It’s permeated everything. Even though I am now staying at our dear friend’s casita where I am showered and clean, the smell of smoke lingers. It even lingers on my breath. I must have breathed in much more smoke than I thought. My car is also saturated. A fine layer of ash coats the dash and ever time I have to drive it, I am engulfed. It’s a charged time and I’ve been sorting through seemingly a million thoughts.

On June 20th mid-afternoon, I took a walk just beyond the property’s eastern boundary meandering my way towards a small creek treading carefully in, over and around all the slash. With nearly every step the dry tinder of branches, pine needles and oak snaps, cracks and crushes underfoot. Every time I walk out here I think of the madness that occurred last Fall resulting this mess. I shake my head and talk aloud to myself about the pointless destructiveness in it all. The thick carpet of dry brush sits vulnerably not just here right next to our property but throughout approximately 450 acres of forest in the area. I try to shake my thoughts of it as I scout for some straight posts to gather for a small garden project I had in mind.

Just as I approached the creek, I began smelling smoke in the air. The skies up to that point were quite clear. I thought perhaps it was smoke from the Pass Fire in the wilderness to the north that drifts in every once in a while. But those thoughts were swiftly put to rest when the air suddenly began graying all around. This was a new fire. And it was close. I quickly made my way back home when a drift cloud of smoke descended over me. The wind gusts were sporadic, periodically clearing the skies overhead but were blowing generally in our direction from the west. As soon as I was back at our tiny home, flakes of ash were coming down. This was serious. I found my partner sitting in his truck taking a phone call. Interrupting his call, I made it clear that something serious was happening and suggested he end his conversation. Seemingly oblivious to what was happening, I repeated my urgent message saying “There’s actual ash coming down… I think we need to go.” After hanging up and getting out he concurred.

Kaleidoscopically, smokey clouds sailed overhead in varying layers blocking the sun. As we gathered our thoughts we began hearing sirens. I thought I was hearing too, the sound of engines overhead. Ashes continued to fall as we shifted into action. Suddenly someone drives up the long driveway on their ATV. It was a neighbor, who urgently told us he had reported a fire that appeared to have started just up the road. We were shocked to hear exactly where it was, already making speculations about how it started. It was not far, only around quarter mile away. He told us he had just seen a bear running across the road fleeing the fire and made it clear he was evacuating. This fire is moving fast.

We contemplated hooking up our hitch to pull our small home out of there. Quickly coming to see that as an impossibility, we began packing our vehicles with as much important belongings as we could. Dharma, our dog, was already in the backseat ready to go. As I moved back and forth from the car I was still hearing the sounds of engines. I then realized, they weren’t engines at all. What I was hearing, was the actual roar emanating from the fire itself! After readjusting my hearing to the reality of it, I could feel it’s roar reverberating through me and across the land. It was a truly awesome encounter, nothing I had ever experienced before.

In the fire’s direction a wall of thick smoke draped just behind the hazy sight of trees before me. It was as if our trees were next. Had our minds not been fully in survival mode, the new realization might have been a terrifying one. But my state was one of calm and swift action. The surreal-ness of it all hadn’t yet set in. I had a dog and ourselves to protect and action to take.

When I gathered as many things as I could my partner said to go. “You and Dharma go ahead. I’ll grab more things and be right behind you.” Right around this time, several fire engines started driving through and by the time I was out and away, the route back in was officially guarded and closed off.

After my partner rendezvoused with us out of the zone of danger, he told me that just as he exited our front gate, he saw that the southwest portion of our property was in flames. We cleared our heads, forced to be satisfied with what we could grab and began deciding what we needed to do next.

That night was spent at a dear friend’s AirBnb. We knew we wouldn’t get any rest that night, and we didn’t. We spent the entire night talking between short bursts of unrestful sleep. All the worst case scenarios played on an unstoppable reel in our minds and thoughts. We were fifty percent certain we’d lose everything and that our tiny home could be gone by morning. We knew nothing. Yet we knew it could be very bad. All we could do is allow time to pass and wait until we heard some news. Our friend graciously supplied us with some fresh eggs and freshly picked greens from her own garden. As we ate we could hear several aircraft flying to and fro outside. Knowing they were literally flying over and around our forest home was a strangely numbing thought.

After maybe only two hours of actual sleep we tried to start the day. But it was only 4:30 in morning. And besides, what would we do? It was too early for any updated news, so we laid there, wired and tired. The surreal-ness of it all had finally creeped in. Tears filled my eyes. We talked about how much it would cost to replace all the things we needed, including our small home. How long might we be without a home? Would the property even be live-able? Etcetera, etcetera. But we were all okay, though not really. It was a strange space to be in. Uncertain, yet willing to accept losing everything, because… we might have to.

We checked in for updates. Nothing yet. After a long, tired and excruciating morning. We were about to go out to get some coffee when we got news from a friend that the roads were reopened. Really? That quick? We can go back?

Desperate to know what had become of all this, we forewent coffee and headed directly to our forest. Driving up the mountain we could see heavy plumes of smoke still emanating from our corner of the woods, and all seemed a loss. Maybe they were wrong… After being asked where we were heading, a patrol officer waved us through. I couldn’t believe we were driving back home. Fire trucks, hotshots and firefighting crews were everywhere and aircraft were still active overhead. When I reached the meandering dirt road, I peered the forest through the trees to the south as I drove. It was clear the fire was still active and spreading.

We arrived at our opened gate to a scorched forest. The smoldering property was alive with pockets of smoke and actively burning stumps. A thick layer of fluffy, hot ash carpeted the earth. We got out of our vehicles at the gate, from here we still cannot tell if our tiny home made it or not. Walking along our long driveway we eventually rounded the bend where we caught sight of our small green camper. It was still standing! In fact the fire seemed to have petered out just before it. We could hardly believe it! It didn’t even look like there was much effort made around it by the firefighters, just some light and incomplete looking raking around its base.

Trying to make sense of the scorched landscape that was our home, we backtracked towards our gate to take a fresh look at the damage. We were saddened to have lost so many of the wonderful features which gave character to our forest but were grateful our property didn’t experience any crowning. After a few tearful bursts, we momentarily rejoiced with my partner scooping me up in celebration. We knew our forest was going to recover from this.

Still, there is grief in losing the property we first fell in love with. We lost much of our lovely understory and several smaller trees. An apple tree nestled up to a towering old cottonwood trunk which the woodpeckers had made home were both transformed into pure ash now living on the currents of wind. Knowing we will have to adjust to and learn the nuances of our new landscape was something we fully embraced. We knew the resiliency of Nature. Thankfully there weren’t any signs of crowning in this part of the forest, which could have resulted in the loss of mature ponderosas. While our ponderosas were singed quite significantly, we believe most will survive.

As we explored the newly scorched landscape, chinook aircraft and jet airplanes took turns dropping loads of water and aerial fire retardant to the south of us. Volunteer firefighters were walking the scorched grounds in nearly all directions looking for and extinguishing hotspots. The unreal amount of activity in the area was cinematic. And we weren’t necessarily out of danger either. They made it clear that they were attempting to keep the fire from entering the north part of the property and beyond. They would be staying diligent given the sporadic winds for perhaps several days longer. We were grateful for their diligent work.

Later one of the crew leads, named Tim, in charge of managing the area which included our property revealed something incredible to us. He told us that the night of the fire, he lead his crew into our property. He pounded several times on our door to make sure nobody was home needing to be evacuated. The portion of the property they had entered was already a-blazed and grew in increasing intensity while there. They were about to try to secure the home as best as they could but when things turned critically dangerous, he commanded that he and his crew were to leave immediately. He had to ensure they would not be trapped behind the growing inferno. When they left, he reluctantly wrote off our home as a loss. For what ever reasons, and by forces of the elements involved, it didn’t turn out that way.

He told us he and his crew returned about an hour or two later, after the flames died down and was astonished to find our small home still standing. We contemplated all the ways things could have played out. What if we weren’t home? What if the gate wasn’t left open for active personnel to have access? What if? what if…? We left the gate open and our tiny home was spared, with much effort of crews dampening the fire from the south and with a lot of good fortune, too.

We now believe more than ever before, our home in that forest is where we are meant to be.

~ ~ ~

As I wrote previously, I will be following up on critical details surrounding this event. Stay tuned.