Carr Fire Recap: Guessing Games, Gratitude, and Gusto

I live in a town of 90, 000 people, so when over 1,000 homes burn in a wildfire, it's not a guessing game wondering if you know someone that lost their home.  It's a waiting game to see how many you know.  Or maybe a macabre horror film would be a better description.

So far our count is up to five.  I'm sure there are more that we just haven't heard about yet.

And that's just the homes that are completely destroyed.

There are numerous friends that lost fences, trees and landscaping, one friend that lost her boat docked at Oak Bottom marina, and one friend that lost the guest cottage behind her home. To many to count are going home to freezers full of rotten food, smoke damage, and scarred neighborhoods that bear witness to the furious path of the fire tornado. Some friends still wait for the evacuation order to be lifted, bunked up with extended family. All of us will eventually have to venture out into our yards to hose down the toxic layer of ash that has accumulated on pool decks, patio furniture, and backyard swing sets.

All of us will remember the evening of July 26, 2018 when this "wild" fire became "our" fire.  It got personal.  It burned through the forest surrounding our beloved Whiskeytown Lake and headed for Redding city limits with a speed and appetite that fouled every effort to contain it. The concept of "defensible space", so familiar to those that live in the semi-rural outskirts of town, quickly became a parlor joke in the face of this burning monster. Bare ground, tile roofs, properly trimmed trees and irrigated landscaping designed to stop the spread of fire were mere speed bumps, as the fire raced forward at a ferocious pace never seen before.

Although the flames were miles away from us, we packed up the valuables and photo albums as a precautionary measure.  Trying to be calm as we loaded the car did not fool our children who immediately became worried and wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

In the aftermath of the fire, there were days of constant texting and emails to check in with friends, confirm their safety, and guess about who and what had been lost. The airport that had buzzed with fire plane activity for days, suddenly became eerily quiet as the smoke settled in and it became unsafe to attack the fire from the air. My son became teary-eyed as I described to him what it meant for his friends that had lost their homes.

"So, their toys burned?"

Yes.

"What about their shoes?"

Yes.

"Their bed?"

Yes.  Everything.  It all burned.

We visited the Red Cross shelter to donate some non-perishable snacks to those that had been displaced.  Our local community college, normally a beautiful, green campus buzzing with students of all ages, was covered with a blanket of dense, gray smoke and became a temporary holding place for dazed fire refugees that quietly milled about.

In the grocery store later the next week, it felt unnatural to be out in the world doing something as "normal" as buying food for my family. Friends hugged, and it didn't seem odd to have this display of affection in the middle of the produce section.  Aisles were crowded as acquaintances stopped to visit and every hushed conversation I overheard was someone's fire story. Strangers looked at each other silently wondering who had escaped unharmed and who had lost everything.

Signs of gratitude sprouted up around town. First near fire stations, and burned neighborhoods.  And then everywhere.  Freeway overpasses, fenceposts, trees, tractor trailers, chalked car windows, digital billboards and theater marquees all announced our collective gratitude for those that fought so hard to save our city.

And our circle of gratitude expands as the cycle of this fire wears on.  We thank PG&E for working around the clock to restore power as quickly as possible.  Thank you Bureau of Land Management for sending out crews to identify and tag hazardous trees.  Thank you to the National Guard for standing watch outside our evacuated neighborhoods to deter looting.  Thank you CalTrans for long hours repairing guardrails and checking the structural integrity of our bridges. Thank you churches that opened your doors to provide indoor play space when the outdoor air quality was unhealthy.  Thank you FEMA for setting up camp and bringing in national-level relief and support. Thank you restaurants that feed evacuees for free, Costco for allowing nonmembers to shop for necessities, Realtors for coming together to organize rental listings, and Haven Humane for taking in hundreds of lost and evacuated animals, and on and on and on.

It was a spark that started this fire, and from there the flames grew.  It was the firefighters that first fought back, and from there our response will grow. As our community moves out of survival mode, we will all have a part to play.  Cleaners, builders, bakers, teachers, counselors, trash collectors and everyone in-between.  When your cue comes, I invite you to take on your role with gusto. There is no guessing game to see if someone might need your help.  Only a waiting game to see how many.

My kids sorting coins from their piggy bank to share with friends that lost everything.