopes in the ground you could generously call “hills,” which is a nice change of scenery in the Prairies. Plus, since it’s autumn, barely anyone’s there, so you’ve got the whole park to yourself.
Anyway, I was driving on the road between Calder and Wroxton when I saw a plume of smoke in the sky. At first I ignored it. I focused on the road and the series of farms that whizzed past my windows.
But that’s the thing about driving in the Prairies: If something’s in front of you, it’s hard not to notice it.
The smoke grew. It billowed into the clouds. It loomed in front of me like a black shroud. I was driving right into it.
I kept my eyes peeled for fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars, but I didn’t see anything. Nobody was rushing into this obvious emergency.
I gripped my steering wheel a little tighter. I kept my eyes locked on the smoke. Now I could see hints of orange in the cloud of black. There was no question about it now: It was a fire.
Cars flew past me as they drove away from the smoke. I craned my neck forward and tried to get a good look at the drivers’ faces. I searched for any signs of fear or panic, anything to let me know if I should turn around. But sadly, I have not developed my facial-reading skills to analyze someone in a split-second.
There were no cars behind or in front of me. No one was headed my way. I was the only driver foolish enough to charge into the flames.
I was very close to the smoke now. It covered the entire road, creating a wall from the ground to the sky. I couldn’t see anything past it. I was petrified. But I kept driving. I may have been scared of the smoke, but I was also too lazy to find a different way home. Apathy trumps fear, I suppose.
I plunged into the smoke. I couldn’t see past the hood of my car. I turned on my high beam lights. I slowed down to a crawl. I didn’t want to crash into a misguided deer.
I broke through the other side. The smoke fell away. I was staring down a sunny day. The smoke wall lasted for maybe five seconds.
On my right, I saw the source of the fire: A man on an ATV. He was driving in a circle in a field. Flames were shooting out of the back of his ride. Little patches of wheat were burning, creating the smokescreen. It was something straight out of Mad Max.
Throughly confused, I drove home and asked my farming friends a few questions. Apparently, these burnings are completely normal. It’s a way for farmers to clean up their fields and ensure the growth of new plants. It happens all the time in Saskatchewan.
I’m of two minds on this matter. On the one hand, it’s a really interesting way to handle your field. Who doesn’t enjoy a good controlled fire?
On the other hand, it’s utterly terrifying. I don’t like wandering into flame storms without much warning.
So, Saskatchewan, give us East Coast newbies a heads-up the next you’re roasting your crops. Maybe a sign that reads, “No Worries. It’s Just a Controlled Fire. Take it Easy.”
