MEMOIR

Cleaning the Ash, When Fires and Fears Blaze

I sometimes feel like I can’t breathe, even though the smoke has cleared

When I divorced my husband, I bought a home literally four minutes from where we lived as a family. It’s a big home on four acres in the wildfire zone of Northern California.

In our old home where my ex-husband lives, we were evacuated more times than I can remember. Living on a hill, I’d witness digger pines light up like a struck match, full of life one minute, charred the next. I’d rush around gathering my kids, our cats and dog, and all our precious pictures and paintings and belongings.

Later, I stopped taking the stuff, just the kids and animals.

We have been evacuated in this new home three times. During the Carr Fire that ravaged forests and homes for over ten days.

The sky would rain ash for days. I’d hose off my porches every day, sometimes twice a day.

Cobwebs transparent before would become seen and eerie from all the fallen ash. Those I’d hose too.

It was difficult to breathe. I even bought masks — this was before the pandemic and now we have bags of leftovers in the glove departments and closets. I find nice expensive ones in coat pockets.

I’d question when it was going to clear, when would the skies be blue again.

I had to leave my ex-husband. Had to.

From the outside, we looked good. He was a family doctor, and I was a writer and an activist. We had one boy and one girl; our boy was the eldest.

We lived in a nice neighborhood. Homes painted white with palm trees though we live in Northern California with oaks and pines. I didn’t work. I mean I didn’t bring in a paycheck. Inside this home, my son, my daughter, and I were being altered, like something that eats from the inside out, like radiation.

More like smoke than fire, something you breathe and can’t always see.

I wanted him to leave the house. The children were only eight and eleven. It was his house he told me.

I found this home that sat in a garden. The gardens were elaborated. The house held laughter and love from the previous owners. I knew instantly this was going to be our healing place.

In the first few years, I often thought about the main character in the book and movie, Out of Africa. I wasn’t raising coffee beans, but I was raising children. I became determined to create a healthy home.

One where I could breathe and sit without fear.

I figured out how to set drip systems and how to fix drip systems. I learned about propane tanks, water heaters, and sewer systems. I chopped wood.

In the mornings, I write and I am thankful for the tulip tree outside my window, and the quail that breed every spring in the blackberry vines. And though the deer eat my roses and my garden, they still stop me and fill me with awe when I see them eating grass or prancing through the yard.

My kids are healthier. My son is muscular and manlike at 16, taking my car and his fishing pole to locate a nearby pond. My daughter, who has struggled through five years of custody court dates comes home and says this is my resting place, as she disappears to her room to read, do homework, and text friends.

And still, like today after I had to take my daughter’s new puppy to the vet to have a fox tail removed and I wonder where that two vet bill will come from, and curse the weeds that still need to be cut. I can cry every time I remember why I left the home with the house cleaner, where I never had to worry about paint chipping off the house or gutters that need cleaning out.

I have help. My mother, and my uncle who helps me fire-safe this home. We trim the trees, clean up the debris around the house, and mow and mow to keep the weeds and the fire away.

My roof is crumbling. I am buying a new roof with the money I have been saving. I wonder as the grass turns brown, as the temperature rises over a hundred — should I take that money and go to Greece for an amazing vacation? Or self-publish my completed manuscript? What if I spend all that cash on the roof and another fire soars through? And I haven’t done enough to fire-safe this home?

I take a long shower after working outside, and while cleaning the kitchen, I decide the roof is a good idea. That I will do what I can to keep this house thriving; for that is why I left the marriage to heal and thrive.

The smoke may come as fires do. Eventually, it will clear. And I have learned that I can always find a place where my children and I can breathe deeply.

Desire to write? Click here for three short videos on Creating Space to Write. There is a mini-lesson on creating physical space, time, and emotional space to write. I’d love for you to join me on your journey to write.