God of the Compost, Part 1

Beauty For Ashes 

The unearthly scene immersed us. On both sides of the road a deep and uniform blanket of light gray covered the ground and everything on it– clear to the horizon.
As we drove through the neighborhood, we passed locations where one expected residences, but there were none. The pervasive layer of ash muffled all sounds. The only aroma in the heavy air was smoke. No black, no white– everything within sight conformed to a uniform gray. 

I arrived with a group of four other men to assist cleanup efforts after the historic Bastrop, Texas fire disaster in 2011. At this location we met Nick Bower, the owner of the property. In the period of much less than an hour, the conflagration consumed his entire worldly possessions– house, cars, clothing, photographs, and much more. Actually, the owner hadn't lost absolutely everything, as he stated when meeting us– "Before the fire began that day, my wife and I had been picked up from home by a couple of friends who took us fishing, so we actually still had the clothes on our backs and our two fishing poles when we came back home!" 

On this day, we intended to help him recover anything of value buried in the ashes. He explained to us that beyond the normal things that most people had in their homes, he possessed extensive collections of antique firearms and weapons, Civil War artifacts, mineral specimens and fossils, both antique costumes and modern reproductions of them, and libraries of rare books and valuable antique maps. His house was a private museum. Not only valuable, in many cases, these collections were irreplaceable. The painfully obvious thought occurred to each of us that most of these collections almost certainly perished in the fire, and anything that we might find yet in existence was probably damaged beyond any use or value. 

The owner took us on a "tour" of his house (or at least where it once stood), explaining to us exactly where in the ash each of these collections originally existed, and what we should be looking for. We set up a couple of sifting stations outside of the original footprint of the house. We then hauled buckets of "promising" ash to pour and shake through the three-foot square frames of 1/4" and 1/2" mesh hardware cloth. Any objects larger than this mesh remained on the screens while the great majority of the ash and cinders would pass through to the ground below. 

I began scooping up ash with a square-ended spade in the corner of the house where Nick informed me dozens of antique guns had been carefully stored. Although it appeared everything I scooped up contained nothing but ash, I determined to do what I could to help this man. Taking a couple of five-gallon plastic buckets full of ash to the screens, I hoped something could be found, but I had scant expectations. 

We completed this routine many dozens– maybe a hundred times. The few occasions something remained behind on the steel mesh our hopes temporarily buoyed, but invariably, it showed itself as a fragment of blackened copper wire from the electrical circuitry of the house, or maybe a metal rafter-tie-strip from the roof, or a few distorted nails from the house's wooden framing. After an hour or two, the  operation appeared pointless, but our main job here was simply supporting a man in need, emotionally and spiritually, as much as for the practical assistance of sifting through his non-existent belongings. 

Then I found it– my first discovery. As I rubbed my gloved hands across the screen, pushing some of the remaining ash through it, I felt something small and hard rolling across the screen, refusing to go through. With the final ash clearing from around this object, a bright metallic surface glinted in the beams of sunlight that pierced down through the canopy of burned pine boughs overhead. It appeared bright yellow– no, more like gold. 

I picked from the sieve a beautiful, shining gold nugget. In comparison to the gray surrounding me on all sides, this gold nugget was outstandingly beautiful, and shined as a ray of hope– a fragment of distilled sunshine that I could hold between my thumb and finger. It couldn't really be gold, could it? But the owner told us that there was a significant collection of mineral specimens buried here somewhere, so maybe...

I inspected the nugget closely with my myopia-enabled "microscopic" vision, but came to no conclusive answer. After taking this gold nugget to its owner, he looked it over and inquired as to where I found it. He confirmed that this was not gold, but rather, a piece of brass that probably melted from some component of one of his antique firearms, based on where I found it. We both remarked as to its amazing beauty, and decided it was prettier than any true gold nuggets we had seen. Apparently, all of the flammable materials in the vicinity of this piece of brass had produced what a chemist would refer to as a "reducing atmosphere" which protected the brass from oxidation in the flames, producing an extremely shiny and reflective gold-colored surface. 

I returned to the area and resumed shoveling ash. The repetitive process became almost robot-like– scoop...dump...scoop...dump...scoop...dump. As I pushed my shovel along the surface of the concrete slab (the only solid, remaining evidence of his house), I felt, as well as heard, the familiar "sssshhhh" of the steel scraping along the concrete. I heard it hundreds of times already that day. This time, at the end of the stroke, I heard a very slight "clunk" and detected a tiny resistance to my scooping motion. I brushed aside much of the ash with my gloved hands, searching for the hidden object. 

I finally came to it and picked it up. Holding it in the sunlight, I turned it over in my hand a few times, brushing away more of the ash, and finally blowing away the last bits that clung to it. I was startled by the beauty I saw. I held in my palm what appeared to be an incredible jewel-like object. In the bright light, there played the unmistakeable iridescent, flaming colors of a fire opal. Fiery ruby reds, deep sapphire blues, and lush emerald greens flashed and danced as I turned it in the light of the sun. 

Again remembering the mineral specimen collection, I wondered if this could truly be an opal. As I viewed it from various angles, it finally dawned on me as to what I held in my hand. The object was originally a fairly large brass rifle cartridge that slumped and twisted in the furnace-like heat. The round base of the cartridge, with its silver-metal primer embedded in the center, betrayed its true identity. I surmised the iridescent colors came forth by an unusual controlled oxidation process of the brass metal, in contrast to the reducing process that had formed the "gold" nugget. 

It astounded me that such a horrifying and tragic circumstance as this wildfire produced a thing displaying such intrinsic, visual beauty. The idea that such a jewel could be born out of devastation embedded itself in my mind. And then I went back to work. 

We took a break that afternoon when some wonderful folks brought us lunch: fried chicken and some fresh fruit. As we rested in that moonscape, Nick told us of some eye-witness accounts he heard (since he was gone that day) of how the fire transpired. We all remarked as to how fast these things can take place, and how we never know what might be just around the corner for us. 

After resting a bit more, we returned to the work. It surprised me how heavy these buckets of ash had become. Were they actually getting heavier, or was my physical strength beginning to wane? I worked now in an area that had originally housed the collection of antique wardrobes and reproduction costumes. Every once in a while I would come up with some buttons, or a swatch of charred cloth, or even a fragment of some ornament that was carved from a piece of bone. 

During one scooping of the shovel, I again felt that familiar clunk that usually announced the presence of a significant find. Hunting down through the shroud of ash, I felt for the hidden treasure. This time it seemed to be fairly large– about the size of my hand. Irregularly shaped, it possessed an interesting tactile texture. I saw hints of blue as I pulled it from its burial place. 

This time I used one of the paint brushes we had available for brushing ash away from delicate objects. As the surface became visible, the vivid color of the object impressed me. The piece was a striking, intense, electric blue. The surface was highly glossy and the object appeared to be made of glass. The very organic and sculptural form appeared out of place in this environment of chaos. It looked carefully crafted by hand, and guided by an incredible aesthetic sense. But the more I looked at it, and the more I thought about it, I realized the random processes of the destruction of this house birthed this amazing sculpture. But what was the original purpose of this blue glass form? 

As before, I sought an evaluation of this piece by its owner. He looked at it and also remarked about its beautiful, sculptural qualities. Then he looked puzzled for a few moments until declaring– "Oh...I see what it is. This was a 19th century Indian necklace that was made out of hundreds of little blue glass beads– and now it's all melted together into one solid mass. But it looks like it could be a 21st century abstract sculpture– Cool!" The positive perspective this man possessed on combing through the ruins of his house never ceased to amaze me. 

After doing as much as possible at his place, we drove a couple of blocks away to help out at what had been his parents' house, which had been equally destroyed in the fire. Finally finishing there, our group decided we'd done as much as our physical capability allowed and began the long drive back home. 

Emotionally, as well as physically fatigued, none of us spoke much on the way home. During the drive, I thought a lot about, not only the overwhelming scene of destruction and loss, but those fleeting moments of beauty and renewal that I had witnessed come forth, literally, from the ashes. How could such beauty, perfection and hope come striding out of the gray? And how could such destructive and chaotic forces produce such wondrous effects?


(READ PART 2 of "God of the Compost")

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"The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me..to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of The Lord, that he might be glorified."              (Isaiah 61:1-3)

>>> Unless otherwise attributed, all text and images are Copyright, Bill Brockmeier, 2015. All rights reserved.