Fire Season

The end of September - the Autumnal Equinox - has brought with it a huge heat wave and fires. It seems to happen every year, this turning of the seasons from summer to I-can't-move-I'm-burning-up. Of course, I have to admit that this body of mine does not handle the heat, especially high heat with extremely low humidity, very well. Yesterday we were well over 100 with a humidity well below 15%. Add in some wind and you get the perfect recipe for wildfires.

There have been a handful since our experience here at the cottage last weekend, but none so dramatic as what I saw yesterday.

Taking the stepdaughter back to her mother, we decided to take the road through the back country. This is a treat for me as it is a little bit longer, but I love to tootle along on the two lane highway and look at the mountains and trees, the blink-and-you'll-miss-it "towns" on the side of the road, the view of the border... where we realized after we had turned past any detours back to the big freeway that there was an awful lot of smoke rising. Looking it up after returning home, there were three large fires burning out of control across the border. As we drove along we could look across the valleys and see the fire lines raging out of control across the hillsides just beyond the reach of our own firefighters on this side of the border.

In the past, this would have terrified me, knowing that we would have to continue past these raging fires where we could see no hint of organized attempts to control the flames in order to reach the relative safety of a road that would go away from this little old two lane highway. But I have been making peace with this childhood terror, and at one point we paused briefly to take advantage of a teaching moment for the stepdaughter about fire safety. We stood outside of the car, watching the firefighters watching the fire (they could do nothing to fight the fire until it crossed the border or they were invited to cross to give assistance) and in the silence of a relatively little traveled back country road we could hear the hiss and pop of the fire from a distance of a mile or more away. We were able to show the stepdaughter about how wildfires spread so rapidly, how fire likes to go uphill but is not so happy about going down, how the wind drives it forward, and how helicopters and other firefighting machinery that assists at wildfires looks and works.

As we drove home after the drop off, we looked out over the hills at the orange glow in the south and I felt a great respect for this beast. I still don't want to have one in my backyard by any means. But I feel as if this important part of our ecological development is no longer my enemy, to be greeted with fear. You see, here in this part of the world nature developed a wonderful mechanism to control the grasses and underbrush that would otherwise choke out the young seedlings of trees and hardier scrub. These grasses and underbrush that die back each year after their wet season growth burn very hot and very fast. If the environment is completely pristine with no human interference, lightning strikes or hot dry winds spark fires that rip through and consume these hot, fast burning fuels without being able to stay in any one place long enough to consume the trees and tougher scrub. As humans have moved in and shifted the balance of what grows and doesn't around our homes as well as adjusting to fight the natural fires we throw off the balance of our native burn and renew environment, setting the stage for the fires to burn longer and slower, consuming everything in their paths including the trees and scrub that used to have protection from fast moving wildfires. The firestorms that have raged across our county in past years are a result of that human interference with the natural cycle of fires.

So peace is being made between myself and wildfire. Like any wild creature it is to be respected, and I am coming to that point.

A Little Excitement

Saturday afternoon was spent standing in a parking lot with my husband and many neighbors, watching a wildfire rampage across the hills behind the Cottage. It really was rather alarming, and I find that I am angry at the "kids" (no real way to tell ages, sometimes even genders) who have used the area for their hangout to smoke and do drugs as well as the general management of the area who refuses to take responsibility for their own property.

Yes, I am still steamed.

I was, however, awed, impressed, and very grateful for the skill and dedication of the fire crews that responded. As hours passed and I watched a pair of brush trucks that we were able to determine were parked directly in front of the cottage to maintain that edge of the burn area, I relaxed knowing that they and the many other crews were fearless in their determination to stop this blaze. The precision water drops from the helicopters and the bombers dropping bright orange-red retardant kept my attention as a well-choreographed but improvised dance. Toward the end a Chinook (the kind of helicopter with 2 large rotors that was designed to be able to haul a tank and then some) arrived with what we are guessing was a 500 gallon bucket. The ability they had to drop the water exactly where they wanted it was fascinating! The maneuvering and delicate balancing to react to the loss of the weight of the water was incredible. I was even impressed watching the mop-up crews work late into the night to ensure that no hot spots were left behind.

Today I look out over a half-charred hillside from my front porch and ache for the earth that was so suddenly laid bare. I realize that this area evolved as a burn and regenerate ecosystem, but it just doesn't feel right knowing that this fire was human-caused. Even my husband's cheerful observation that at least part of the tinder-dry brush has been consumed and will create a break for any other fires rings a little hollow right now.

So I thank the firefighters, the amazing pilots who work with them, and the earth herself that this was no worse than it was. But next time I could use a little less drama.

New Eyes

There has been a great deal of growth happening here at the Cottage since I took a deep breath and hit publish on my last post. It seems as if that has opened a door for me to accept myself a bit more, to lean into the scary side of being the woman that I have been created and shaped to be.

It makes regular posting here a bit more difficult sometimes, as I know that early on what interested people was the writing of bits of everyday life at the Cottage. But everyday life here is taking dramatically wild and amazingly divine leaps and bounds daily now; the everyday commonplace is no longer the same old bits of garden, herb, and tea information. Is there still some of that? Sure (except perhaps the garden, which I have decided in this climate with our particular brand of totally stubborn soil is to be given over almost completely to succulents!). But there is more now, too.

I see more magic in life with my daily Reiki practice, with learning even more about tea and the beauty and health benefits it can provide, with opening my heart to allow myself to be the unique wild, holy, mystical, wise woman that I am. Of course, I have days when I forget that I am a goddess (one who is a female embodiment of the divine image), when I forget that the purpose of my life is to live my truth and by myself.

But the magic and the mystery of life is pursuing me forward into places where I am exploring and discovering new (to me) territory. Some of it is quite tender and difficult to share, some of it has been shared better by others in whose footsteps I am dancing. All of it incredible. And Beautiful.

So things may be changing on the blog over the next months as I get my bearings in the world that is opening up around me as I open my eyes and live into my truth. Bear with me.