I've been hearing about this on the news, but like every other story, it seems to be somehow separate from my life. The Cave Creek Complex fire has so far burned almost 200,000 acres of desert, and is the second largest wildfire in Arizona history. "Cave Creek Complex" rings a bell, as our neighbourhood is just off of Cave Creek road, but however many times you hear about something like this, it just never seems real. The fire is only 20% contained, so there is much to be concerned about, and I've heard that one of the largest Saguaro cacti in existence has suffered the fire and will probably not survive. Still, like stories of the war in Iraq or refugees in Africa, it seemed like just that--a story. Something that happens to other people.
Last night, as I drove home from work, I could see something that looked very like this photo. I approached the turnoff into our neighbourhood and saw the huge orange glow in the distance. It immediately scared the hell out of me and piqued my curiousity. I got on the phone to call Russell and tell him that I had to drive closer--to see what I could see. I chase storms and tornados too. There is something in my psychology that begs me to get close and learn as much as possible about things that terrify me.
One of the many reasons I adore my honey: he didn't question me or tell me it was silly or try to talk me out of it. He knew it was something I needed to do and trusted me to be safe about it.
I drove north on Cave Creek about 11 or 12 miles, into the litte town of Carefree. I could see that the fire was still some distance away, but getting closer would have meant taking backroads that I was even less familiar with. My Xterra was already at about 1/4 tank, and I was loathe to be stranded in fire territory with no idea how to give directions to Russell, so I turned around and came home.
The fire had seemed so much closer from the intersection by our house, and I nearly broke into tears as I drove towards it. Whether it was fear of it overtaking our little neighbourhood, or just sadness at all of the destruction I do not know. However, the closer I got, the less sad and afraid I was. I found myself wanting to do something to help, and feeling frustrated at knowing there was little--if anything--I could do. I'm going to go read more about it--its origins, its path, and the efforts being made to stop it. Maybe that's enough...educating myself and empowering myself against the unknown. I hope so. If its not, perhaps in my search for information I'll find ways to help--from rebuilding trails to replanting flora, or assisting those who've lost their homes. . .
3 comments:
Sometimes it is almost easier to come to grips with acts of nature than acts of man. However it is more difficult to deal with when it is closer to home.
Acts of nature can be devestating. The only thing we can do about them is to prepare for them and pick up the pieces. There is not a lot of prevention we can do. I can understand your wanting to get closer. to learn more. Perhaps you might even be instrumental in developing some neighborhood action for preparation for the fires should they get closer.
The sadder thing to contemplate are the man made disasters, i.e., war, genocide and greed. I look at most of the "reality" shows on TV as method of making ourselves look better at the expense of others. Our society needs to go back a few years when love and peace were being espoused as worthwhile enterprises.
By the way next time you have the notion to get closer, fill your gas tank first. It's a bummer getting stuck someplace without a way out.
Great photo. You are really nailing this photography posting to your blog. It does make it more interesting.
Keep on truckin'.
Can you tell he's my dad Kerri?
We had a similar experience a couple of years ago as we were heading to Sunriver for a long weekend with a bunch of Kev's former work buddies (at the time they were current work buddies). The fire season in the Pac NW is not that good. Usually ending with much loss. We drove along a dark two lane highway in the middle of the night (we'd left Friday after work). Through the windows of our 15 passenger van we could see the eerie glow of the fires to our left (couldn't tell you the real direction). The van was quiet and still as we all sat and reflected. A tear or two rolled down my face.
Be safe and like Dad said, fill 'er up before chasing!
are we still checking reality? where are you? i hope you didn't get too close to the fire!!!
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