Goodbyes are sad and packing is tiring

*Fire word of the week*

Spiking out. When you are headed for a location in the middle of nowhere that will be your base camp for fighting the fire for the next x amount of days. Like a satellite camp.
In a sentence: We are spiking out today! Or if a camp is already established: We are headed to spike camp.

It's only fitting that I write my inaugural post for Jump! on Memorial Day, the day which I am told we honor service men and women who so boldly and honorably uphold their duty to this country. Yet I don't think I ever thought twice about what the day actually meant, except a day off from school and a reason to fire up the grill. I am born on American soil but to Eastern European immigrants who learned English along with their toddlers by watching Sesame Street. My mom still sings me silly songs she remembers from that formative show!

I don't mean to paint my family as unpatriotic, it's just that our family roots have always been and still are closely linked to the Czech Republic. I have never had family members or family friends who have long American lineages or who are in careers of service. I am that first generation who will likely establish those links for my family. I never imagined how much my life would become entwined with words like duty and service, how I would come to feel like those military families you see on TV with tears of joy streaming down their faces when surprised by the sudden appearance of a loved one during the holidays. You have to understand, I grew up in one of the most liberal places in one of the most liberal states and I went to college at UC Santa Cruz where arm pit hair is in, footwear is optional, and on the first few rainy days, clothing is, too. I thought my future husband might have a name like Cloud, wear Birkenstocks year round, and fix all of the bathrooms in the house to have composting toilets. Well, that last part still holds true.

My love is a gun toting, fire fighting, fish wrangling, horse riding country boy from East County San Diego. He had his first gun at the age of four, a little half pint wandering around his parents ranch in an over-sized orange crossing guard vest, shooting bbs at birds and ground squirrels. He has blossomed into an incredible hunter, a marksman really, and is on his 11th year in the Forest Service as a wildland firefighter. He is pure grit and determination, hidden by a mischievous smile that seems to explode across his face in a way that makes people feel good. It's funny how you think you want one thing but life has a way of giving you what you really need.

This past weekend was the last I spent with my sweetheart before he heads up to the smoke jumping base. We spent aching hours packing and packing and packing his one bedroom apartment as the rain fell and fell and fell down around the world outside. It was a fitting scene and even after an entire day of moving and donating to Goodwill, it still looked as if nothing had changed! What is with that weird vortex of packing? It's so psychologically exhausting! We fell into a fitful sleep some time around 9 in the evening and woke up to get the rest done and have him on the road with his truck and trailer by 10 am.

Heart in my throat and tears welling up in my eyes, I suddenly was at a loss for words. How do you support someone who is heading into what will likely be the most intense training he will ever experience, into God knows what kind of grueling physical and psychological test? I don't know. I just started heaving sobs, letting the tears flow freely. He was also so reluctant to say this goodbye knowing that where he was going there would be no family to comfort him, nor could there be. This is his journey, his jump, his proof to himself of his resolve and his warrior heart. I have no doubt that he is the man they are looking for.