It was just past 1:30 p.m. when I heard a knock on my sanctum door. I take my afternoon nap in there because it's at the back of the house where I don't hear traffic, horn-blowing trains, or lawn-mowing neighbors. My husband never disturbs me when I'm taking my nap, but this time, he made sure I was awake: "There's fire. You'd better get up."
The adrenalin surge was intense; my heart pounded like the beating of a drum. I could feel every nerve and muscle respond to the threat, and I was up in a flash. My limbs were wobbly from shaking, but I scrambled to tie the laces on my tennis shoes and head to the kitchen sliding doors to look up at the ridge behind the house. Smoke billowed up from the escarpment off to the west, and I knew it was time to fly into action.
Only two days ago, and in light of the Colorado fires, we got out the list of things we would take with us if fire threatened. Because I'm the appointed family worrier (I keep telling my husband I'm not a worrier, but a planner), I've always been the one to bring up the discussion of disaster preparedness, especially for earthquake and fire; and now that summer is here, it's not just a matter of 'if', but 'when'. So, we talked and prioritized again, making a fresh list. And then, we put it aside.
I was confident that if we had warning, we could get through an emergency. We had warning this time, and I knew exactly what to do next. While my husband set up the sprinklers, I spent the next hour gathering (1) things we need, (2) things we cherish that would fit into one of our two cars, and (3) things we don't really need, but want, like the perfect black pumps I just purchased. There was no way I was going to leave a pair of perfect black pumps that took me a year and several shipments from Zappos to find. My husband would understand; when the search began, I made sure that he was aware of my desire/need for a pair of perfect black pumps. I was not in the mood to hear, "Did you really need these?", when the time came for me to model them. With a bunion on one foot, pumps today just don't work for me; but I love the look, so I persevered. I have no idea where I'll wear my perfect black pumps, but they're finally mine and I will take them with me to my grave (children take note).
That I can ramble on about a pair of shoes speaks to my incredible relief; we got through it unscathed. We waited it out until after dark, and while there were still several small fires, they were not a threat. Picture a sleepy village lit up at night by mini-torches, and that's what it looked like. We knew they had nowhere to go, so we went to bed and slept soundly.
This morning, the hill is charred and there are pockets of smoldering brush; with the exception of what I think are two scorched Ponderosa pines way up high, the trees survived. We have seen a person moving through the trees here and there, so we suspect there are a few fighters combing the area, making sure the fire burned itself out. Our fingers are crossed.
As far as we know, neither person nor home was hurt or damaged by fire. We don't yet know how many acres it spanned, but it was on the Portland news almost as soon as it happened. When I heard that, I decided to call my sons before (if) they heard it on the Seattle news. We could see pockets of flame when the wind thinned out the smoke, and the house began to absorb the smell, but we were okay so far. I let them know there was talk of evacuation, but we were prepared. Both cars were out of the garage and headed down the driveway. Boxes were ready to be loaded at a moment's notice.
My biggest worry this morning is how I'll ever clear out the house. As soon as I realized what was happening, I closed the doors to every room, but only time will reveal the long term effect of the smoke. My husband spent most of the day out in it, but wasn't at all concerned about his lungs. I, on the other hand, could barely breathe, and had to hold one of my father's old hankies up to my face. I spent most of the day inside, except for the times I went out to greet concerned neighbors. Of all the homes on our street, ours was closest to the fire; however, we took a drive around the area this morning and saw how dangerously close to flame and thick smoke were other homes.
We purchased our house because it is up against the cliffs we so love about this area. Scrub oaks and Ponderosa pines provide our place of worship, our relationship with wildlife, our peace of mind, and our quiet solitude. We always knew fire was a risk, especially during the Fourth of July weekend; and sure enough, two kids are suspected of playing with fireworks. We've been told the same thing happened five years ago. Fire in these parts isn't a surprise, but it is a shock.
I asked a neighbor why helicopters weren't out, and he remarked they were most likely all in Colorado. Scores of fire trucks and personnel were gathered at a near-by high school, ready for action. The same neighbor, who had been listening to his scanner, explained they had come from towns and villages all around, and were here to save endangered homes while Forest Service crews battled the flames on the ground. Someone else said they were here to step in wherever they were needed. Whatever the reason, it was comforting to know people ban together when there is an emergency.
After we gathered up all our priorities, along with the things we could live without (but didn't want to if we didn't have to), I walked from room to room to take a look at what we would lose if the fire came up directly behind us. As it was, it was 300 to 400 yards to the west of us....way too close for comfort, given how quickly fire takes off in Gorge-powered winds. Slowly scanning all our mementos and treasures, I came to the conclusion that it is all just 'stuff'. I looked at decades of tangible memories and settled on the truth -- fire can not destroy memories that mean the most.
After my initial panic subsided, my thoughts and prayers were focused on the people saving homes and lives all over this country. We are blessed to have such skilled, brave, and dedicated individuals among us. I will continue to pray for residents of Colorado, especially all those who had to evacuate and will have no place to call home. For a few hours, I knew the initial fear they must have experienced.
We'll leave the house closed up today and the boxes will remain packed. I'm too skittish to relax completely. We'll keep looking at the hill, and when we are sure, maybe life can get back to normal. On the other hand, what is normal, really? I'm just grateful, that as I write this, all is well in this household.
