Memories of the 2003 California Wildfires

Today was a completely normal day for me. I logged onto People's Media with a feeling of excitement to review my first offer! Home sick, and miserable, this was a definite highlight to my horrible weekend. I ran straight into an imaginary, but harshly effective, wall when I was slammed with the title of a call offer: "California Wildfires". And memories flood my mind and body...

How effectively we file away the memories we choose not to access, until one day, the past sneaks in and shakes our core...without permission. I start this article unsure of how to do the emotion, the damage, the pure devastation complete justice. I start this article covered in goose bumps, chilled to the bone, with an aching heart and a mind whirling with fragments of memories. I can SMELL the death of Earth. I can taste the ash of aftermath. I can feel the pain in my throat, the sting, as I breath in the soiled air...open air...polluted by a fiery calamity. But all of that, the physical experience of this disaster, came later.

October 22, 2007...marking nearly 4 years, exactly, since I heard the news of (then) California's worst fire storm in history. I was overcome with fear and sadness as tears streaked my face while I sat safely, tucked behind my computer far away from the start of the fires. My heart ached for these men and women dutifully, bravely, battling against one of Earth's greatest forces: FLAME. The emotions were overwhelming, uncontrollable fear swept through my bones as I scurried home dialing everyone I loved on my cell phone. Call after call; shock, amazement, fear, tears and prayers...but everyone I knew, everyone that I loved was okay. Amidst the complete destruction occurring only 30 minutes away, I felt a selfish relief. That relief was shortlived as I listened to the radio station and was informed of the threat of this fire spreading right to my front door. No one was truly safe until this fire was completely extinguished.

And suddenly there were two. Not one, but two fiery demons wreaking havoc upon our county. They labeled them the Cedar and Paradise fires. They played on the dry winds and vegetation starved by lack of rain, brown and broken to the touch. These monsters skipped across our California highways taunting it's adversaries by feeding itself on pure wind across these enormous cement slabs. Could these fires be truly uncontainable? How far could their flames extend before we brought this destruction to an end? How many lives would be lost?

I stood by watching, warily, feeling beaten and completely useless while the t.v. set produced nothing but images of an endless inferno. Helplessly I clutched my boyfriend's hand as we witnessed the strength and bravery of honorable men and women get consumed by the flames. Our technology, our air and land machinery...was void in the eye of this scorching storm. I felt insignificant and powerless. So many people were losing their homes, their stability, their little piece of the world...and all of the memories and love inside of them. I wanted, I needed, to take control and be proactive. I needed to give these people some hope back.

I immediately contacted all of my family and friends. Phone call after phone call I gathered donations. A few dollars here, a blanket, a cooler, a few towels and some diapers. I called our church while my boyfriend began loading my car with our meager donations, and we began a prayer chain. Prayers not only for all those being affected, but selfish prayers for us as well because we were going to head straight towards the fire and it's destruction. I can remember emptying my piggy bank and withdrawing money from my tiny saving's account. I worked hard for every penny of that money, but I believed in what I was doing. We picked up donations from my family members and more cash...I felt hopeful, I was going to make a difference. We bounced around, in my dented little Ford Escort, with determination. I walked through Wal-Mart completely lost. I couldn't think. I couldn't focus. There was an urgency pulling at me, a need to just get there and help people. I couldn't move fast enough. Then finally I had to stop. Breath, think, sort things out, and then start again. Bit by bit we filled that cart, and then another, and a third...but it never felt like enough. If only I could give everything each and every person needed. If only I could make it stop. It's amazing how devastation can bring you to love people you don't even know. How sad it is not to love them without the destruction.

I can see it now. In my mind's eye. Faded and far away, but it's there. We sped down that freeway while so many others sped the other way. My heart was filled with excitement, but I was scared too. Miles away I could already see the grey skies. As we sped closer traffic slowed and our destination felt like an attempt to catch a falling star...unobtainable. We inched closer and the sky was black. Suddenly a snow of grey ash thickened the air. While I drove ash speckled my face and stung my eyes. Breathing was a chore rather than an instinct and my throat began to burn from the harsh, ash laddened air. Completely unsure of what to expect we exited the freeway headed towards Qualcomm Stadium and we were met with a haunting emptiness. Normally bustling and congested with an array of people the streets were empty and lifeless. Cars would trickle by, seemingly lost against the black sky. Life didn't seem to exist, until I pulled into line at the stadium entrance...a safe haven for all those being affected by the inferno's massacre.

My heart was lifted after speaking with one of the organizing volunteers. So many people were there helping, giving, spending time and putting forth an effort...for nothing in return but the hope of helping another person. Although there were a great number of people there to help, there were a greater number of people seeking help. Cars kept pouring into the lot. Men, women, children, infants and pets. Their needs ranged from simple things like: a small towel to more complex needs like first aid applications and soy formula for an infant. When we returned to my car we opened it up, each grabbed random donations and started walking the expanse of the Qualcomm Stadium parking lot. As we walked we offered up blankets, toilet paper, bottled water and juices, towels, baby wipes, diapers and candles. Our voices became raspy and our eyes watered. My lungs burned and ached with every breath. I could taste the soot and imagined it lining my lungs...suffocating me. I could never fathom the courage it must take to face the cause of such pain and devastation. How one person could stand against flames, how that one person could feel that immense heat against their face, the suffocation of dense air and the sting of flying embers as they touch skin...how could they face that and stay standing strong? Here I was feeling as though I truly encountered suffering, until realizing my fight was merely a small struggle.

We walked that parking lot until we had nothing left to offer and they had no more need for us. Our drive home was quiet. Our hands were clasped and I focused straight ahead as tears stung my eyes and washed ash from my cheeks. I felt good inside, but, so empty for each person sitting in that parking lot and the loss that they were experiencing. Although I did little my heart felt huge.

Worn from hours of walking and from emotional encounters with survivors we arrived home, safe. I showered and thanked God for every drop of the clean, hot, water that rinsed the day's events from my body. Climbing into bed I hoped to sleep away my aches and the images burned into my mind...I never even closed my eyes that night.

The fires burned on for days. Sixteen people were killed and 2427 homes and business were lost (statistics found at: www.signonsandiego.com). The emotional damage is inexplicable. After months and months of hard work and dedication homes began to come back to life and families began rebuilding their lives. The community came together and offered a united hand to all those in need and because of that there was hope.

My piece was so minute, so insignificant, in comparison to what so many families experienced...but the images, the feelings and emotions, and the small part I played...they'll always be a part of me. Those moments were real. Those moments rocked my safe little world and opened up my eyes. And those moments brought out the better side of, not only me, but the my society.