Forget Mississippi, it’s California that on fire now. The whole north half of the state, or so it seems. Up until the fourth of July, it seemed like maybe things were getting better on the whole. At least the air outside was clearing here in my home, smack dab in the middle of the Central Valley. It didn’t hurt to breathe and if you looked straight up you could see a little blue in the sky. One night the very beginning of July, Shawn and I saw stars. That’s a step in the right direction.
But here we are again. Choked with smoke and the only sun that fights through to stream in my windows is a sickly orange that reminds me of a Stephen King story I once read.
Over Independence Day, I happened to be vacationing at a retreat center near Yosemite. One of the large dorms at this place had been loaned out the Kern County Fire Department so these poor guys could have a place to take a shower and eat something before getting back into the fight. All I could think watching these guys is, “Man, do they look tired.” How long has this been going on now? A month? Last count I heard was 1800 separate fires in northern California this summer. The governor actually issued a plea for everyone to lay off the fireworks this year – every now and then the man says something smart and shocks me all to hell. I actually found myself praying that people would take his advice. Will wonders never cease?
It got me thinking about this holiday of ours and the symbolism behind the fireworks. The rockets’ red flare and the bombs bursting in air and all that. How strikingly appropriate that we commemorate this country with simulated warfare. I honestly can’t think of a more apt celebration of our nation, unless perhaps we all were to plug our ears while we watched the bombs and cheerfully sing “La la la la, I can’t hear you.”
Next weekend, my family was planning on a camping trip to Big Sur. Ix-nay on that idea. Shawn and I were married at a little outdoor chapel at Santa Lucia Campground in Big Sur six years ago. There is an annual group camping trip there in which we routinely partake every summer, though between work and babies, I haven’t made it there in some years. This year our anniversary was to actually fall over the weekend of the camping trip and now that Luke is of an age where he’s not liable to eat rocks or poison oak, we were all set to go. I was looking forward to walking through that chapel under the trees in the dappled sunshine with my husband on the day of our wedding. I assure you it’s one of the most beautiful places on God’s green earth. Now I can only hope that I’ll get that opportunity ever again. Maybe you’ll all do me the favor of sending your good vibes out that direction. Shoot, if you’re in Northern California, any direction will do.
Ultimately, fire is good for the forest. Necessary even. But in when our human lifespans are dwarfed by those of the trees around us, it’s hard to stand back and remember that. The land will recover. It will. But maybe not in our lifetime.