Its very heart is burning.
The fire started last week; lightening. It was burning hard, dangerous, but seemed controllable. Friday the wind caught it and drove it faster than I've seen a fire move in my life. Embers were falling and starting fires two miles ahead of the fire line. It roared up the canyon, destroying at least 26 homes. The next day the winds shifted, turning the fastest edge back on itself but driving the other edge toward Canyon City and John Day.
Thankfully no one died, but I knock on wood as I say that; it's nowhere near contained and another high wind could change everything.
A major artery in this county has been closed for four days; my uncle and aunt live out that way. Power lines serving the area were burned by this fire and another to the east, which closed another highway. We've power here, but many don't. In the high desert, if you have no electricity you have no water -- most rural homes are on wells.
We took up some needed items for the burned-out families, and now we wait to find out what else they might need. Community generosity was instantaneous. Offers of places to graze livestock, places to live and eat, food for animals poured in. Today the radio asked people to not bring any more clothes or food or other material items; the fair pavilion where donations are being accepted has been completely swamped. Yesterday they were asking families who'd been burned out to come get things they might need, and it occurred to me in this area that it would be hard for some people to do that -- even families who'd lost everything, to show up and ask for help would be hard. Self-reliance, pride and resiliency run strong.
I find it a helpless and nearly despairing thing, to sit and watch smoke pour from the trees, unable to fight fire, unable to reach loved ones, unable to do much of anything but worry. But this isn't a community that sits on its hands. Most people here have done what they could and then picked up and gotten back to work. Yesterday I did the same; sorted through my short stories and organized my short stories and re-read several to decide if they were worth revising, then started working on one. It pulled me out of the depression that I was dragging me southward.
I'll note it's odd to rely on an AM radio for the most up-to-date news, supplementing it with websites that are updated less frequently.
Bits of knowledge rise to the surface; at one point my partner asked what the announcer meant when he said the river was at 1880 priority. I looked at him like he was nuts.
"Water rights," I said. "If you don't have a water right dating back to 1880, you no longer have a right to pull water from the river." My response was automatic, and I was stunned he didn't know. Then wondered why I thought he would. He hails from the wet side.
It seems most of the west is on fire. Highways have been closed right and left. Even I-84 was closed for awhile, so tanker planes could land and load/deliver water. Drought, high winds and thunderstorms are dangerous combinations, especially when added to years of beetle infestation.
As a writer. I wonder how the peoples of my worlds would respond to such a conflagration, how different communities would take care or take advantage of one another. What disasters would cause those responses? What long-term issues might worsen the situation, and who would add to them? Would my characters would sit on their hands and despair, dive in and help, or go about their daily business? How would they respond to offers of help?
If nothing else, it keeps me obsessing about the forest fires I can't extinguish, the world that seems determined to burn.
