Almeda Fire 6 - Two Months Out
Two months after a day that feels etched in our minds. Recent news has taken over the mid day and nightly brainwaves - an election in turmoil, a president disappeared from public view, Covid-19 spikes in an increasing number of Oregon counties.
Amidst it all we get to a timeframe where enough of the valley has gone back to "normal" that the repercussions and the people still dealing with direct issues from the fire seem unfortunately forgotten save for those of us living surrounded by the disaster zone, or continuing to help rebuild.
2,357 residential structures destroyed. A much larger number of families displaced as an apartment complex counts as one structure. Over 80% of Phoenix school age kids without a place to live. Friends, patients, acquaintances, strangers: all working to figure out basic housing with winter looming on the horizon.
Andi and I remain lucky. Our largest issue - arguing with our insurance company about smoke damage rather than fire damage, and relatively small smoke damage at that. Our neighborhood is back to construction and growing. Our island in the middle of the devastation remains remarkably untouched save for the deep scarring: the elevating out of bed at the sound of a siren, the investigation of seemingly odd sounds which have always been there and just overlooked, the closer look and app notifications from scanner groups for any fire-related activity.
Driving through or running through the fire-ravaged area has become commonplace. Writing here and now, it's the first thing to bring back tears in the last month. The feeling of "we should have done more" looms heavy on my soul. The question of how much more could have been done had I left work earlier, gotten to mom and dad's farm, had a bit more knowledge on what was going on than I had at the time.
I know these thoughts are effectively useless other than planning strategies for any future disasters. Life moves on and we progress onward. We adapt. We assist our community. We look at this holiday season and maybe that irritation of Christmas music early is a complete non-issue.
Sitting here I look up at the wall behind my monitor. I have a geocache hanging there, seemingly nondescript. Looking closer one can see the burn marks and the char. Opening it up the logbook is still wound up and readable though everything is a dark grey.
On my first run along the bike path a couple weeks after the fire I saw it hanging on the fence where it had been hidden in bushes. It is burned and parts are broken, but it survived. Finding it broke me for a bit. It brought forward all the compartmentalized fear, anger, guilt, sadness, hope of my friends who have lost everything. It felt like that one priceless thing you find in the midst of the rubble. It seems silly, but it's a connection, a memory, a promise to myself to remember. It is the closest I can come to understanding those who did lose it all and hopefully in that understanding remember to always strive for compassion...whether it's a fire, an election, a patient having a rough day. We see the best of ourselves as we rise from the ashes, as we stay strong. We need to figure out how to maintain that throughout our lives.