Rubble

After returning home from the Northern California wildfires, I dropped all my gear on the floor, ate a sandwich from the sack lunch provided by the fire, and peeled off my clothes. My feet had been in my old fire boots for 26 hours. I crawled in to bed to tack on a third hour to the two broken hours of sleep I had gotten out on the fire the night before. When I woke up, I was cranky and felt helpless. I took a hot bath. Mike texted and asked what I needed. "Dinner" I replied. I managed to put all my gear away before he made it over.

After eating, I crawled into the soft down comforter of my own bed. As I closed my eyes, I found myself surrounded by the rubble and char of Fountain Grove, the leveled community I had spent the night in, conducting LiDAR scans from our mobile research truck. I let the images play in my head. Dispatch informed Night Ops of another fire, and that the caller had said "People are running". Night Ops responded with an order to get on RedCom and order up anyone and everyone who might have resources available. They were going to lose another town.

I sank into a deep sleep.

This morning, as my mind raced with all my uncompleted tasks, the horrors of the last 24 hours, and my own insignificance, Mike tells me to save all those thoughts for my run. I wondered how far I'd have to run to escape the images of all the wreckage, and evacuees holding hands, comforting each other. I wonder how long I will need to press my feet to the pavement to out run the thought of an ocean of fire rolling over people as they desperately tried to escape. And people wonder why so many are still missing. But people, like animals, look exactly like everything else when all that's left is char.

I told Mike I felt worthless. I wasn't out saving people, or saving their homes. I had stood and stared at the rubble, over coffee heated in a JetBoil on the bed of the pickup truck, hoping that morning was not the day they'd let survivors back in to see if their homes still stood. When I was fighting fires in San Diego, we had driven past homes completely destroyed. Families sifted through the burned remains, looking for any token of their lives before the fire. Those days, fighting fire wasn't fun. Fighting fire was fun when it didn't kill anyone or destroy anyone's home. It hurts to watch others come to realize their grief. I've inherited my father's empathy.

"You paid your dues" Mike responded. I don't know. When is it really enough? Some people spend their whole lives fighting fire. Me, just a small fraction. But you can't keep pushing yourself to do something you no longer love. It takes the life out of it.

I put on my shoes and went out into the brisk morning. I started to jog and the impact jostled my bones. I was exhausted. I thought about the neighborhood we were advised not to go in, because they were still searching. For people. Or what was left of them. I had a 16 mile run scheduled for yesterday and made a plan to make that up on this run. 16 miles should make all this go away.

I needed to write the midterm for my class, analyze the computer simulation of the winds driving the fires, go shopping. My breath started to even out and my legs strode forward on their own. I'm not sure what it is about cars that melts into a bright silver liquid when they burn. Maybe the rims? It looks like mercury, shining in the sun. Complete ruins, surrounding an untouched playground. Buildings crumbled to the ground next to a broken pot for a plant. Two cars parked, presumably, in what used to be the garage, next to what looks like was once a lawn mower.

I ran down onto the entrance to the paved creek trail and turned left under the bridge. I came upon a homeless man sitting on a bench, going through his backpack. I wondered "What's the difference?" Thousands of people are now homeless, but this man has probably been homeless for a good portion of his life. My GPS beeped. 1 mile. 7 more to go before I turn around and head home.

I stopped at the park to pee, then continued on. My stomach hurt. I wondered if it was smart to push so hard after having so little sleep in the past couple of days. I just wanted to do whatever it took to make myself feel better. Another beep. 2 miles. I wasn't helping anyone. I wasn't doing anything to make the world a better place, or to save people. I gave up responding to other people's emergencies and embraced the peaceful life, where choices aren't a matter of life and death.

I choked up and held back tears, tried to even my breath again. 16 miles were not going to make this feel better. And maybe that's the point. Maybe it's not supposed to feel ok. Maybe I'm just supposed to feel. I stopped running. I walked for a few more minutes before turning off my GPS.

Buddha taught that we suffer because of our expectations, our view that the world should be a certain way. We fail to see that things just are. People die, houses burn, we're all just ants building our own troubles. I made myself keep walking, trying to look at the fall leaves around me. I crossed over the bridge and looked at the ducks standing on the ledge before the waterfall. I took a few deep breaths and decided to just enjoy the day.

I pushed aside my thoughts about not being ready for the December marathon, not being where I should with my thesis, not saving the world, not being enough. "Be here now". I decided to find a turtle. I walked closer to the creek, glancing around as I did. I smiled and said good morning to others out on the trail. An old couple sat together on a bench. I found my turtle. He sat on a log, still as a statue. His neck stretched toward the sky, soaking up the sun. I stared for a couple minutes and he still didn't move. I walked home.

I had a snack and took a nap. When I awoke, I made the mistake of Googling the "Diablo Winds". My thesis. I wanted to see if my advisor had given me credit for the statistics on the winds that he had desperately asked for, as he was preparing for a radio interview. Because of the wildfires going on just north of here, the most catastrophic in California's history, the entire world was talking about Diablo winds, what they are and the science behind them. There goes my thesis. There goes any self worth I had mustered during my walk home.

Getting back up was tough. I suppose it always is. Hundreds of papers exist on Santa Ana winds, so my one among a few on the Diablos will be fine. I don't know where I read it, but it stuck with me: "You're always okay until you're not". With the memories and emotions of the last couple days draped over my shoulder, I went out to get groceries, grabbing a couple chocolate bars just in case.