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It was in early September that California wildfires began near me. I live in a rural village in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. This region is rich in multiple national forests and parks, including national treasures like Yosemite and Sequoia.
My concerns began with a fire (the Creek Fire) in the foothills northwest of our village at what seemed a safe distance. I watched the fire maps as it spread and the evacuation areas as they expanded. I had my “to-go bags” packed and I reviewed my steps casually. I was relieved as the fire slowly became more contained. Courageous helicopter pilots lifted out over 200 people trapped in interior regions. I could not imagine their fear as they waited knowing there was no other escape. As of this writing, that fire has been burning for nearly a month.
Meanwhile lightning started multiple fires in the high mountains to the southeast of our village. As they fiercely spread, they merged into one huge fire called the Sequoia Forest Complex (SQF Complex). The threat for my community was a sub-region called the West Castle Fire. It seemed far away until the wind started blowing smoke and ash our way. Then it got serious. My attention moved from the northern fire to the southern in a hurry.
I decided to do a practice evacuation and a dear angel-friend, Jann, agreed to let me and my dog stay with her at her house down the mountains. While calmly preparing, I got a text from another friend in our village who lives far up one of the southeastward canyons. She had just gotten a “mandatory evacuation” notice due to the West Castle Fire. I had not.
When I read my friend’s text, my whole body awareness instantly shifted modes. My practice evacuation became a possible real evacuation. My mind worked very differently. It was difficult to think rationally, make decisions, and get belongings jammed into my Prius. I didn’t have detailed information, but my greatest fear was the fact that there is only one main road that everyone in our village would need to escape by. That created horrific scenarios in my mind, none of which ultimately materialized. As I drove away, I began to realize there was the possibility I would return to ruins. I couldn’t let that thought freeze my mind’s need for alert driving attention. It was the worst drive I have ever taken: just me, my dog, and fear. I found strength knowing Jann was generously willing to help me.
I remained at Jann’s home for a week. We watched the fire news frequently and cautiously took masked walks in the unhealthy air everywhere. Where I live later became a “warning evacuation” area, meaning I could stay or leave but must be ready at any time to evacuate. I visited my home a couple times to stay updated. I was very grateful to those who continued to serve the community (post office, gas station, pharmacy, etc.) regardless of personal inconveniences. I was so touched by those who had helped others get their horses and farm animals to safe places.
The drama of fighting the fires varied unpredictably. I was on edge knowing what the worst could be to our whole village. The real heroes are the firefighters still working long days under unimaginable conditions. There are planes, helicopters and ground equipment in operation. The planning and coordination is expertly done. Not only are peoples’ lives and property being saved, but also efforts are being made to save precious national treasures like sequoia trees. As of this writing, the SQF Complex has also been burning for almost a month.
After a week at Jann’s, I chose to return to my home to stay, knowing I might have to evacuate again. I’ve reorganized my escape plan, cleaned up nearby soot and ash, taken air purification steps for inside my house, and frequently washed the smoke odor out of clothes. My home is a mess, my mind often feels confusion about priorities, and my emotions are easily stirred to sadness for all the people, wild animals and trees. In the meantime, the pandemic continues to worsen and the political news becomes more insane.
In the midst of this, I received my pre-voting guide and my sample ballot. I had made a “plan to vote” before the fires began. I have adjusted it to include new potential disruptions. I am even more dedicated to vote!
There are others across our country being confronted with very difficult climate change weather patterns. We are all confronted with the reality of a deadly serious pandemic. My heart hurts during my own circumstances but still has love to send to others who are also going through difficult times. No matter where you are or your situation, we are all Americans challenged to vote in one of the most important elections of our nation’s history.
It would be so easy for me to forget about voting at all this election and pay attention instead to my uncertain situation. At the moment of this writing, the threatening fire is better under control and there is about a month before the election. Another fire could come. I have a folder with my voting information; it is ready to go wherever I might have to go.
I am foremost an American with a duty to vote no matter the inconvenience. I will exercise my freedom. It is too important to do otherwise. I will not let a wildfire or any person scare me away. The flames will die someday, but my moment to vote this election comes only once. Mine is one vote among many that together will decide our nation's future. I will not dismiss my own vote by calling it “only one.” I will dismiss fear instead and accept responsibility. I will take actions, whether in terms of a wildfire or voting, as if my life depended on it.
© Betty Luceigh, September 27, 2020.
