If you've been following along for the last few days, you may remember that a fire started in the home of our oldest son. By the time the fire was extinguished, everything in the house was lost. However, the only truly important news is that everyone is okay. No one was home when the faulty wiring caused the smoke and flames.
The other thing that I want to mention is the unbelievable love and support our whole family has received. People have been stopping by for days now, to deliver items, clothing, and money. It seems that our little community is actually quite big.
Will's family lives in Chicot and their friends jumped in to help. We live in Evergreen; it didn't surprise us that people from our small town have done the same. However, people from other towns--Bunkie, Cottonport, Plaucheville, Hessmer, Marksville--have pitched in and donated and so much more. It's a bit overwhelming, actually.
For example, a woman who went to school with my sisters and me (40 years ago) sent a Christmas card and a check. Absolute strangers have donated money to them via a GoFundMe account. Others have bought Christmas gifts to replace the ones that burned with the house.
A great example of how considerate people are came from the school the grandies attend. The principal gave permission for our kids to wear "street clothes" to school because their uniforms were lost in the blaze. Believe me, it's much easier to put your kid into a pair of donated jeans than to find uniforms over a traumatic weekend.
But the principal was worried that the Marcottes, as the only ones in regular clothes, might feel like they stand out. To avoid that she took the regular clothes idea a bit farther and had a fundraiser. The high schoolers could donate money which would allow them to wear jeans and tee shirts for the week. The money they donated is meant to help us to buy uniforms, but since other students were wearing regular clothes, the Marcotte kids easily fit in. How thoughtful is that?
We all have had to do some adjusting to life. That includes my not getting to emails, this blog, visiting you all, pinning--just anything on the computer.
One big adjustment has been the new living arrangements. To keep Will and Stacey's family together with enough space for all of them, Rich and I moved into our 19' camper. Adam and Jenny, who were living with us since their house became infested with mold a year ago, have moved into Will and Stacey's much larger camper.
We're all making the best of it. Adam and Jen have a larger, nicer camper, but it's out in the open. Our camper is tiny but stored under a large shed. Both now have full hookups so it's very much like an RV park.
We've set up tables, chairs, and our outdoor rug. For fun we call this area "the parlor." We also made a small play area for our Maltese puppies, especially the escape artists.
Rich pulled some of my potted plants over to protect them from the occasional 30 degree weather but they add life to our shed. I won't say we can live this way for a year or two, but for now we're all in it together and are making the best of it.
Finally, it's time for a Milly Moment!
Miss Milly has a new tooth. It's a typical little baby tooth that her tongue found about the third day after it broke through, and she simply doesn't know what to do with it all. We've had such enjoyment from her nonsensical faces and tongue mishaps. That silly tongue seems to have an ADHD problem.
Every time her tongue touches that tooth, it forgets everything else and probes around trying to figure out what's there. It's hard to eat, drink, or talk when your tongue is doing something else. And I'll leave you with that thought while you celebrate the holidays with family and friends. May you have a blessed and merry Christmas!
For all that was lost, my family is safe and sound, sleeping in my house as I write this post. On Thursday our oldest son and his family lost their house and all of their belongings to a fire.
Will was offshore, working. The two teenagers were at school. Stacey and Dusti taking baby Milly Christmas shopping. No one was home. No one harmed. (I can't even think the alternative.)
As the fire began to grow in the attic, two off-duty firemen happened by and tried to determine whether there were people inside the house. The two pets were home, one inside and outside. The dog barked and they forced the door open to free her.
About the same time, in tears and panic, terrified of what she would find, Stacey called us. She turned to go home but didn't want to be there without us. Of course, we raced over. When we arrived the smoke had begun billowing from the roof. In only a few minutes there were flames. I was on the phone with Will telling him things would be okay, and we were there to help.
Then I saw those terrifying orange flames and, on the verge of tears, told him to come home, now, to take care of his family. By the time he arrived via helicopter and truck, the fire had been extinguished, but everything lost.
Older homes in Louisiana (1960 and earlier) were often built of cypress planks. There was plenty of cypress available in the southern half of the state, it's a hardwood that lasts a century or more, and it's beautiful.
Will and Stacey's home was hand built by a young couple who raised their family then retired. After the husband died, Mrs. B decided that another family would bring life back to the house. She kept in touch with Will and Stacey and they remained friends.
Almost every piece of wood on the house was dry, dusty cypress cut and nailed 57 years ago. When Mrs. B got news of the fire she went over to console them and told stories of the house from its very beginning--she cut the wood, her husband walked on the rafters and terrified her, how they slowly added to the house over the years, and so on. How sweet is that? She must have been aching to see her family home reduced to flames but focused her concern on the people who were losing it.
It took hours for the fire to do its damage. Houses of the era often had cross beams meant to slow down a fire as it travels up a wall. This fire began in the attic and did the fastest damage there, dropped down onto the ceiling, which eventually caved onto the floor and walls in the center of the house.
Meanwhile, volunteer firefighters with as many as 10 trucks did all they could. They fought the flames from one side while it roared to the other. More trucks arrived, so they cut a hole in the roof and used additional hoses to spray into the attic from the back of the L-shaped home, but there simply was not possible to fight from all sides.
A draft, a shift in the wind, a bundle of something stored in the fire's path, so many variables can affect the route of the fire that it's difficult to know what to do, where to do it, and what to do it with.
Volunteers train often and hard, but in rural places we know that the odds of saving a building are not good. Volunteers may be unable to come. Others may be not trained for the type of fire that is raging. (Ours was an electrical fire.) The gas, electric and water companies must all have men on site to assist in turning off utilities which can make situations even more dangerous. One doesn't realize the complexities of what has to be done or the safety protocols set in place until they affect your life and home.
Eventually they did extinguish the flames, then the smoking embers on the inside walls, and the "hot spots" that are most persistent. At last, the exhausted men and women were able to remove their heavy coats and boots and return home. Will had arrived and tried to assess the damage, but the cyanide gases inside the house prevented him from even looking in the windows.
The only thing left to do was to find a place to take a bath and try to rest for the night. In the morning they returned, unwilling to accept the devastation. But while they suffered a loss which breaks our hearts but is nothing compared to what could have been.
They decided to come here for a day or two to regroup and shake off the nervous shock. Once they talked it over as a family, they decided to stay until after the holidays. So everything in my world is upside down and crazy. Quilting and blogging will be put aside so that I can help with the many, many details of finding a way back to living a normal life. But we are together and safe and that is all that matters.
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Mayday! Mayday! THE ANTS ARE COMING! THE ANTS ARE COMING!
Ahh, well, there's only one way to take out the enemy...with full gear and enough ammo. Really it's the only way. Men, you know.
So we've had a great deal of rain. Flood stage and higher. People have lost homes. Rivers overrun their banks kind of rain. Darn sky!
With rain come the ants. Fire ants. Sugar ants. Red ants. Flying ants. Ants with no name. They are allowed on my kitchen cabinet. Actually, that's a problem but it's my problem. The garden, however, is scared ground. Remember the Garden War has begun. Ants may cause a gardener to lose to another gardener. So we can't have ants in the garden. Or aphids. Or chickens. Or anything that may eat a leaf. Leaves are good. Ants are bad. Simple.
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But ants invade, although this wasn't really a tactical move, they were flooded out. So in their defense, it really was the sky's fault. Darn sky! But they should have moved to the pasture. Or my kitchen cabinet. Somewhere safe. Instead, they moved two feet from scared ground. They had to go.
I am at fault since I warned a gardener to be careful and not stand in the anthill while we were on the daily admiration walk to admire the plants, the leaves, the heights, the vegetables. Then admire the garden in general. Kneel and say a pray for good weather, good harvest, and a kicka-- win. Walk to the next garden and repeat. There are several boxes, remember? It takes a while.
This particular day, however, I noticed The Anthill. Easy fix. Pour an oil-based liquid on the hill and strike a match. It's what country boys do, you understand. Oil-based liquids are easily accessible, make whooshing sounds, and cause havoc. All three of my boys are reliable pyromaniacs. I, myself, can start a campfire with one match and the items I gather in the woods. It's written in the official "True Southern Rite of Passage Handbook" (section 5, article iii, line 6) True Southerners must be "capable of building a safe fire without harm to human, animal, live vegetation, or self using only natural materials and no more than three matches." It goes on to say blah, blah, blah, blah...
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Adam met that standard at about the age of two, maybe three. He was toddling around gathering wood, so he couldn't have been very old. Today, he can start a safe fire with a wet brick. So he started a fire. It's an interesting way to de-ant a garden.
That the ants weren't actually in the garden was just a small sticking point. They were around the tall creosote pole that held the electrical wires to Adam's shed. The wires weren't connected to the shed. They were just holding the pole up. Maybe one day they'll carry electricity all the way from the transformer to the shed. Maybe not.
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But the electrical pole was not the problem, the ants were the problem. So Adam poured paint thinner around the pole, not on the pole, it was to be a safe fire, and struck the lighter. It was a little disappointing that the paint thinner didn't whoosh, but it did upset the ants. In fact, it was upsetting enough that the boy poured on more paint thinner.
Hmm, there wasn't enough oil-based liquid, so he got out a small can of some other Napalm-like liquid and poured. The fire got hotter. Ahh, now the ants were climbing out of the depths of the nest. They were toast and soon the fire died down to barely a smolder. Not even smoke. Everyone safe. See, a safe fire. That was Saturday.
On Sunday it was easy to explain to the electrical company why the electrical pole was lying on the ground. The wires were faulty, you see. They got scared of the little bitty (safe) fire and let go of the pole and, unable to support itself, the pole crashed to the ground.
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Here's your chemistry lesson: paint thinner--flammable; burns like a chemical grenade capable of seeping into small cracks. Creosote--enzymatic chemical; can burn without oxygen. In fact, it can create a fire out of itself. And that, my dear readers, is what happened. A week later and there's still a smolder of laughter.
We had some excitement in our little town a few days ago. It's not often (thank God) that the Volunteer Fire Departments from three or four towns pull into a driveway right across the road.
The fire caused some damage in the fields across the road from our home, and the fire trucks caused additional damage as they drove through the mud and grass cutting ruts. If these ruts are not fixed, the erosion will eventually create bogs. All of that, however, is not a concern for our family. We have tractors and the pasture can survive till the summer when it will be easier and drier for such chores.
This scene, though, is cause for more immediate concern. What looks like a small pickup was actually a large four-wheel drive. The young driver and his family were able to get out safely but it was quite upsetting to consider how horrible the outcome could have been.
They were legally on the land and were not mud-riding. Thinking they were on hard ground, but unable to see through the thick grass, they slid into a boggy area. A few adjustments put the truck in 4WD but the bog was slick and the tires just dug deeper into the mud. A spark from the muffler set the tinder-dry grass on fire and spread before they realized it. Although they tried to put the grass fire out, they quickly lost the fight and left the vehicle.
In our house across the field and road, we heard the blast when the gas tank blew and almost immediately saw the firetrucks arrive. There was nothing to be done for the truck, but the men were able to put out the grass fire and prevent it from spreading.
The damage is amazing. I could not believe the condition of the truck, although I saw the fire and smoke from a distance.
Nothing is left except the metal. Every bit of cloth, plastic, rubber, leather, vinyl, and so on is gone.
The dark blue paint is now a white ash that flutters off in the wind.
The large tires are now rims with bits of wire encircling them.
This is the motor. The motor!
Although the family is upset over the loss of a new vehicle, they are grateful and blessed. And they know it. The adults and children who were in the truck were able to get out and to safety before the gas tank blew. Of course, it was upsetting and frightening, but they are safe and that is all that matters.
If you've been following along for the last few days, you may remember that a fire started in the home of our oldest son. By the time the fire was extinguished, everything in the house was lost. However, the only truly important news is that everyone is okay. No one was home when the faulty wiring caused the smoke and flames. 
We're all making the best of it. Adam and Jen have a larger, nicer camper, but it's out in the open. Our camper is tiny but stored under a large shed. Both now have full hookups so it's very much like an RV park. 
