Page 44 - Tonilee & Bobbye Social Media Special Edition Oct Nov 2011 (1)

REARVIEW

MIRROR

By Diane Netter

A hot August sun browns the tall, dry grasses
of the nearby hills, an ominous reminder that
it’s fire season once again. Four years ago
the Witch Creek Fire of 2007 burned more
than a thousand homes and turned our world
upside down.
The phone rang at 4:30 on an October morn-
ing, a reverse 911 call, demanding we evacu-
ate our home immediately. The voice was
loud and insistent, echoing through the halls
of our quiet home, jolting my family into sud-
den urgency. A raging wildfire was headed
our way and we needed to leave now.
We stumbled into the hallway, wondering
what to take with us. How do you choose
from lifetimes of memories? Our house was
filled with photo albums, journals, books, art
work, and irreplaceable treasures spanning three generations. In We backed out of the driveway and headed up the hill, unaware
our panic and confusion, we focused on getting our children and that our lives were about to be changed forever.
pets to safety, certain we would be back soon. We evacuated to a nearby high school parking lot and wondered
Our house was huge and solid and felt safe. We had lived there what to do next. A blood red sun rose ominously over the horizon,
for over fourteen years and I still remember the realtor’s emphatic shrouded by dark clouds. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the
words: “and it is BUILT…TO…LAST.” We had hosted numerous temperatures soared into the 90’s and we were sweating and chok-
parties there and even a wedding. It was our haven and the only ing in the smoke filled air. Realizing we could no longer stay there,
home our two children had ever known. we headed north to a nearby town. A few minutes later, we were
44 My artist father created many beautiful paintings of oceans, Indian shocked to see towering flames and billowing black smoke lurching
pueblos, and family portraits to decorate our walls. Dad and I over the freeway, forcing all cars to exit and find alternate routes.
shared a love of John Wayne and he had given me a framed We drove slowly and impatiently on freeways and back roads
picture of “The Duke” to hang in our entry way. He typed the words clogged with traffic. What should have been a 40 minute drive
“Well howdy, Pilgrim!” and stuck them in the bottom of the frame. seemed to last forever. In fact, it took us over 5 hours.
Fragile chalk drawings of my ancestors were carefully framed and We were exhausted when we arrived at the hotel around 9:30 PM.
also held a special place on our walls. We dragged our dogs, birds and bunnies into the lobby, past a big
In the dark hours before the wakeup call, the winds, an unset- sign which clearly stated SORRY NO PETS. Everyone understood.
tling 100 miles per hour, were blowing hard and our wind chimes We had become refugees.
thrashed and clanged loudly. I heard the patio furniture slide across We were unable to return to our home until four days later. Driv-
the balcony, the roaring wind, and then a subtle voice in my head: ing down the freeway we could see the fires had scarred almost
get up and pack your jewelry and some clothes. Later on I would everything within sight. The hills on both sides were charred black
realize these suggestions were meant to guide me – get up and get and many homes were missing, some still smoldering. We stopped
your things together! but I ignored them, rationalizing I just needed at the top of our driveway and got out of the car. Our grand “built to
to sleep and we would be fine. last” home was gone, replaced by a pile of rubble. In disbelief, we
Tossing and turning a short time later, I stole a glance out the walked down the driveway among blackened 80 foot palm trees.
bedroom window and gasped at the sight of tall orange columns A couple of hot spots on the hill still smoldered. A wall or two still
marching relentlessly down the side of the mountain like avenging stood, but the beautiful red tile roof from two stories above lay in
warriors. I felt a wave of terror crawl up my spine at this spec- broken shards where the floor should have been. A sundial on the
tacular sight, though I was sure the fire was too distant to harm us. front patio, an anniversary present, with the words “Grow old with
Then came the reverse 911 call. Now everyone was up and trying me. The best is yet to come” had melted away with all our hopes
to function. My mind was still stuck in a thick fog of uncertainty and and dreams.
confusion. Stumbling through the piles in disbelief, we found nothing of value,
I stood stupidly in my closet, unable to think. I left clothes, jewelry, but my daughter found something very unusual. The fire burned so
everything behind and only took an extra shirt, thinking we would hot it melted columns, pillars, metal, but, somewhere in the vicinity
just be gone a few hours. of her bedroom, one lonely sheet of paper fluttered in the breeze. It
I stood uncertainly in our entryway as another wave of fear crept was a page from a book I had enjoyed reading to my children years
into my foggy brain. Would this be the last time I looked at these ago. What are the odds that a piece of paper would survive? The
walls? My father’s beautiful paintings seemed to beckon to me. edges were charred and only the middle of each sentence leg-
Framed pictures of ancestors stared down at me. Take me with ible, but on both sides was, oddly enough, a description of a fire. I
you. No, I thought. All these wonderful things will be ruined in the took the page with us and placed it in an acrylic frame, a symbol of
car which was already full with kids and pets. This is just a precau- survival.
tion and we will be back in a few hours. My husband hugged me A friend listened to me lament how I couldn’t stop thinking about all
and said nervously, “Sure hope we don’t lose our house.”