Anyone who has ever moved from one home to another, especially if the move involved a change of ZIP code, has surely given thought to the courage it took our ancestors to do the same.

They left family, friends and homes behind knowing they would never see or hear from them again.

The fires consuming the West this spring have brought forth a similar courage in the face of adversity and loss. A recent story I read spoke to that very courage, with an Abilene-area rancher standing in the ashes of his 100- year-old home and stirring up the memories that lay at his feet.

The ranch had been his grandfather’s and before the fire, there were several outbuildings and a barn in addition to the century-old ranch house.

The concrete floors, foundations, rock walls and walks were all that remained of the structures.

In the concrete floor of the outhouse the letters “WPA” could still be seen etched in the floor, serving as proof that it was one of the many projects built by the Works Progress Administration during President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal during the Great Depression of the 1930s.

The rancher recalled the wooden barn built by his grandfather and remembered the inscription written on the inside of it was dated 1917.

He watched the fire get closer and the flames change color as they burned with a fury no man could contain. Five fire departments and countless friends came to do all that they could to help, but nothing could stop the wall of fire that took all in its path.

The next day, what remained was an overwhelming outpouring of offers to help. People were waiting at the gate when the rancher returned to survey the carnage. Support came in a variety of forms that varied from a pot of beans to the sincere and willing offers to clear the rubble.

The ability that mankind has to take care of their own in times of need is what keeps this seemingly cold and often selfish world turning. In moments of introspection at a time of monumental loss, the rancher recalled what he felt was the greatest loss of all — his father’s Bible.

A preacher until he was 97 years old, his father had left notes on virtually every page and those thoughts and notations were now gone forever. Somehow that overshadowed any void left from the loss of the other property.

But like so many in similar circumstances, the rancher took no time to agonize over his monumental losses.

Recognizing it could have been much worse, that it could have taken lives but did not, he was heard to say, “It’s what West Texas has been about.”

Giving due to the hearty people who settled the land and recognizing their courage as what set them apart from others, he went back to work to rebuild his life.

“You always run out of daylight before you run out of jobs to do,” he said.

Julie Carter is a reporter with the Ruidoso News. Email her at jcarternm@gmail.com.