Herriman • South Mountain is the most prominent feature in my part of Herriman. It's the first thing I see every morning when I open the front door or the window blinds.

The mountain serves a number of important roles in my life. Its changing colors mark the passing of seasons. The steep draws and trails are where I hike to bird watch and get off by myself.

Best of all, South Mountain prevents artillery rounds from landing in my yard. Camp Williams is just on the other side. National Guard units preparing to deploy to Afghanistan use the firing ranges to tune up.

When I left church Sunday afternoon, I noticed a small yellowish plume rising behind South Mountain. I didn't think anything of it at first.

Within a couple of hours, the plume had swelled into a cloud of smoke that blotted out the sun. This was no ordinary blaze. The winds were driving something wicked our way.

As night fell, fire crested the mountain. It spilled toward our homes like lava, flames splashing down the draws and canyons. Word went out to stand by for possible evacuation.

That meant my wife and I had plenty of time to think about what would fit in our vehicles. There were some tough choices, most divided along gender lines.

Huge TV or financial records? Wedding dress or back issues of Mad magazine. Good china or skeet thrower?

We were lucky. We had time to debate what was important to us. Other Herriman residents had only minutes to grab what they could before the flames were on them. Some were forced to leave virtually everything.

What would you take if you had just minutes to grab it?

I would definitely take my wife. Without her, I probably couldn't keep a job. But assuming she came along on her own, I would grab my computer, some photos and a folder of documents.

By midnight, it was clear we wouldn't have to leave. In many places, the fire was stopped within yards of homes. Others weren't so lucky. Morning light revealed burned-out homes less than a mile from mine.

Some lost everything in what's been dubbed the Machine Gun Fire. We all lost something.

My loss is limited to the mountain itself. Opening my front door now reveals a hellish, seared landscape. The fall colors that marked winter's approach are gone, replaced by a coal dump.

The U.S. flag and staff at the top of the mountain have vanished. The old wooden crate I sat on to watch the sun rise when training for a Grand Canyon hike last year is probably cinders now.

I also lost friends. This morning I wondered if Hannity and Limbaugh, the two fat ground squirrels who yell at me whenever I pass, survived the blaze.

Spring runoff will bring the threat of erosion, but also the promise of new growth. Eventually — like the rest of us — the mountain will bounce back. Until then, we learn to appreciate what we once took for granted.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com.