Wildfire Diary

So Tuesday afternoon I was sitting in a coffee shop, writing and minding my own business, when I got an email from Arwulf: 

“considering del norte is on fire and they evacuated the school and it's like 95 degrees outside and really windy can i have a ride home?”

I’d been under the Cone of Silence* for a few hours so this was startling on a number of levels. I turned my browser back on and found my social media accounts buzzing, and local news feeds awhirl with footage of helicopters and great plumes of smoke and FLAMES. 

The FLAMES in particular got my attention, once I realized that they were very close to my house. Considerably closer, in fact, than I was. Close enough that we had probably better get the hell out.

Photo from our street tweeted by @dawinnick May 14 2014

Attentive readers might detect a hint of exasperation in Arwulf’s message: “Good grief, Mother, does the neighborhood have to be ACTUALLY ON FIRE for me to get a ride?!” She has some justification, since we generally expect that the kids will walk the mile back and forth to school, even when the weather is bad. (And yes, the Extreme Conditions Exemption was invoked and she and her brother got a ride home.)

Our evacuation adventure was fairly run-of-the-mill.** Husband and kids packed up essentials and irreplaceables and we all convened at a friend’s house to enjoy their AC and watch TV news until it was OK to go home a few hours later.

We were lucky. Now, while other neighborhoods are making the same scramble, and firefighters are hauling hoses around in truly hellish conditions, and some families are picking through the remnants of their homes, I have the luxury of contemplating the kids’ Go-Bags. 

You learn a lot about people when you watch them prepare for potential disaster—hence, the enduring popularity of the “if your house is on fire, what (besides family and pets) do you bring with you” essay for college admissions and scholarships.

Colleges of America: Do not fall for the “I would grab the complete works of William Shakespeare and the polished twig I received from an orphan I befriended while building medical clinics in the Kalahari” essay. I can tell you for real what my children grab when their neighborhood is on fire and they have to leave FAST. In addition to a change of clothes and a toothbrush:

• Arwulf brought a stack of out-of-print books that she hasn’t read yet.
• Grimbert brought a satchel of portable electronics, music players, and their chargers. 
  

I find these choices completely characteristic. Not just because Arwulf loves reading and history and Grimbert loves programming and music—I think what they chose to bring sheds some light on their differing definitions of “apocalypse.” 

For Arwulf it means that some piece of historical information will be lost forever. For Grimbert it means a lot of time waiting around with nothing to do. 

Arwulf dreads Fahrenheit 451 and the destruction of human knowledge; Grimbert dreads that Twilight Zone episode where the sole survivor of planetary catastrophe, thrilled that he is at last free to spend the rest of his life reading, breaks his glasses.

I think these are both entirely plausible definitions of apocalypse. 

Remember this one?

And I am very grateful that we didn’t have to live them this time around.

Be safe, people.

* This is my low-distraction work mode: blogs, news and social media websites blocked; email set to fetch new messages once an hour; phone calls going straight to voice mail. 


** Certainly compared to 2007, when we were displaced for four days and bunked with extremely generous and supportive friends, who welcomed a house party that totaled 6 adults, 8 kids, 1 dog, 1 cat, 3 rats, 2 snakes, 1 bearded dragon, and a couple of guinea pigs.