Fire

        A few days ago I received a text alert: "Extreme Fire Risk Alert. Gusty winds through Wednesday afternoon with dry conditions."

        And indeed.

        The Almeda fire struck at the north end of Ashland on Wednesday morning, and, without dawdling or wondering what to do, it roared into action down Highway 199 and I-5, into Talent and through it, into Phoenix and through it, and on to the south end of Medford. It jumped into a trailer park here, a business building there, a block of homes in another place, licking up whatever looked good to eat, then turning its back on other possibilities on the same block and continuing its destructive path north, leaving behind a 13-mile swath of calamity. 

        I haven't been there to see it. I'm staying away so as not to exacerbate traffic, but I know that when I do drive into town, I won't be prepared for what I'll see. There is no way to prepare myself for the emotional impact of seeing places I love leveled by fire. I've seen the pictures online and I've heard people talk about what they've seen, but I dread seeing it for myself. I have lived here for almost half a century. These are my towns, places where I shop, places where friends live, sights I am familiar with, places I love. I am heartsick, and I haven't even seen, yet, what the fire could do.

        In Europe, the fourteenth century was called the calamitous century. That's how I see the summer of 2020 in the Rogue Valley. First the coronavirus pandemic hit, causing people to curtail social engagements and businesses to shut down, some of them, no doubt, permanently. Then the fires came, destroying businesses, homes, and ordinary life, such as it had become during the coronavirus. How many businesses will recover? What will life be like, for those who lost homes in the fire and for all the rest of us, who were also affected, though less directly?

        Am I safe in my house on the mountain? Of course not. None of us in southern Oregon is safe from wildfire, as the Almeda fire has proven. There is no fire threatening my property at the moment. The Slater fire is not far enough away for my comfort, but all I can do is watch the reports, stay in touch with neighbors, and be ready for the next step, if it comes. 

Destruction by Fire

by Diana Coogle

When fire erupts, it seethes, then leaps and dives,

Or sprouting from a tiny spark, it blooms

Into a monstrous Frankensteinic ‘shroom.

Wind, its accomplice, pushes, whirls, and drives.

Tongues of flame cut buildings down like knives,

Lick the inside of cars as clean as tombs,

Enter doors and roofs to slurp up rooms.

Fire that’s red-hot happy to be alive.

 

When pestilence crept in with stealthy feet

To crush with cold disdain and still the street,

We turned our homes into safe sanctuary. 

But now we know: if pestilence is scary

So is fire—and earthquake, famine, war.

God’s bosom’s bare. No place is safe anymore.