![]() Last summer, I continued to explore good fire through an article for the Coalition for Archaeological Synthesis. Good fire didn’t just keep our ecosystems healthy – for many Indigenous peoples, it was also the mark of a thriving relationship between people and land.Īn Anishinaabe family canoeing on Basswood River in the Boundary Waters in 1915 ( Superior National Forest Historical Photos) ![]() Suddenly, I was seeing a whole new side of fire: from Ojibwe firefighters and elders, I learned about cultural fire and the incredible influence of Indigenous peoples’ use of fire on landscapes across America and around the world. Back in the midwest in 2019, I began working as an environmental storyteller for the University of Minnesota’s Cloquet Forestry Center, a 3400-acre experimental forest located on the Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Reservation. Two more seasons as a wildland firefighter followed for me before I put my White’s boots away for good in 2015.īut I wasn’t done with fire. ![]() With the skills to create detailed GIS maps, protect historical structures and other resources, and monitor key trigger points, my crew was able to facilitate these wilderness fires. In wilderness areas, allowing wildfires to burn – reducing fuel loads by consuming dead, downed and diseased trees while making way for new growth – was often the smartest policy. We understood that fire was an important ecological disturbance for many ecosystems, capable of provoking abundance and renewal. As a wildland fire module, my crew worked on typical suppression fires, but our real specialty was managing wildfires deep in the wilderness. In less than five months, I worked nearly a thousand hours of overtime on 15 fires in Utah, Idaho and Wyoming, including 4 fires in federal wildernesses. The next summer, I joined a 10–person wildland fire module based out of Utah. Clare Boerigter on a 2015 fire within the city limits of Salt Lake City, Utah
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