At times it was hard to comprehend what we were seeing in Neerlandia on Saturday.
The scenes had an apocalyptic look, reminding me of movies like Full Metal Jacket which contain nightmarish images of wartime destruction.
I haven’t seen the Stanley Kubrick masterpiece in ages, but I recall US soldiers moving through heaps of smouldering debris, while all about are scattered fires and hanging pieces of masonry.
As Saturday’s blaze swiftly dismembered the Neerlandia Co-op Home and Farm Centre, and adjoining warehouse, the resulting shell would have fit perfectly with Kubrick’s bleak vision.
Yet this was Neerlandia, a farming hamlet, an emblem of all that is good and wholesome about rural Alberta, a place that is thriving and isn’t meant to witness such a calamity. It should never be compared to an impression of the Vietnam War.
But … the Co-op fire did take place. Total devastation was wrought and I have the acrid stench of smoke on my clothes to prove it.
When I got the call about the fire in the early afternoon, I envisaged something rather different.
If it wasn’t a false alarm, perhaps some burgers had caught alight in a pan, causing momentary panic in a kitchen. I confess I was a little irritated that my quiet Saturday had been disturbed by something promising nothing more than a picture. With a sigh I set off and soon saw a billowing cloud of smoke in the distance.
Whenever I attend a disaster, brandishing my camera and notebook, I always experience a momentary self-doubt and embarrassment.
I wonder what I am doing among people who are striving with every inch of their beings to deal with a problem, often to save lives or property. Not only do I serve no practical purpose, I may even become a hindrance, and cause a distraction as I photograph people at times of extreme stress.
Would I like to be photographed in such circumstances? I don’t know, although it wouldn’t surprise me if someone yanked away my camera and rearranged my nose.
Still the moment of doubt usually becomes overlain by a need to capture a quickly evolving event and listen to those willing to speak.
At the Neerlandia fire, as on other assignments around Barrhead, I was greeted with nothing but courtesy. Actually, it was much, much better than that. There were several faces I recognized, all of them exceedingly friendly.
One of the most welcoming faces belonged to Albert Mast, the Co-op general manager.
When someone pointed me in his direction for an interview, I approached with a good deal of diffidence, fully expecting a polite rebuff. Why on earth would he talk to me? He had enough to do without feeding a reporter’s curiosity.
Yet he did speak to me, and willingly. He remembered my Christian name from a long ago function, he asked how I was and expressed concern at the giant bugs that had suddenly descended on me.
I was taken aback by such a class act.
I asked him why he was so composed, and he replied: “Metal and lumber are nothing compared to human life.”
Of course, he is right, but the scene before us must have saddened him terribly.
It would have saddened everyone in Neerlandia.
However, we can all take heart from one certainty. Neerlandians will rise from the ashes of Saturday’s devastating fire.
They will rise and they will keep rising.
