This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

The first fire I ever set (intentionally) was a kitchen chair in our apartment when my father was stationed in Spain. I was 7. That's young, but I remember it well because the maid smacked me silly.

I discovered a book of matches in the kitchen drawer. Having recently witnessed the Old Man lighting them in order to roast a pig at a church cookout, I decided to give it a try. It seemed a manly thing to do.

There was no wood immediately available, but the kitchen chairs had plastic-covered seat cushions that bubbled nicely when the flame was held close to them. The stuffing began to smolder.

When the fire grew bigger, I got scared and started looking around for something to extinguish it. I grabbed the closest thing at hand.

For the record, you cannot put out a fire with a knife. You can try, though.

Enter our maid, Nieves. She saw me stabbing the chair, screamed, poured water on the flames. Then she snatched the knife away, and whacked me on the head with the handle.

"Hijo de perdiciĆ³n!"

Note: I wouldn't hear this "son of perdition" phrase in Spanish again for another 14 years, when I landed in the Language Training Mission at BYU. It seemed to fit, though.

What the maid did and said to me that day was nothing compared to what happened when Mom and the Old Man got home. I honestly didn't think I would live to see my next birthday.

I told you all of that to tell you this: We're deep in fire season, people. In case you haven't been paying attention to the news, Utah is just waiting for the right spark to set off an apocalyptic event.

Someone in my neighborhood found this out just a few days ago when he tried to clear the dry grass behind his vinyl fence by tossing a match to it.

I'm betting before the word "Oops!" was entirely uttered, the damage was done. The fire had not only cleared all the grass, but also melted his back fence and half the neighbor's fence.

Presumably that was just an accident caused by someone looking to save themselves a little work. It's something I would have done before The same can't be said by some people setting off fireworks.

Not only are we deep in fire season, but also smack in the middle of idiot season. Nothing — and I do mean nothing — makes people stupider than fireworks. I know. I'm an expert.

There may have been a time when the main purpose of fireworks was to celebrate our independence as a nation. If there was, it ceased being that long before I came along.

Today, Independence Day — and the lesser Pioneer Day, in Utah — are more excuses to blow $*&# up rather than to celebrate America.

Right now, no one with a Y chromosome is thinking, "Oh boy. It's almost time to celebrate our birth as a country." Nope. They're watching the calendar with dreams of explosions in their head.

This is your final warning before something bad happens. BE CAREFUL. The fire danger is high and enforcement tolerance low. That last thing anyone wants is to start a wildfire.

I take that back. The last thing anyone who starts a wildfire wants is to look over their shoulder and see the law coming down on them.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.