My Home Still Stands: A Case for Compassion (Pt. 4)

From L to R: Sarah Fred, Julie Kries, JoAnn Saccato

The hike back to the car was quick--a mere three hours when the trek in took 6+. We stopped, resting and snacking while sitting on the old redwood bench that was deep enough to fit us and our packs. The view was the quintessential north coast on a mostly clear day.

Most of the conversation is still lost to me--I remember attempting to go slow down the steep ravines, but found myself almost trotting, passing up my hike mates. I worked to practice mindfulness--opening my senses to capture the sights, smells, and sensations in the body--but it was a fierce competition with the thoughts roiling around my brain.

Finding our way back to the car, changing shoes and clothes, we wended our way back up the dirt road and onto the back roads where we came across a bull elk and his harem. 

Some 20+ in his herd strolled down the lane as we, and others behind us, inched forward. In those moments of the unknown--would a bull, feeling threatened by a vehicle, take charge against us--our windows were down and cameras rolling, we didn't seem to concern ourselves a bit with this idea.

The magic of being this close to these majestic animals revealed itself as awe and humbleness in my heart...there is such a consciousness--such a consciousness, that I feel intrusive wanting to capture it by film--this is their life with all the dramas that unfold in their world. A bull with his harem and all the dynamics that entails. For me to see it as entertainment, as I've written before, is embarrassing sometimes and causes me to shy away from using my camera when I'm in their presence.

As we rolled back up Hwy 101, we passed along the burned out spot where just a few days before we witnessed a vehicle burning, sparking a grass fire. It took such a different meaning as we proceeded back to discover our various fates. But I remember an startling and ominous feeling when we passed the vehicle on fire.

I checked cell reception automatically virtually every minute and finally gave up, shutting off the phone until we were outside Willits. We rolled into the local grocery store and parked along Hwy 101 all poised to make connections to our loved ones.

There were a few people hanging out on the sidewalk and it wasn't long before it was clear that some were homeless, some were high and all were living their day to day life. As I talked with Jim by phone, I became acutely aware that my circumstances could easily be as one  man--the homeless one--seated on the sidewalk.

Jim assumed my place was gone and there was really no reason to believe it could have been otherwise. The reports were none-stop of over 1,000 homes destroyed and a few human deaths had been suspected.

When I hung up, the nameless man looked at me with compassion and concern, "I'm so sorry," he said, having overheard enough of the conversation to believe, along with me, that my home was gone.

When I hung up, the nameless man looked at me with compassion and concern, "I'm so sorry," he said, having overheard enough of the conversation to believe, along with me, that my home was gone.

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From within the store, we were beginning to meet others from our community that had been evacuated--most assured that their homes were gone. My friend's husband urged us to stay outside of the county as the smoke was chokingly thick. We were all determined to get into the county.

We were quite confident that my friend's home was gone, as her husband had very little notice to get out as flames forced their way up the hillside and the sheriff evacuated the neighborhood. This meant that Sarah's car was also incinerated, as that was where she parked for the trip.

Glued to social media for the rest of the journey was heart rending--I was sure I knew hundreds of people affected. Coming into the county was an ominous site. It reminded me of pictures of volcanoes--raining ash with soot-covered vehicles passing through the orangish brown haze.

Jim picked me up as the rest of the group found their way to their temporary homes. The details of conversations are sketchy in my memory, but I was able to settle into the farm feeling safe, sad and disconnected from my community.

(Continued...)