The following column is the opinion and analysis of the writer:
As a longtime Tucson resident living near the base of Sentinel Peak, or “A” Mountain, I’ve learned to accept two certainties: summers will be hot and the annual Fourth of July fireworks display will set something on fire.
If the annual fireworks display happens this year, the tradition might just break me.
Collectively, we’ve just been released from the grip of a brutal heatwave. Temperatures that spiked on June 11 continued for nine days, breaking a record set in June 1990 for most consecutive days over 112 degrees.
Heat like this isn’t just deadly, it saps what little moisture our native plants have held on to while we wait for rain, drying them out even more and turning them, effectively, into fuel.
People are also reading…
It’s not just native plants I worry about. It’s buffelgrass, which the Saguaro National Park website describes as, “the archenemy of the Sonoran Desert — the invasive grass most likely to cause significant damage to the native ecosystem.”
The fires I’ve seen started during fireworks displays are almost always caused by buffelgrass catching a stray spark. When it does catch, buffelgrass causes fire to burn hotter — hot enough to melt metals — and spread faster, maybe even into Tucson’s neighborhoods. I fear what could happen this year given how hot and dry our vegetation and how prevalent buffelgrass is on the mountain slopes.
On June 9, the Pinal County supervisors declared the Telegraph Fire an emergency. They approved permits for fireworks the same day. According to the National Forest Service Incident Information System, the Telegraph Fire has burned 180,725 acres — one of the largest in state history — and is “primarily being carried by desert grass (and) brush in the lower and middle elevations.”
While officials are still investigating the fire’s origins, the general belief is that it was caused by people.
As of mid-June, the National Interagency Fire Center reported nearly 403,000 acres of active wildfire perimeters in the country. Of those 403,000 acres, more than 285,000 are in Arizona — 71%.
Ahead of what is typically one of the biggest holiday recreation weekends of the year in Arizona, Forest Service officials have taken the unusual step to close the Apache-Sitgreaves, Kaibab and Coconino National Forests to the public.
Given the forest closures and lax regulations around firework sales in Pima and Maricopa Counties — thanks in part to Sen. David Gowan, R-Sierra Vista, who happens to work in the fireworks business — you could argue that official fireworks displays would help curtail the danger of people setting off their own.
I understand. The COVID-19 pandemic has been a traumatic and disruptive time. People are eager to get back to the traditions that make life feel stable.
But looking at images published in the Star of yellowed saguaros burned in last year’s Bighorn Fire, bravely pushing forth their white blossoms, bursting with red fruits against the backdrop of blue sky, I wonder if it isn’t time to reconsider this tradition altogether.
We’re still recovering from the collective shock of watching the Bighorn Fire decimate the places we might’ve escaped to in a year where summer escapes felt safe. Not to mention watching the Mercer Fire burn across the slopes of the Santa Catalinas a year before, destroying the saguaros and native plants that have no natural recourse against fire — especially fire fueled by buffelgrass.
Our civic leaders take an oath to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. This Independence Day, and perhaps future ones too, let’s consider honoring the desert that has sustained human settlement for thousands of years by protecting it from fire worsened by the foreign enemy of buffelgrass and avoid intentionally setting Sentinel Peak ablaze with fireworks.
We’ve spent the last year and half proving our resilience. We can find other ways to celebrate.
Megan Mogan is an “A” Mountain resident and mother of a delightful bull terrier named Humphrey, who would also really appreciate a moratorium on fireworks

