Fire Strikes Too Close to Home

Friday, October 26, 2007

Page 11

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Fire Strikes Too Close to Home

By J’AMY PACHECO

When tornado season comes, I wonder why people choose to live in states like Oklahoma and Kansas. A native Californian, I’ve often felt that our earthquake-prone region is far less likely to experience disaster on an annual basis than the flat states, which can pretty much count on some twister action every year.

A desert dweller, I sometimes forget about California’s terrifying fire season and Santa Ana winds.

As I write this column, I’m using a San Diego news channel’s online map to follow the path of a fire burning near the house where I spend Christmas Day each year. Every half hour or so, the station updates the web page with addresses of homes its reporters have confirmed as destroyed.

My father lives just west of Rancho Bernardo and as of Tuesday morning, his house had been spared – by the grace of God, and a few thousand feet. But as the minutes tick away, concern mounts that the afternoon winds will blow the ravaging flames back toward his neighborhood.

I’m not sure if the online map is a good thing, or bad. Each time I pull up an address, I’m relieved to see it’s not a cross street to my father’s house. But each time I pull up an address, I can’t help thinking of the families who are doing the same, and who do recognize the street names and numbers.

My father has insurance and resources to replace whatever things might be lost in his home. In celebration of his 70th birthday last summer, we assembled hundreds of family photos for a PowerPoint presentation, assuring the survival of some otherwise irreplaceable memories.

However, just the thought of losing the house where we’ve made so many memories breaks my heart. I remember taking my daughter to Grandma and Grandpa’s house a few summers ago when she’d been sick for weeks, and had lost a frightening amount of weight. I vividly remember the picnic her Grandma set up on the back lawn, and how my child ate the first full meal she’d been able to keep down for some time, and how she later napped on the picnic blanket in the warm San Diego sun.

I think about how beautiful the house looks decorated for Christmas, with the incredibly detailed Dickens Village in the living room, and lights sparkling in every tree. I remember waking up in the guest room with the drapes open, and watching the sun move across a painting and seeming to bring it to life.

I remember days spent playing croquet on the grass, splashing in the pool, running across the law with a giant bubble wand, and planting more tomatoes and peppers than any family would ever be able to eat.

It saddens me to think how many families are experiencing this kind of loss; how many lives are being uprooted.

In 1970, I was a child living in Ontario when the foothills north of us burned. I vividly remember all of the neighborhood adults spraying the roofs of our two story homes with garden hoses as glowing sparks landed in our yards, and worrying about the dry grass in the meadow across the street from our new tract houses.

I remember my mother assuring me that the flames creeping down the side of the mountain could never travel the miles they’d have to crawl across city streets to reach our house — and my lack of faith in her words.

It was, therefore, difficult to drop my child off at school Tuesday morning with the mountains south and east of my home billowing that sickly yellow-brown smoke. I gave her the same assurances – that the fires that are keeping her daddy from his job on the other side of the Cajon Pass and that threaten Grandma and Grandpa’s house can’t possibly reach us.

Driving home from Disneyland Sunday, we learned too late that the freeway we were stuck on was closed due to brushfires. We spent about three hours on the road, and ultimately ended up driving through a gauntlet of hose-wielding firefighters and spot fires. I watched warily as I passed wooden posts burning below the metal guardrails they supported.

This is a frightening time in Southern California, and I’m starting to think the Midwestern folks may not be as crazy as I used to think.

I don’t have an ending yet to my story, but one thing occurs to me: this is another reminder of how life can change in a moment. Now is a good time to think about what you would do in an emergency, and to reflect on what is important to you.

Because a gust of wind and a few thousand feet can change your life forever.