I felt a lump in my throat. My uncle never called at such a late hour, so something was terribly wrong. I take the call and hear unintelligible shouting. "The barn is on fire," I finally manage to make out. Without a word, I got in the car and sped off. I had about half an hour's drive to Higher Dole, as we call our farm.
On arrival, I was greeted by a sad scene. The barn and the stable underneath were one glowing mass. The firefighters were doing their best to fight the fire and rescue the animals. Later, they explained to me that it was very difficult to put out the hay, because the water was running off the hay instead of seeping in. The barn was full of hay as we had just finished harvesting. I carried drinks to the firefighters and helped as much as I could with the less dangerous jobs, as there was a lot to do. All the hay had to be manually pushed out and held on a pitchfork while a fireman directed a powerful jet of water at it. This was the only way to prevent the fire from reigniting.
When the firefighters left, it was already daylight. We looked around the ruin in despair. For the first time I saw my grandfather crying. Where to begin? I called a friend to see if he could come with a tractor (we didn't have one) and help us start cleaning up. He had a couple of hours' drive to get to us, but he was the only one I could call. I knew that my uncle and I would do very little on our own. His parents were both in their nineties by then. And then a car drove onto our land. And another one. And another one. In the distance I saw a line of tractors heading towards us. It was people from the neighbouring hamlets who had heard about our accident. They took tools out of the cars and stood in front of us: "How do we start?" were their first words.
Tears still come to my eyes when I remember that moment. They came without being called. No one asked them for help. They just came. They stood quietly and waited for instructions. We started to tear down the remains of the roof and to clear the ruins. An eighty-year-old neighbour drove up in his faithful ficot and help to the best of my ability. In the hamlet high above us, the women cooked lunch and brought it to us at noon sharp. In the evening, the ruin had a completely different look. The roof and hay had been removed, and the stones had fallen. The barn and the stable were ready to be rebuilt.
As one by one the neighbours left, we wanted to thank them for their help. At their robot They replied that such things are not to be wasted. But their help was very welcome. It gave us the impetus to rebuild quickly. For me personally, what meant even more was the feeling for our neighbour that they showed by coming and helping us.
Iztok Trampuž, 30 June 2005
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