Autumn in Southern California

Oh yes – it’s October in Southern California. Yesterday I was laid up with the flu. Since my electronic weather station is visible from my bed, I watched it as the outdoor temperature gradually crept up to 91 degrees, the humidity dropped to 14% and the Santa Ana winds blew the smell of smoke in through my windows. My dry skin cracked and itched. And then I got an email from my sister containing this picture she took from her house:

As a child, I was no stranger to brush fires. In fact, they were my biggest fear. I remember my father driving me up the hill to watch fires burning nearby. When we came home, he calmly hosed down the roof (most of the roofs in the neighborhood were made of wood shingles in those days) while I nervously packed my emergency evacuation bag. Of course at that age, most of the contents of the emergency bag were stuffed animals and Garfield comic books. The worst part was in the days following the fire, when my dad took me for a drive around the burned areas. I never even noticed if there were burnt out shells if homes, because I was too distraught by the deer and rabbits who had lost their lives in the firestorm. To all you parents out there - don't take your children on fire damage tours!

Our neighborhood always fared fine in the fires, which seemed to recur every few years. Friends who lived in even more fire-prone neighborhoods regularly showed up with their horses and dogs, seeking safe shelter while telling hair-raising stories of flames in their backyard.

But lately it seems that every year is a major fire year. In 2003, the 100,000+ acre Simi fire burned to about 4 miles from my house. I thought that after that, there couldn’t possibly be enough brush left over to burn for many years. But each year, there is another one fire close enough that the plumes of smoke drift over my home, turning the sun’s rays an eerie orange color. Here is a photo I took from my house a few years ago:

One year, a fire burned to within 15 feet of an apartment I used to live in. You can see in the photo below the charred hillside right alongside the apartment building. Another year, my parents brought juice to the exhausted firefighters sleeping on cots at the end of their street.

A couple of days ago, my mother and I headed to a Dodger game leaving my father to decide if he was going to obey an evacuation order by bringing his horses to the stables at a local community college. This is not the first time that we have gone to Dodger Stadium leaving my Dad facing a decision like this. I am starting to associate the Dodgers playing in the playoffs with brush fires! We felt vaguely guilty, as if we were kids playing hooky from school, until we rationalized that we would just be in my Dad’s way if we stayed behind. And there is no shame in having some fun!

As we drove home from the game after dark, we once again could see bright red flames moving down distant hillsides. It is an awe inspiring and terrifying sight, especially because I am always aware that the flames are moving towards the house of a friend or family member. Is it insensitive that I should care more when my friends are in harm’s way than when strangers are?

The only bright spot in all of this worry is that I get an opportunity to see heroes in action. There is a big park around the corner from my house. It is used as firefighting headquarters for just about every major fire within 40 miles. It is awe inspiring to watch the fire trucks pull in from all over the state from Humboldt County to San Diego to aid in the group efforts. The level of efficient organization is obvious even from the road. Volunteers man tables providing hot meals to the famished firefighters. Portable toilets line up at the edge of the field. Tents and RVs serve as command centers. Passing motorists honk and wave thank yous to the hard working young men and women risking their lives to save our homes. So I would like to dedicate this blog entry to all the brave fire fighters working in dangerous conditions this week.