Home at Last

When I last left you, I was fleeing Paradise for greener pasture. The Humboldt Fire was whipping up the side of the canyon and chewing up everything in sight. From my vantage point on Skyway, our canyon looked like a black ashy cauldron with orange, red and black marbled smoke hissing out of the pot and choking the sun of its place in the sky. Every once in a while a house stood solitary-- alive against a backdrop of destruction.

I left thinking out house was safe, but as I traveled down the canyon the wind whipped the fire into a frenzy and it jumped onto the ridge and rattled toward my house.

"Ben, it's on the upper ridge," I said into my cellphone, but to him I sounded like a scuba diver talking under water.
"What!' he shouted.
"The fire-- up on the ridge," I said. "We need to turn back."
"What? No--" He said. "What do you want to do? You can't do anything. Let's go. If the house is still here when we get back, then fine. You can't do anything."
"But my cat," I said.
And then static.

We drove on. My fingers clenched the steering wheel with white knuckles and marital frustration. How could he be such a ____? He's a firefighter. he should be out there on the front lines not going on vacation. More bad thoughts and a few turns int he road.

I pulled over. Called work. Our neighborhood was being evacuated. I called my husband back.

"Ben, they're evacuating our neighborhood," I shouted into my phone.

"The fire is two miles from our house," he said. "Will you stop worrying. You see, this is why we left. If we were home, you'd just be freaking out. They're evacuating so they can fight the fire without "Aunt Maybelle" worrying about us trampling on her prized tomatoes."

"Will you stop that," I said.

"No, really, it's just precautionary," he said. "It's just so people aren't in danger-- and so we can do our jobs. "

He could still sense the tension on seething from my end of the phone so he added, "I'm sorry I was a little flip."

We drove on and I vowed not to check in on the fire.
I wasn't being fair. My husband's crew was out on the fire. His camp was vacant and his chief told him to go ahead and take his vacation because it would be his last for a very long time.

Fast track to this Saturday.

My husband is now back at work, but I haven't heard from him since Thursday. I have no idea what is going on-- only that our house is safe.

I get home, resuscitate some of my plants and start to unpack when rain rattles the rocky driveway. It's as dark as a closet-- and then in the clouds overhead someone suddenly turns on a light. It sneaks up on me with a flash and then one, two, three-- nature announces her presence with a boom.

The next morning I awake to smoke. More than 300 fires have broken out across the state-- one just a few miles from my in-laws.
We are safe once again.

More lightning is scheduled for Thursday, so cross your fingers.

I am just thankful to be home at last-- and to a home that is still standing.

If my daughter can tolerate the smoke, we will stay for now. I have two projects due this week. If not, I'll take my laptop and pray I can get my work done on the road.

Where we will go this time-- I don't know.