What does it mean to put your neighbor before yourself?

Sometimes it looks like jumping into your personal vehicle, meeting a group of friends and neighbors at a fire station a few miles away, donning protective gear, boarding a 40,000-pound fire engine, and driving or riding headlong into an emergency.

Other times, it looks like buying out weenies and buns from every grocery store in a 30-mile radius and spending a Saturday cooking hot dogs to raise funds for a friend whose baby girl is at Duke Children’s Hospital. Or hauling your antique tractor into town, decking it out in lights, and driving it down Main Street for the annual Christmas parade. Or recruiting your sister, aunt, and mother-in-law to dress as clowns for an elementary school skit during fire prevention week.

In rural parts of North Carolina, volunteer fire departments and the firefighters who fill them are not only emergency responders but also community centers, event coordinators, fundraisers, and cheerleaders for small-town citizens who need causes to rally around and someone to support them in the process.

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North Carolina is home to 1,217 fire departments. Within those departments, 38 percent of firefighters are paid staff, while 62 percent are volunteers. For those of us living in rural areas of the state, when we dial 911, we’re reliant on people who are truly committed to putting their neighbors before themselves to come to our aid.

In Randolph County, my home county, located in the center of the state, we depend on 20 departments with 556 firefighters. Two hundred thirty-two of those are paid positions, while 352 are volunteers.

The history of the fire service in Randolph County dates to 1911, when Asheboro, the county seat, organized Asheboro Hose Company. Firemen pulled a two-wheeled cart with a hose wound around the center. Once on scene, they unwound the hose, connected it to a hydrant, and sprayed water on the blaze. In 1914, the department purchased a Ford fire truck that carried a longer hose, nozzles, axes, and four firemen.

At the Seagrove Fire Department, engines wait at the ready.  photograph by Jerry Wolford & Scott Muthersbaugh

Today, Asheboro operates Stations 1 and 2, signifying its position as the first fire department in the county. Liberty followed with Station 3 in 1927, Ramseur and Randleman with Stations 4 and 5 in the 1930s, and Seagrove with Station 6 in 1957. Seagrove is where my husband and I live. He grew up here, like multiple generations before him. I’m a transplant from Jackson Creek, on the other side of the county.

Not only did Dustin grow up in Seagrove, but he also grew up at the fire department. There’s a picture of him at about 4 years old, with a red Seagrove Tigers T-shirt as his uniform, a bookbag as his air pack, a red plastic helmet, and his sister’s pink swim goggles as his mask. His parents were longtime volunteers at Seagrove Fire Department. His dad served two years as fire chief. Dustin remembers falling asleep on the large meeting table and hopping off the school bus at the station.

The author and her husband, Dustin King, find community at Seagrove Fire Department. Dustin is now Seagrove’s volunteer fire chief. photograph by Jerry Wolford & Scott Muthersbaugh

Today, he’s the volunteer fire chief at Seagrove, following in his parents’ footsteps. He’s a full-time firefighter, too, working 24-hour shifts every third day as a battalion chief for the Town of Kernersville. He takes the skills and training that he’s paid to learn and reinvests them into his local community. It’s his version of community service.

“When Dustin was small, we would fix a pot of coffee and pour him a cup and put so much sugar in it, he probably stayed up all night,” Darrell Voncannon says.

Voncannon has been part of Seagrove Fire Department since the beginning. At age 13, in the days before age minimums, he was told that he was the youngest fire department member at Seagrove. He served 41 years as an active volunteer fireman, assistant chief, and then on the board of directors.

Dustin grew up learning from longtime volunteer firefighters like Darrell Voncannon (below). photograph by Jerry Wolford & Scott Muthersbaugh

He grew up about a football field away from the original station, built in the late 1950s on the corner of Main and Broad streets. Voncannon remembers three red phones in the neighborhood: one at his grandmother’s, one at Tonnie Auman’s house, and one at Seagrove Grocery. Whenever the fire siren went off, all three phones were used to alert the firemen, and Voncannon would ride his bike down the hill to the station.

In the days before fire taxes, departments relied entirely on donations and fundraisers. In Seagrove, those fundraisers consisted of fish fries and barbecues. While those events required time and hard work, they also fostered community and instilled a connection between the fire department and the residents it served. With the implementation of fire taxes, departments receive more money on a consistent basis, but the loss of those community events means that residents aren’t as connected — to the department or to each other.

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Seagrove Fire Department no longer has to fry fish and hush puppies to pay for new fire trucks, but the department’s auxiliary, made up of members whose husbands or other loved ones serve as firefighters, is making an effort to strengthen the department’s community connection.

My first interaction with the fire department was on Halloween, when the department hosts a trunk-or-treat for local kids and their families. Three months into dating Dustin, I attended as an interested girlfriend, curious to see what this whole thing was about. Last year, dressed as a rain cloud, I was part of the team of auxiliary members and firefighters who handed out candy to more than 400 children.

Darrell Voncannon photograph by Jerry Wolford & Scott Muthersbaugh

In September, the auxiliary is bringing back Southern Randolph Country Days. The beloved event — featuring country, gospel, and bluegrass music; craft vendors; kids’ games; a parade; and plenty of food — was sponsored for years by the Seagrove Jaycees. As the core group aged out and several longtime businesses closed, enthusiasm waned, and the event went away.

But with 43 members of Seagrove Fire Department, 11 auxiliary members, and the resurgence of some local businesses, we’re hopeful that this event will once again be a community celebration, a way to honor the things that hold us together in this rural corner of the county.

“I’m tickled,” Voncannon says. “It’s putting the fire department back as the center and making things happen in Seagrove where people have something to be a part of.”

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Across the county, at Tabernacle Fire Department, which serves the Jackson Creek, Tabernacle, and Trinity areas where I grew up — and my parents and grandparents before me — auctions, turkey shoots, and car shows raised money to build the original station on U.S. Highway 64 in 1981. Tabernacle is Station 18 in Randolph County.

Fire Chief Brent Powell joined the department in 1994 at age 21. Today, he’s a full-time battalion chief at Station 1 in Asheboro in addition to his volunteer chief position. Classmates from Southwestern Randolph High School find it hard to believe that the skinny kid who turned pink anytime he stood up to speak in front of a group now teaches fire classes all over the county and beyond, and holds leadership positions at two departments.

But for Powell, it makes sense. “I found my niche in life,” he says.

This year marks Fire Chief Brent Powell’s 30th with the volunteer fire department in Tabernacle. He’s also a full-time battalion chief at Station 1 in Asheboro. photograph by Jerry Wolford & Scott Muthersbaugh

On a recent afternoon, Powell sits in the office of Jackson Creek Body Shop, which he inherited from his father. The clean-cut 51-year-old looks the part, with the telltale fireman mustache and gray Asheboro Fire Department sweatshirt. It’s his day off, so he also wears a John Deere ball cap. In addition to being a full-time fireman, volunteer fireman, and auto body man, he’s also a farmer.

The week his father died in 2018, firemen showed up to operate his body shop, bale his hay, and feed his entire family. His relatives were amazed. Powell was appreciative but not surprised. He had been on the other side of that generosity many times.

He talks about the struggles that volunteer fire departments face. In 2008, Tabernacle had 55 volunteer firefighters. They even considered capping the number. Since then, that number has steadily declined. Today, Tabernacle relies on six full-time and 10 part-time paid positions, and the volunteer roster fluctuates between 12 and 14.

“There’s so much to do now, with kids and ball games and churches,” Powell says. “There’s not enough benefit for volunteers to make the commitment to get up at 2 in the morning for a house fire or someone with chest pains.”

In western Randolph County, Tabernacle Fire Department serves Tabernacle Township, as well as the Jackson Creek and Trinity areas. photograph by Jerry Wolford & Scott Muthersbaugh

In addition to running calls, volunteers put in a minimum of 36 training hours a year. They’re encouraged to enroll in classes for certifications, such as medical responder and hazmat. Departments have gotten creative in efforts to recruit and retain volunteers: Community members and auxiliary groups sponsor meals on training nights. Members can reserve the department for functions like kids’ birthday parties. Volunteers with five years of service receive a discount from the state on their annual hunting license. After 20 years as a volunteer, a firefighter can “retire” and receive $170 a month from the State of North Carolina.

Powell wrestles internally with the idea of stepping away from the fire service, and when. He’s put in 27 years with the Asheboro Fire Department. He wants to run that body shop full-time, so no one will be surprised when he sets his retirement date with the city. But, he says, it’s less clear when to separate from Tabernacle. “It’s hard to turn the pager off and know my neighbor needed help and I didn’t answer.”

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Being married to a volunteer firefighter causes you to recognize your own selfishness. When a call goes out, my first thought is, I hope it’s not bad. I hope the person in need isn’t seriously injured or at risk of losing his home, but I also hope my husband doesn’t have to go. I don’t want him to be in danger, but also, we just sat down to supper, or we’re supposed to leave the house to meet friends in 10 minutes, or we’re knee-deep in a painting project that’s needed doing for months.

I feel even more selfish when he disappears without hesitation. Sometimes he listens to the radio for a while, making sure everything is covered. That’s one perk of being the chief: He doesn’t run every call. He has well-trained men and women, some full-time, some part-time, some volunteers, who cover the majority.

But when he does need to go, he’s gone. Like this past New Year’s Day, when a mobile home caught on fire around 7 a.m. He was up early, drinking coffee and warming up the smoker to cook a pork tenderloin for New Year’s lunch. By the time I sleepily came downstairs, he was gone.

I tried to listen to the radio traffic, but if you don’t know the codes or station numbers or have a general understanding of the operator’s cadence, it sounds a lot like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon. He returned at 11 a.m., having put out the fire with his team and called the Red Cross to assist the displaced family. He walked in and said, “I’ll cut the tenderloin into chops and grill them.” Problem solved. A family rescued, and our family lunch rerouted. When you run into situations not knowing what you’re going to find, most everyday dilemmas seem small. It’s a lesson I’m learning.

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For all of the untimely calls and possible dangers, volunteer fire departments bring benefits I never anticipated. This past Christmas, our first as a married couple, Dustin trimmed the entire Seagrove Fire Department in lights. White twinkling lights edged the building frame and doorways. A triangle of colored lights formed a tree on top. A star, fashioned out of a piece of scrap metal lying around the station, hung atop the flagpole.

It was simple. But according to the response from local residents, you would’ve thought he commissioned the Biltmore decorators. Everyone loved it. I drove by every single night.

It went right along with other downtown businesses that decorated their storefronts. It was the backdrop for the beginning of the Christmas parade, a small-town Saturday spectacular coordinated by the auxiliary. It greeted attendees for the department’s annual Christmas meal, where members past and present and their families gather around the table and Santa brings gifts for the kids. It was exactly what the holidays are supposed to be about: bringing light to a world that can be stressful and uncertain.

The light is there all year, although at times it’s easier to see than others. It shines brightest when the situation around it is dark. It comes in different forms, depending on the need it’s asked to fill. A protector. A rescuer. A helper. A healer. A friend. Volunteer firefighters are called to be all of those things. They never know what role they’ll have to play. But they always answer. And for those of us who call these rural communities home, we are forever grateful.