Cleaning out Dad's house, I came across a treasure trove of pictures. The old school gear and methods shown warm my heart and bring back memories of when the job was big red trucks, revolving lights flashing, and the undulations of the siren under the officer's foot. At 8 year old, this was long before I understood the reality of the danger and ugliness at the core of firefighting. The smell of wood smoke permeating Dad's white duck coat, the three-quarter boots on the floor of the back seat, and the old Cairns helmet resting on top were my companions on every trip in the car.
Going to a live fire training was better than Christmas. And in this one, we made our own snow. Hi-expansion foam wasn't common back then and is less so now. For a wide-eyed 8 year old, it was an amazing experience.
Looking past the foam generator toward Dad in the, shall we say, more utilized white coat.
Our "snow" going into and back out of the building.
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