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... in Central Michigan. I had my own 3-room cabin and total freedom for that season (I think I only
wore shoes 3 or 4 days that summer).
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My boss and I lived on Chef Boy-Ar-Dee spaghetti dinner boxes and waffles. I was cooking spaghetti
one night when some guys in a truck sped up and yelled that there was a forest fire starting at one
of the campgrounds. I couldn't find my shoes, but I grabbed a small fire extinguisher and jumped in.
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Small fire that hadn't taken hold on any of the trees yet, just the brush and deadwood. The extinguisher
lasted about 30 seconds, so I grabbed a shovel and joined the others. We got it all put out except for
a hollow dead treetrunk laying on the ground. The fire department arrived and put that out. My feet
were so calloused and tough that I had been walking on the embers, barely feeling them. They were
fine.
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When I got back to the cabin, I found the spaghetti that I had forgotten about. Stove on high, the
water had all boiled out and about 1/4 of the aluminum pot had melted onto the burner.
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In going to fight that little fire, I had almost burnt my cabin down.
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