The plume of smoke is robust. Deep white—like God’s own puffball mushroom—twisting and alive with the effort of rising from behind Mt. Elden. My home lies over there. It’s Father’s Day Sunday and we’re having a BBQ at my daughter’s house on Cherry Hill. Our first fire of the season started at the edge of town just three days ago. The radio confirms that the mountain is ablaze upwind from my Doney Park home and the wind is gusting 40 miles an hour.
We swing east from town because the highway that is the most direct route home has been closed by the fire. From the open parkland we watch as the smoke column loops high over the peaks and dwarfs the 12,000-plus-foot mountains. It looks very apocalyptic. I’m reminded of a trip I took several years ago during the rainy season to the Hopi mesas. As I angled through the yucca and bunch grass, I looked toward the peaks and saw a row of monsoon clouds emerging from the horizon. They appeared like the headdresses of the kachinas, rising up and shuffle stepping onto the plains, with all the juju to drive rattlesnakes from the prairie dog holes with ground floods of frothing water.
This must be what it looked like when Sunset Crater prepared to blow its top in the 11th century. Anasazi farmers looked up from cultivating their corn and beans to see the arrival of the wise ones and the rains, but instead, undreamt-of change was at their doorstep.
For the next several days we literally live in the shadow of the smoke cloud and at the whim of the wind. That Doney Park wind … I think it’s a healthy exercise to choose the essential. What do you really need to take with you if you have to evacuate in the next few minutes? Load up those picture albums with the faded pics of the kids at all stages of growth and the sepia-tone ancestor shots. Passports, deeds, birth certificates, computers and hard drives. The guitar and a few changes of clothes and we’re set to go. Oh, and that damned pup. Oh, there are things we’d miss but we’ll be fine.
Ruth and Timber climb Old Caves Crater and look into the heart of the fire just a few miles away. Cell phone reports are filled with oohs and ahhs. They bring back impressive photos and stories.
I’m amazed at the hunger for information. The warm, human voice of Theresa Bierer on KNAU reminds us we are in Flagstaff and among friends. The Phoenix TV stations deliver stale, rehashed footage from the desert far away. Where is our local TV? The Internet consistently comes through with timely and accurate info (and occasional rumors) and queries from concerned friends and family all over the country. Facebook proves to be a dependable forum for breaking news and excellent photos. Charlie MacCallie posts an astounding time lapse video of the whole mountain pulsing and twinkling with fire the second night on http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-464278. And Mayor Sara is everywhere! Press reports, posting links for maps, Twittering, updating fire reports and even answering information phones. We signed up for the county’s reverse 911 phone notification system and received our first call about high winds and smoke.
We were put on notice but did not have to evacuate. It’s a long week. I’m proud of my town. There was every indication folks had been preparing for this and were ready. Thanks to the 1,000 fine firefighters, tankers, helicopters and crews and all the folks big and little who helped keep our homes safe once again.
Each day I hear people grieve about the loss of favorite trails and camping spots. “The peaks will never be the same.” No, but I’m not convinced that’s a bad thing. And they seem particularly bothered that it was human caused. Isn’t it balanced somewhat by the fact no homes were lost? I wonder if the Anasazi, after the fact, cursed the hidden stranger who brought destruction to their peaceful lives and muttered, “I’d like to get my hands on him.” The more things change the more they stay the same. Zen wisdom or just old fashioned bulls**t? Is that thunder I hear?
