Smoke plume and a plane that is very much bigger than it appears in the photo.

This afternoon did not go as planned.

I guess that’s true with many afternoons, but this one was not my favorite. I had just finished up a lovely weekend Zoom retreat with one of my online groups when my trusty Watch Duty fire app alerted me to a fire in Placer County. Which is automatically alarming, but became much more so when I saw that the fire was named after my hometown (because it was near my home town).

The rest of the day was marked by stress, fear, uncertainty, and an adrenaline rush that made it very difficult to think clearly. All my other plans went away. I was planning to go for a walk. I was planning to work in the yard, at least a little, even though it was still hot out. But once there is a fire near your home, you don’t go anywhere. Especially anywhere that is away from your cat, car, dog (although he probably would have gone on the walk with me), computer, or anything else. And what about the yard? What is the point of all that work if a fire sweeps through? I’m still feeling unsettled.

It’s tragic that I’m starting to get used to this at least a little, though, and that it doesn’t surprise me anymore. It happens about every fire season now. October days that top out above 90 degrees are not helping. I’ve written here before that with each evacuation warning, I get better at managing the evacuation process. It’s a dance of checking the fire app every few minutes (how bad is this? Do I really need to start packing?) and then running out to the car to start the loading process. I packed up my pillow and overnight case first, and just a few minutes ago went out to get them again since it’s dark now, and the fire seems to be moderating. I left most everything else in the car, though: a quilt that my grandmother made, a few framed photos, artwork that my children created years ago. The things that make my home feel like home. With luck, I will be able to hang the pictures back where they go soon.

Our town was hosting an Octoberfest party this afternoon, a fundraiser for our historic schoolhouse that acts as the town’s community center. The nearby fire started not long after the gathering. For a time, music from the band that was playing outside joined the wail of firetruck sirens and the roar of planes overhead. It was a surreal concert. Someone must have finally told the band members and partygoers to head home. Volunteers set up tables and chairs at the outdoor venue, bought food, procured ample amounts of beer; it’s a shame that the event was cut short. Another loss in this time of so many losses.

We are lucky that a nighttime helicopter continued to circle our area for a time. It’s gone now, so maybe that’s a good sign, that they think the fire is under control.  I don’t think they used to have helicopters that worked at night with pilots equipped with night vision goggles. CalFire is doing what it can to up its game. Another good sign is that a local website reports that CalFire predicts that the fire will be contained sometime tomorrow. If they thought the fire would continue to grow, I doubt they’d be that optimistic.

I don’t think any of us will sleep well tonight, though.

Yes. Still feeling unsettled. I spent a good part of the afternoon filling white plastic Costco kitchen-sized trash bags with things that I love and things that we need and lugging them out to the car. Part of me is annoyed that I probably will have to unload the car tomorrow and spend time putting everything away again. A bigger part of me will be very, very thankful if that is the case.

Grateful for all of you who texted or called to offer a place to stay tonight, in case the voluntary evacuation order became mandatory. Also monumentally grateful for the folks who are working to put out the fire, more than 100 of them, according to the local website. I saw fire trucks from all around the area drive past my house. And the planes. And the helicopters. So far, all is well.