A week has past since that awful Friday night. July 6, 2018. The fire started around 8:40 P.M. Acrid smoke blew through our sliding door screen around 8:50. Instantly, our bodies' danger signals were alerted. Our friends, Premi and Sri, and their relatives, Linda and Siven, were with us. We were seated around our dining table having just finished our dessert of apple pie which Daryl had made earlier that afternoon from our garden apples. All the windows and doors were open in a futile attempt to manage the stifling temperature. All day the thermometer had hovered in the 90's. After a cool spring and mild start to summer, this sudden spike in temperature came as a shock. It had been forecast a week earlier. Some high pressure weather system or something like that. After a day of challenging heat, the temperature rose into triple digits around 6:00 P.M. A sundowner picked up. Like a merciless hairdryer. A tension hung over us. We, in Southern California, are all too aware of what these weather conditions could signal. We're in year seven of a stubborn drought. And this past winter was particularly dry.
Around 9:50 P.M. last Friday as we finished up our slice of pie, Sri and Daryl announced the smell of smoke a second before we all became aware that a fire had broken out. Through the sliding door, straight in front of us we saw a thick cloud of smoke. Our guests departed immediately and Daryl and I raced to gather up important items. In fight or flight mode we knew to grab passports and wallets. But, with minutes to spare before our escape, what else should we rescue? Daryl shoved math papers, photos and file folders of important documents into boxes. I packed toiletries and some clothes. Before leaving the house I put away left over food and the remainder of the apple pie in the refrigerator. On our street three fire trucks were lined up at the Fairview Avenue intersection. Emergency action was in full force. I noticed our neighbor, Marsha, and her daughter, Katie, packing up their car, panic evident in their body movements.
Daryl and I had arranged to meet at the Sprouts Market parking lot a mile down the road. He appeared five minutes after me. Premi and Sri had called and offered us a bed for the night. On the Eastside of Santa Barbara we would be a long way from the fire.
Tense, stunned, we collapsed on their sofa twenty minutes later and watched KEYT's live coverage of the fire. They named it the Holiday Fire because it had started near Holiday Hill Road. The worst conditions for a fire prevailed. Houses in our neighborhood were engulfed in flames. This was a structural fire. It could have happened anywhere with these weather conditions. Our backcountry is famously prone to unrelenting fires in the dry summer season, but this was not one of those fires. By 1:00 A.M. the fire had claimed our neighbors' house. We were sure ours was next. Houses on Pine Lane and Cuesta Verde, streets just a few 100 meters from our house, had burned to the ground.
It was a bizarre moment. We were about to lose our material possessions. All the stuff we'd accumulated over the years, except for the stuff in our cars. Yes, we have insurance, and much of that, including the house, could be ours again in a newer iteration. What irreplaceable items would we miss? Around 1:30 A.M., exhausted, we fell asleep. Hours later, at 6:00 A.M. when we turned on the news Beth Farnsworth was still reporting from the fire scene. She'd been doing this all night. The flames were gone, but smoke curled up from charred remains. Twenty structures were reported to have been destroyedl. No way of knowing if our house was a victim.
Daryl suggested we drive to our neighborhood even though the mandatory evacuation order was still in effect. They wouldn't let us through, even on foot. We parked at the Montessori School on Fairview Avenue and noticed the TV crew across the street in the library parking lot. We hiked over and managed to get a ride. It was a shock to see our neighbors' house still smoldering. And then we saw our house, unharmed, utterly fine. Wow! Our relief was indescribable. Our garden though, took a beating. We grabbed hoses and doused charred, smoky patches which were in random parts of the garden. We had to be quick since it wasn't safe for us to be in the area. Power lines were downed, and explosions were possible. The TV crew interviewed me, asked about our experience. I was on live television at prime time during a disaster when the whole community was watching! The feedback I later received was pretty positive even though I don't even remember much of what I'd said.
Entering the house that morning was weird. Our empty dessert plates, water glasses, etc. were still on the dining table. Evidence of the suddenness of the event. I cleared up and washed up the dishes. We took cold showers. Grabbed fresh clothes and left. The worst was over. We knew we'd be allowed back home in the next day or so.
Now, a week later, our lives are approaching normal. It's painful to see the garden damage. Our robust naval orange tree suffered, but is sure to survive. The meyer lemon tree and almond tree are skeletons. The apple tree has some burned branches. Random clusters of shrubs and hedges are charred. But it could've been worse. And for many of our neighbors, it was.
