Sitting here, typing this blog post, I can hear the helicopters zooming overhead to douse the flames and smoke that are still making their way down the mountains just behind our house. The fire started 3 days ago at Camp Williams, where some oblivious military personnel had shooting practice with machine guns in spite of the red flag that had been issued because of high temperatures and low humidity. A fire quickly caught hold of the dry sage and brush and spread up the mountain behind us.
Sunday, after a nap, I wandered into our family room and noticed an odd orange light coming from the high window in our entryway. Then we saw the smoke. Orange and black and white, coming from behind our mountain. It looked like there was a lot of blue sky around it, though, so we were hopeful that it would quickly be contained.
It wasn't. The next time we looked outside, there was a snake-like line of fire approaching our house. Fire trucks and helicopters did what they could, but there is limited access to the top of our mountain, so they had to wait for the fire to come to them. One image in particular haunts me. It's of our fire, miles long and hungry, coming down our mountain and leaving red hot ash behind it (like lava) and one lone fire truck at the base, waiting with all of its lights on and sirens screaming, as the fire approached it. It reminded me of that scene on Titanic when the captain knows they are going down so they send out flares and the camera pans back so that you can see that there is nothing but deadly, dark, freezing ocean for miles and miles around. In this case, though, the fire trucks beat back the fire.
The kids panicked and ran through the house with armloads of things from their closets and the game room that they dumped down into the family room. Apparently, "pick only the important things" included every toy they have ever owned. I ran around and put most of their stuff back and tried to pick the things that were important to me, too. We ended up with some things we needed, but, most importantly, my two favorite pairs of jeans and the boys' Wii. We are simple people.
Steve stayed in the house for as long as he could. He reminded me of captain Ahab, standing against nature's open maw. It scared me to death, but he finally joined us at my parent's house at 5 the next morning. We thought we'd be able to go back that day, but we were kept back from our road by the military and the police.
We slept at my parents' for two nights. After the first night, my mom joked that we had another day until she'd kick us out to fend for ourselves at the high school with the other evacuees. Bless her, she never did kick us out even after my kids lost their minds and practically begged me to end their lives.
Tuesday night at 8, (day 2 of the evacuation) I got a call from Felisha that the police had left our road. I had been glued to the website that gave what I thought was up-to-date info about which evacuation orders had been lifted. My dad and I quickly piled into his car to see if she was right. She was! We went home and I gathered and dumped things and kids alike into our car so that I could zoom up the road to our house with my foot only letting up from the gas when we passed the policeman sealing off the road leading further up the mountain.
I was offered love and help by many. Thank you all. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for saving me and mine AGAIN. Thank you to all the policemen, firemen, bulldozer drivers, helicopter pilots, etc. from 4 different states who were willing to stand up and shake their fist at such a huge fire and win. We don't even have smoke damage in here. Three homes were lost, but there are pictures of the fire coming right up to the backyards of many others. So many were blessed, and I am one of them. I am thankful.