Another Year, Another Fire

A grey haze dulls the details of the massive cedar, tall and visible above the shed which cozies next to the property line at the back of my rented bungalow. If I keep my eyes focused on this tree, my eyes will burn trying to define the spray of aromatic needles on its upturned branches. And, of course, they also sting from the smoke hovering in the air.

Instead, I concentrate on the details of the wine barrel teeming with serrated strawberry leaves and its determined outreach toward fertile soil to implant its roots. I have to cut those tendrils off or train them back into the tub or plant them in separate containers. I’ve never been able to throw them away without remorse, so I have small pots of strawberry plants everywhere. I am also trying to figure why I don’t have any red berries, only lush green leaves, as a reward for my efforts.

Bringing my attention into closer focus, I am pleased to be at my salvaged sitting area. A metal table and two chairs are revived with sanding, Rustoleum, paint and varnish. I’ve always wanted a corner in my garden for an eating area or a place to write outside. Now I’ve created that space and none too soon.

The fires causing the thick-smelling air have been burning for weeks and, hopefully, will be under control by September 1^st. Smaller fires have been battled and contained either in town or up the hill in the forested housing development. After last year’s scare when the threat to my valley and town came so close to being real, this year’s nearby blaze has brought me similar anxieties.

If the wind blows too long or the day reaches past a survivable temperature, I am on edge. When the sirens shriek in the day or night, I am awake and anxious.

I’ve packed and unpacked my car several times. Somewhere in my head I hold a belief that if I am ready, it will never happen. The ‘it’ being evacuation; the bigger “IT” being the loss of my way of life, my security, my comfort.

This very sense of potential tragedy paralyzed me for the first weeks of living near the growth of the largest wild fire in California history,

Then I rebelled. I didn’t want to live under waves of fear. I want life to flow atop waves of possibility and hope. If any of my dreams had any possibility of becoming true, I decided, then I needed to work at them. Even if I lost them in the nightmare of a fire’s destruction.

So, I set up the outdoor work bench and began sanding the underbelly of the round metal table and the two chairs. The local hardware store re-mixed my one-year old paint. In the past two weeks, I have completed one of my promised projects. I also planted medicinal plants in pots, put fish emulsion around all the veggie and berry plants, strengthened the drip watering system, and trimmed shaggy bushes.

I brought my focus home and into my own back yard, leaving the foggy future somewhere beyond my here and now. Looking closely, I actually see a dangling baby strawberry. Tomatoes are ripening as are eggplants. Asters are in bloom and lemon cukes are forming.

A siren crosses the threshold into my corner of peace then fades into somewhere else. For this moment, I am here, and I am ok.