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California is Burning Again - Too Close This Time
The weather has been in the low 100's. There is a breeze blowing up from the south. These are perfect conditions for a wildfire. With the budget crunch affecting the over-burdened Department of Forestry, and the fact that many of our local fire crews are fighting fires in Southern California, I always start to worry this time of year. The only good news is that my vacant lot neighbor, a moron who thought it was okay to have camp fires this time of year, has moved to North Carolina when he lost his job. God help those in North Carolina.
Yesterday was our annual "Pesto Day" - the day that I head for the farmer's market to prepare for a day of making enough pesto for the year. There were eight pounds of pine nuts, 24 pounds of Parmesan cheese, bags of fresh garlic, and I was coming home with over 40 pounds of sweet basil. My son and his fiancé were coming to help on the assembly line to pay for their share of the pesto. Some packages with be shipped to our other children; some to our friends. The rest will be in our freezer until I get a hankerin' for some pasta with pesto, a pesto pizza, or some other recipe that I find.
After hours of basil leaf-pulling, we received a call from our granddaughter to ask if we are okay because of the fire.
"What fire?"
Unknown to us, there was a wildfire raging just a few miles from us that had already burned at least thirty homes to the ground and numerous businesses. It took another half-hour before we saw live coverage on the local news.
The phone rang again. It was an automatic call with a recorded message telling us to prepare for evacuation!
"Get the pet carrier for the puppies. Don't let the dogs out. Find the cats. Get some boxes for my heirlooms. Free the chickens. Go!"
Of course, my immediate thought did not go to heirlooms, but the six gallons (not an exaggeration) of pesto in a bucket in our kitchen. So, along with irreplaceable family heirlooms, paintings, antiques, and other things, sat a big bucket of pesto ready to be loaded into the vehicles.
It was my job to hook up the trailer to the truck. It was my wife's job to decide what went in it. All I really needed was my two computer towers, my back-up drive, the tax and insurance papers, and a bag of clothes. Oh, and my camera and the video of the things inside our house that I quickly took. It should be a great video to watch someday, with my wife scurrying around loading her stuff in a box.
Several years ago, I was visiting a friend in a remote, Northern California town. As I approached, it was clear by the aerial tankers and smoke that this was not a good time to visit. When I arrived at his house, he was busily loading his station wagon with his treasures - his arrowhead collection, his Dad's chair, and of course, his two desert tortoises. A few minutes later, his wife arrived to help with the evacuation. An argument ensued when she discovered that he did not put one thing of hers in the vehicle - not one stitch of clothes. The car was filled with his man-stuff. His justification was the she could wear his clothes, but he couldn't wear hers. Good argument, but it didn't fly. Soon, my car was being loaded with stuff, too. For several hours, we watched the progress of the fire. Fortunately, it was brought under control and the evacuation order was lifted. I helped them unload the car. His wife was still miffed, muttering something about "arrowheads can't burn".
A few hours passed as we watched the live news coverage. Helicopters buzzed overhead; aerial tankers were zooming by, and then the phone rang again. Our evacuation order was lifted. The pesto was safe. The puppies slept quietly through the ordeal. The chickens were oblivious that they nearly became free-range evacuees. We never found the cats. Cats always disappear during a crisis, perhaps thinking that they may need to help.
This morning, I received phone call after phone call from worried friends. Boxes of heirlooms are stacked in the living room. The empty trailer is still hooked to my car; and in the distance; a crippled rooster crowed. A few miles away, people are mourning the loss of their beloved pets and livestock; their homes and possessions burnt to the ground. The skeletons of homes were still smoldering. A man on television was filmed staring at the burnt shell of his once-mint-condition '64 Mustang. Frightened children are clinging to an injured cat. People looked shell-shocked, stunned, and in pain. This fire came up so fast that many only had minutes to escape. Fortunately, no human lives were lost.
Several hundred miles to the south, two fire fighters lost their lives. Ten thousand homes are threatened in one of several wild fires, from the Angeles National Forest to Riverside County. Before the first rains of the season, still months away, there will be more fires...more losses of life...more personal tragedies.
I am going to drive through the burned out area this morning, if the roads are open. I will open up my home for anyone needing a place to stay, or volunteer to care for some pets. The Salvation Army will need donations. This will be a very sad time for hundreds of people in my area.
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Yesterday was our annual "Pesto Day" - the day that I head for the farmer's market to prepare for a day of making enough pesto for the year. There were eight pounds of pine nuts, 24 pounds of Parmesan cheese, bags of fresh garlic, and I was coming home with over 40 pounds of sweet basil. My son and his fiancé were coming to help on the assembly line to pay for their share of the pesto. Some packages with be shipped to our other children; some to our friends. The rest will be in our freezer until I get a hankerin' for some pasta with pesto, a pesto pizza, or some other recipe that I find.
After hours of basil leaf-pulling, we received a call from our granddaughter to ask if we are okay because of the fire.
"What fire?"
Unknown to us, there was a wildfire raging just a few miles from us that had already burned at least thirty homes to the ground and numerous businesses. It took another half-hour before we saw live coverage on the local news.
The phone rang again. It was an automatic call with a recorded message telling us to prepare for evacuation!
"Get the pet carrier for the puppies. Don't let the dogs out. Find the cats. Get some boxes for my heirlooms. Free the chickens. Go!"
Of course, my immediate thought did not go to heirlooms, but the six gallons (not an exaggeration) of pesto in a bucket in our kitchen. So, along with irreplaceable family heirlooms, paintings, antiques, and other things, sat a big bucket of pesto ready to be loaded into the vehicles.
It was my job to hook up the trailer to the truck. It was my wife's job to decide what went in it. All I really needed was my two computer towers, my back-up drive, the tax and insurance papers, and a bag of clothes. Oh, and my camera and the video of the things inside our house that I quickly took. It should be a great video to watch someday, with my wife scurrying around loading her stuff in a box.
Several years ago, I was visiting a friend in a remote, Northern California town. As I approached, it was clear by the aerial tankers and smoke that this was not a good time to visit. When I arrived at his house, he was busily loading his station wagon with his treasures - his arrowhead collection, his Dad's chair, and of course, his two desert tortoises. A few minutes later, his wife arrived to help with the evacuation. An argument ensued when she discovered that he did not put one thing of hers in the vehicle - not one stitch of clothes. The car was filled with his man-stuff. His justification was the she could wear his clothes, but he couldn't wear hers. Good argument, but it didn't fly. Soon, my car was being loaded with stuff, too. For several hours, we watched the progress of the fire. Fortunately, it was brought under control and the evacuation order was lifted. I helped them unload the car. His wife was still miffed, muttering something about "arrowheads can't burn".
A few hours passed as we watched the live news coverage. Helicopters buzzed overhead; aerial tankers were zooming by, and then the phone rang again. Our evacuation order was lifted. The pesto was safe. The puppies slept quietly through the ordeal. The chickens were oblivious that they nearly became free-range evacuees. We never found the cats. Cats always disappear during a crisis, perhaps thinking that they may need to help.
This morning, I received phone call after phone call from worried friends. Boxes of heirlooms are stacked in the living room. The empty trailer is still hooked to my car; and in the distance; a crippled rooster crowed. A few miles away, people are mourning the loss of their beloved pets and livestock; their homes and possessions burnt to the ground. The skeletons of homes were still smoldering. A man on television was filmed staring at the burnt shell of his once-mint-condition '64 Mustang. Frightened children are clinging to an injured cat. People looked shell-shocked, stunned, and in pain. This fire came up so fast that many only had minutes to escape. Fortunately, no human lives were lost.
Several hundred miles to the south, two fire fighters lost their lives. Ten thousand homes are threatened in one of several wild fires, from the Angeles National Forest to Riverside County. Before the first rains of the season, still months away, there will be more fires...more losses of life...more personal tragedies.
I am going to drive through the burned out area this morning, if the roads are open. I will open up my home for anyone needing a place to stay, or volunteer to care for some pets. The Salvation Army will need donations. This will be a very sad time for hundreds of people in my area.
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Labels: California, disaster, wildfire
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