Fires and Stuff

On October 22, I threw a bunch of stuff into my car along with my two kitties and evacuated my house because of “immediate and imminent danger” due to wildfires. Never had I expected that I would be leaving so abruptly.

I had watched wildfires at other places and knew that Colorado was vulnerable. Firefighters had been fighting a fire several miles from my house for several weeks, but we were assured that it was not likely to head our way. The fire we were now evacuating from was a different fire that had blown up, jumped the continental divide, was burning through Rocky Mountain National Park, and was headed for Estes Park.

The sky at the time I was corralling the kitties and jamming some clothes into a suitcase gave a whole new meaning to “burnt orange.” It was that color! I had to turn lights on to see into my dresser drawers to pull out underwear and socks. In retrospect, it was creepy and portentous. I never hope I again have to put my car lights on at 1:00 pm so I can drive.

My evacuation choices easily fit into my car. I paused for a moment to say good-bye to a house I didn’t know if I would ever see again. I joined the hundreds of people in the evacuation lines who were scared, wondering, and hopeful that they would be safe somewhere else with their most prized living and inanimate possessions.

With a couple of friends, we found a hotel about 40 miles away that accepted our animals. It was a tense couple of days as the fire continued to rage toward our little town. Thanks to the fire fighters and Higher Powers, a winter storm halted its spread, and my home was spared.  Others were not so lucky.

While I was an evacuee and since returning home, I have been thinking about “stuff.” If I had more than a half hour to leave my house, and a larger car to load, I don’t think I would have done anything differently.

I had thought about “what if a fire” in abstract terms and made a list of what I needed/wanted to take including my two cats, medications, and a few important documents. I wanted to take my computer because of the photos I had stored on it. Most of my possessions, however, are replaceable.

I did take some things that I felt were unique and irreplaceable including several quilts made by my mother and my sister. My sister could always make me a quilt again, but not the t-shirt quilt that had all my logos from the marathons and other important races I once ran. My deceased mother could not replace the quilts she made years ago. I also had the candles that were at my mom and dad’s memorial services and I didn’t want to lose them. I had a plaque given to my mom and dad as outstanding sheep producers in our county and that was special. I have dozens of my own plaques but none of those matter much to me. My car had plenty of room for other things–I couldn’t think of anything else that was essential.

Now that I am safely home, I continue to think about what is really important. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t have taken anything else except maybe my trumpet, although aside from the sentimental value of all the performances I’ve done, it could be easily replaced. I forgot the litter scooper, toys, and dishes to feed my kitties, but a PetSmart near our hotel was a saving grace. I have stuff that I would miss if it was gone, but overall, now I realize how much I could live without.

I was privileged to safely evacuate and know that my insurance and savings could cover any physical losses. I don’t need much stuff in my life as long as I have family, friends, and animals. I also have been thinking about people who are refugees in this world due to the climate crisis and civil wars, or those leaving home to seek asylum. I cannot begin to imagine those types of threatening evacuation situations.

My experience with this fire was daunting, but I have recovered with heightened gratitude for what I have, and a much greater understanding of the anxiety of imagined and real loss.