Larson Silkhammer

A healthy citrus orchard is not an easy thing to burn to the ground. The moisture level of a citrus tree, from root to fruit, is quite high. Plus the topsoil is tilled and kept clear of any sort of tinder source. Human arsonists know to steer well clear of citrus orchards when selecting a target.

But this simply makes Larson Silkhammer's accomplishment all the more impressive. To this day no one knows how he managed to pull it off but one thing is certain, river otters the world over will never forget the name Larson Silkhammer and what he achieved one late August night some years ago.

Larson Silkhammer was the last-born of a litter of six river otters. Even as a young kit, Larson Silkhammer felt the irresistible pull of singular purpose.
"Mother," he would whisper from atop his small rock that overlooked the moonlit Kern River in the southernmost stretch of California's Sierra Nevada Mountains. "Someday I shall burn a citrus orchard to the ground."

"Larson Silkhammer Otter! You get back in the den with your brothers and sisters this instant. What is the rule about tuck-in's?!"

Larson would sigh, conflicted and more than a little ashamed by the ever present duality that split his soul: the instinct to be a good otter kit and make his mother proud, and the need to burn a citrus orchard to the ground.
"I remember the rule Mother, I do: After tuck-in and good night kiss, young otters shan't roam nighttime mist."

His mother would try to retain her grim tone, but the strains of a sad, loving smile would creep in.
"Well Larson, if you always remember a mother's rule yet break it almost every night, what does that say about your heart's regard for her?"

Larson would start to cry then and leap down from his small rock to nuzzle her side.
"I'm sorry Mother. I love you and always will. I'll fall asleep with my brothers and sisters from now on. I won't climb rocks after tuck-in ever again, I won't!"

Larson's mother would return the nuzzle and send him back to the den with a gentle tail spank. The next night would find him again perched on that rock, gazing off to the west. Somewhere out there, beyond the distant river bend, was a citrus orchard, and someday he would burn it to the ground.

Larson Silkhammer had never actually seen an orange in person (err, otter) but in his mind's eye he could see hundreds of thousands of them consumed by towering flame; orange on orange, shriveling green and boiling pulp. The vision made him shudder with the ecstasy of accomplishment and fire.

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We know how the citrus orchard went up; the trees had been irrigated with straight diesel fuel, and a charred Zippo lighter was found in the center. What is unclear is how on earth an adolescent river otter managed to pump seventeen thousand gallons of diesel fuel into the irrigation system and then open and strike a Zippo.

The glow on the horizon line could be seen from Fresno, some hundred and forty miles to the north. And the smoke was reported the next morning from as far away as the CA/Nevada border.

You have to know there's no way Larson Silkhammer could have survived... I mean come on, he struck a Zippo in the center of an orchard that had been trickled and sprayed with seventeen thousand gallons of diesel fuel--but you can still dream he found a way.

Lord knows I do.