“We couldn’t stop the spread because the mayor slashed the budget!”

Let me tell you the truth: the fires spread because something, or someone, provided a spark and Mother Nature’s winds fanned the flames. And now, thousands of good-minded folks have been involved in trying to stop the fires, and keep the flames from rising again.

To those of us in New Mexico, the story of a wind-whipped fire is nothing new. We hear that story every year as the forests dry and the spring winds blow.

The destructive fires across Southern California have destroyed towns, schools, homes, neighborhoods and businesses. That, in itself, will prompt many actions in the days, weeks, and months ahead.

That’s a good thing.

History has shown us how communities can rise from the ashes. Take my hometown of Taos, as an example.

In the early 1930s, disaster struck. The May 9, 1932, Santa Fe New Mexican headline read: “Blaze Destroys North Side of Taos Plaza.”

The story is, the fire broke out just after midnight and soon thereafter the bell atop Our Lady of Guadalupe Church rang out, waking the town to the sight and smell of a massive blaze consuming the courthouse and nearby businesses.

The church bell and word of mouth was about the only means of communication. There weren’t many phones, no walkie-talkie radios, no radio stations, no TV stations. It was up to the church bell to spread the word.

An Associated Press dispatch printed in the Albuquerque Journal that same day, May 9, 1932, read: “Taos, chiefly an artists colony and Indian pueblo center, has no fire department, and artists, merchants, natives and Indians alike joined in the bucket brigade. The village has no fire plugs, and water had to be carried in buckets from wells.”

That tragedy spurred action.

The community incorporated, government funding came for a water system, fire hydrants, and a lone fire truck.

But it took more than equipment to make the community fire ready.

What followed was formation of the Taos Volunteer Fire Department, led by Jack Boyer and a number of his relatives and friends, including my father, uncle, and others. Their efforts are honored by a wooden plaque that still hangs in the fire department headquarters, the same headquarters first used in the mid-1930s.

For decades, hundreds of Taoseños have answered the call when the siren echoed across the valley. The volunteer fire department, and its members, became a source of pride for Taos. I’m proud to say I served, even driving the department’s first rescue vehicle from the factory to the firehouse.

Eventually, as the demands for service grew to include emergency response for search and rescue and accidents and incidents, the work outpaced the volunteers. Today, professional firefighters and first responders are dedicated to protecting Taos.

As a reporter, I covered many fires, including the massive La Mesa Fire near Bandelier National Monument and Los Alamos in 1977. Photographer Dale Britton and I photographed and reported from an empty campground one day that was transformed into a bustling camp kitchen, serving hot meals and ice cold watermelon the very next day.

For months, I carried a personal souvenir from that fire — a sprinkling of red fire retardant slurry on my watchband.

Back to Southern California.

Money-hungry lawyers are seeking clients; insurance companies are looking for wiggle room so they won’t have to pay; politicians are proclaiming like a church bell.

Let it be.

There are lessons to be learned and solutions found. They don’t need to form a fire department like was done in Taos in the 1930s. The issues are greater: climate change, building codes and infrastructure development.