As the smoke clears, the east face of the Cabinet Mountains wears a white skirt of early season snow. The rain has soaked down into the ground. Cooler temperatures and steady pounding of crews makes headway on local fires. The red fox returns to her den via a mudslide near the Bayhorse portion of the Moose Peak Fire. Black bear scat is everywhere, grizz scat is spotted occasionally, and a lone goshawk hunts a timber edge pond near McGinnis Creek.

We are most grateful for the changes in the weather that helped the fire situation. We are feelin’ the heartbreak of those who lost their homes. We mourn the firefighters killed in other parts of our great nation. So we begin to pick up pumps, hose and gear, and transport overhead and “de-mobes” — demobilized resources — to airports. The work is surely not over, but the intensity of severe fires locally were dampened by committed air attack coordination, tireless skeleton crews, Mother Nature, and in some respects, a huge dose of good fortune.

For some it was intense heat, exhaustion and danger. And for all of us here and on every fire in Montana and nationwide it was real. Bonds are formed with co-workers, supervisors, catering staff, young interns and, mysteriously, one’s self. Fire world makes us all feel like part of an important team, and therefore we feel good about helping our community, our neighbors, the frontline folks and those in the need of a helping hand during this tenuous fire season and it’s recovery/rehabilitation stages.

“Change is inevitable, but growth is optional,” wrote John C. Maxwell. So we grow new friendships even as time fades others like smoke dissipating out of our valleys. The new ones warm our hearts like morning sunshine on a cool fall day. The fading ones disappear, but leave valuable life lessons. And some of the best are those that grow every day.

On the hill the mosaic pattern of fire is evident. Fingers and runs are painted on the landscape canvas according to slope, fuels, rocky outcrops, wind and timber types. The hottest burning pockets are illustrated by the still standing, scorched and blackened timber. They stand in a testimonial as to what happened here, what a band of humans tried to do here, and to what they could not do. Mother Nature rained lightning into multiple locations striking thousands of timber stands and we humans were simply out-gunned. In this spot, the breeze now blows golden larch needles onto black stumps and ashen ground.

But there will be growth! Already, natures interconnected web of life is beginning to heal. It will be a miraculous transformation as this process occurs. And most certainly will be aided by a dedicated team of fire ecologists, hydrologists, wildlife biologists, soils scientists, siviculturists and fisheries folks with good intentions and high-tech methods. As they are fully aware, they can only help nature heal her wounds.

Some of our new friendships may not come to fruition, and some of them may. We mortals can only lament friends gone before us, and remember the good times of friendships that have passed. We nurture the new ones, and appreciate the old ones. We choose the option for growth. Like the fire scarred land, which needs time to heal, replenish and grow, we humans could learn many lessons from the earth. As the smoke clears, be patient and choose growth. It’s really our only option.