I put this in another thread, but it's so good that it needs its own. She's already had two house fires in the past, been through the wringer as it were. We just found out yesterday afternoon that all the houses are relatively safe.
Life has me "pinned" and I am not about to cry uncle, maybe tomorrow. We are in Oregon, all is green and forgiving. Sam and I have a ritual of late night walks.Spur of the moment,out the door , quiet strides ,silent steps, night smothers all sounds.Weighty words will be forgotten by morning as life arises to step behind another hollow day.There is such beauty in the dappled shade of the day and hope in the whispered plans dreamed of on those cool night walks. Spring has ended along with iris, lilacs and wild violets. Summer will come tomorrow with agapanthus, day lilies and ancient campanula blossoms. Tonight we walked yet again, but far to the north of our mountain home. Thursday night at nine p.m. I would forgo the walk for a hasty evacuation .
Magalia sits atop a mountain of endless forests , unclaimed entrance to the Sierra Nevada.There are few roads in, fewer out if hell were to warm its hands with our bounty of resident timber. The valley below holds endless fields of golden grass. Oak and madrone wait at crisp attention, on high alert as summer's gate springs open with the fury of another seasons race with the inevitable. How old is time ? In what century did we choose to forget that we neither own time or destiny ? These mountains knew us before we felt the wind that told us to listen as the tree tops spoke. The wind knew our fathers and played with our grandmothers linen laundry , stealing it's dampness to quench a traveling thirst. My Son's and I have many nights walked in silence, pupils of these ancients. There however comes a time when the static in the air screams for silence, a moment, the pistol has yet to fire, the gate will soon swing wide.
Last week, no, a few days ago ? I do not remember days nor numbers, it is late and only visions does my mind count as valid. Hours have passed without sleep, days without peace. The time came for Hell to ask from us it's due, It wasted not a moment in taking what we did not wish to give. Who knows and what matter how, the gates opened and all bets came due. As with all things they begin as a speck and when visible we decide the value or destiny. Not so with that which we have never owned. It claims the tithe whether night or day, time and strength on it's side, darkness owns the hour.
Not the treetops nor the wind but engines high above told us the time and what lay far below . Hell had come, not silent ,but greedy and hot he entered our land. Hungry and quick , our valley,this feast devoured. He stayed and many gambled, not knowing the hand. I had met him many times in years passed and chose to fold, to leave the game that has no winners. Birds were silent, my body felt like liquid lead unable to gain stability. There was little thought of value, for there is no price for safety when the race is in the home stretch. Take a shortcut and by all means cheat , your opponent will do the same. He will lie with the wind and disappear over the horizon mocking your vain attempt to find him. take a deep breath if you are able, he just circled in time time to breathe fire at your back. Waste not the bargaining as begging only feeds the hunger. Distance is the winner and night will have no mercy, he lights the night with his laughter, huge and hungry it echoes high into heaven.
We planned our exit,with family and more,plus two dogs two cats and two vehicles. Dark had come so quickly, silent and slow our drive through the hell that was below. The roads were closed, the ridge on the East was open lined with signs"evacuation route",Men stood ready, guides steady in the night. My granddaughter all of six plus two days,silent with security of family faced the glow with a newscasters stamina. From the elevated car seat she stated,"Yes, we are doomed." Looking back into the night she saw our other vehicle and again with the voice of absolute control "It's alright , Bill is still o.k., he is behind us" long silence , then again "were doomed". As we wound slowly down the mountain road came another serious statement. "Watch out for deer, they will be running from all that terrible place and need somewhere to go. We do not want to hurt any little baby deer, thet would be awful. Please be careful." A few moments passed and with burning mountains now fully visible she was exasperated and a bit angry "WHY DON"T THOSE FIREMEN DO, ---pause--- yes,they are doing their very best to --pause-- to protect the citizens of California." She was as steady as a seasoned news caster,years from now I will tell her stories of her great great uncle,Llowell Thomas and his many adventures as an early twentieth century newscaster. We arrived on the valley floor where thousands of acres were burning.We turned West and circled the fire for the next twenty minutes. In the middle of our retreat we were below our little house that had given us many sunny times on winter trips away from Oregon winters.It appeared to be in the center of the inferno. The fire was several miles away , I pulled to the roadside and laughed back at the monster that had licked and chewed away at our land for days. I had won my freedom and paid my dues.Once again on the road a small voice from the backseat was not quite so steady as she said "Grandma, I hear you crying, It is alright to cry". The drive to Oregon was a long drive, after a while I no longer looked in the rear view mirror.
Sunday has arrived and My plans are for sleep. Hell is far South of me Sunday.