Fleeing

This was different, we all seemed to know it...

I haven’t been writing much because I’ve been busy fleeing. It’s not my first time fleeing, I fled many things when I was a kid (bullies, accidental discharges of water balloons or firecrackers, the consequences of occasional petty theft). I’ve only fled fires twice, both times here at our home in Sisters Oregon.

This time was close, very close.

Fires don’t always move the way experienced firefighters predict, winds don’t ever really behave the way they’re supposed to. This fire, the Flat fire, ran North to South West, the opposite of moving coast to coast (left to right). And it was hot, and dry, and late in the season. There was a convenient path waiting to channel the flames - Whychus Canyon. Our home is set back from the rim of that canyon 400-500 yards on the South Western leg.

Level 1 - get you shit together - arrived quickly and unexpectedly. The fire was so far away and North East of us I didn’t think too much about it when it first popped up. Level 1 is really easy for some of us, not so easy or others. Many of us just have paperwork, fridge contents, clean underwear, and the odd memorabilia to grab and dash with. Others have much, much more. A 1,200 pound horse? How about a dozen. Sheep? Longhorn Cattle? What about art or precious book collections? All of that and more encircles the canyon. I count myself lucky with just 2 kids, 2 cats, 1 Guinea Pig, 1 Leopard Gecko, and 1 German Shepherd. Would be nice if there were another adult around to make it all happen, but my son is now 17 with his own car to drive so I count myself lucky again.

The first time we fled fire was slow paced - which maybe is not really a good thing. We had a few days at level 1, a couple at level 2 until 3 hit. I spent level 2 nights with my phone by my head, volume turned up high, waiting for the moment. Yes - it did come in the AM hours. We all fled with the haste of young athletes, racing down to a friends welcoming home. It was close but the drama was bigger than the flames threatening our area.

This was different, we all seemed to know it. My neighbor grew up here, worked in fire forestry management for decades. I asked her if she was nervous. “A little, because of all the resource’s they’re bringing in.” She was one of the first female forestry fire fighters all the way back in the ‘70s. When she gets nervous I get my ass moving.

The fire followed the Whychus canyon South, raging across steep terrain barbed with dry cedars and pines, carpeted with crisp brush. Level 2 became level 3 in the blink of an eye. Some people around the canyon didn’t get a level 2 warning.

We were running to our cars with animals, electronics and prized possessions when the smoke became a dark twisting tower moving towards us. Tadg ran down the road to make sure Harvey and his wife were on their way out, True ran next door to check on Beckie and her beloved dog. Our elders are capable and experienced, it’s still good to check on them.

Our neighbor across the road decided to stay. He’s local, looks like he could carry a horse on his shoulders. He and a couple of friends were going to stick it out. This was his first home with his new wife, only a few months there. They were going to deal with what came.

We fled, wheels kicking up gravel, heading into town to figure out the next step.

Unlike our first flight from fire, I didn’t feel I needed to keep us all together. The kids have grown their own roots here. I would be juggling cats and a dog, they could lean into their peeps for a few nights. True along with her Gecko and Guinea Pig, settled in with a crew of young kids and a couple she’s been hanging with all summer. Tadg stayed with a friend from school over in Redmond. I knew they’d both be safe and well cared for, time to find a hovel that would take 2 angry cats and a freaked out German Shepherd. We wound up at an overpriced, somewhat lame hotel in Bend. I settled in to a night of worries and little sleep.

As I write this we’ve endured five days of being away and are at long last settling back into our home. The fire was largely contained in the canyon our area is named for. There were dozens of dramas, big and small I could report on. Both kids had their own moments of digesting the possibility of losing our home and what it would mean to them in their young lives.

There were many, many heroes. Of course each firefighter, almost two thousand, is a hero to those of us who live here. All of the people who reached out to us, family, friends and acquaintances are dipped in gold in our eyes. When you go through an event like this in a small community, and everybody is showing up for everybody else, it is a life changing experience. I’m forever grateful that my children have been able to see how we all can care for each other in times of need.

Now we are home again, a family of rattled nervous systems digging into our favorite comfort habits: snuggling, cuddling, gaming and noshing. I’ve walked the neighborhood a few times, peeking over the ridge where our canyon is now filled with trees and brush turned to charcoal. Houses - almost every one was saved - perch on the edge of the canyon, waiting for life to turn the fires remains into new desert eden.

That first night, after the kids and I went our separate ways, I had time to sit with the acrid stress that is so familiar to me. There were thousands of moments during my late wife’s bouts with cancer that I sat with fear of what was happening to her, and what might happen to our kids. This crisis was easier than that, as I told my son “you can do this, you’ve already been through worse than losing your home.” But it still felt like that - the three of us were balanced on a precipice not knowing what happens if we fall over the edge.

That was a reckoning for me, the understanding that this kind of crisis doesn’t go away, it is indeed part of our lives. We need to be able to receive the feelings that overwhelm us, sit with them, share them, and grow our roots down deeper. My kids are getting more practice than most adults, but certainly not all kids worldwide. We’re getting the smallest hint of what refugees go through every day, sometimes for years on end. I tried to image what so many fathers must feel, seeing their children struggling with loss of home and security.

More than anything else these last few days have been about me affirming more deeply for myself that no matter what great changes face us, we can stay together, grow closer, and survive them. Every moment I spoke with my kids or their friends I rooted myself in that truth. Life is impermanent, there will be crisis, but we will be here, together, caring for each other and reaching out to those who will help us. I was able to be present for them and for our future together.

We become a little bit better at fleeing each time we do it. Now we’re able to help others more, to connect them to our little tribe that has become nomadic for a few days. There are so many connections to make, so much of life to experience, even when our world has been gripped and shaken hard.

Next week both kids start school! Change is not stopping for us. I’m tidying up, restocking the fridge, dealing with minor issues born of our home being the launch pad for our flight. It is so good to be home again. Nothing like it.

Despite all the odds, I hope this coming year is filled with blessings for you and yours. If not, you’ll know where to find me, or others like me who care.