The other day, it looked as if there was a grass fire in the mountain on the way to work. The cloud of thick, gray smoke billowed into air and I could see it from miles away. I panicked and lamented. “It’s only June and here we are in grass fire season again,” I thought to myself. Every year there is property damage from these fires. Every year, our mountains are pock-marked by black scorches where there used to be trees, grass and sagebrush.

The closer I got to the fire, the stranger it looked. It didn’t seem to be growing and all the smoke was flowing from one small point on the mountain. It seemed like too much smoke for one small fire. Then I saw it: the stack. I was heading toward the refineries that I pass every day. It wasn’t a fire. It was a particularly smoky burn.

I breathed a sigh of relief. No fire. No scorched earth. It’s just pollution. That thought stayed with me for a while and I realized that I drive past the refineries every day and I don’t even worry about the smoke that they pour into the air every day. Of course, it’s the work they do that gets me to work every day in my car. If they didn’t burn regularly, I would have to live in Bountiful within biking distance of my employment.

It’s that strange feeling of ambiguity that unnerves me. It’s that cognitive dissonance that makes my head hurt a little bit. I am grateful to them that they provide me with fuel for my vehicle, making my life easier. I’m grateful that the mountains aren’t burning again. I’m bothered by the smoke pouring into the sky. It’s hard to draw the line in the sand and say, “It’s ok for them to pollute the air because I get gasoline from it.” It’s true, but it’s hard for me to admit to it.

I guess I should just look at it esthetically. I’ve enjoyed the burns at the refinery in the past. Sometimes they look like a floating tongue of flame floating in the fog. Sometimes they are spectacular additions to the summer heat of the desert. Sometimes they are smoky specters imitating real fires. They are a landmark that I enjoy driving past every day, so I’m going to admit to the world that I’m ok with their pollution, if only because they make the sunsets prettier.