Far from the Fire, but still Close at Heart

As anyone from the state knows, wildfires are common in California, but haunting all the same. They are an almost yearly occurrence, which can hit anytime between late June and November, bearing some highly unsettling qualities. For those not directly affected, there are the constant news reports, the massive columns of smoke that settle over entire regions and turn daytime orange, the falling grey ash, and the fear that the next one could be much closer to home.

This fire season has been particularly personal for some—the fires that peaked last weekend in Southern California destroyed more homes than any other fire in recent years and made clear the destructive potential they possess. However, the real emotions associated with wildfires don’t come from news reports or even second-hand effects like smoke or ash. The real fear comes from personal experience, from being forced to evacuate, or knowing someone who has lost absolutely everything.

I have never been put under a mandatory evacuation, but during the Malibu fires of 1996, my family left our home voluntarily for a few days because of dangerous air conditions and a constant rain of soot. Despite the fact that I was rather young at the time, those memories are still in the back of my mind every time I hear a siren in the distance. What is much clearer are the memories of friends. Just last year there were those who missed school for three days after being forced out of their homes by a fire less than a mile away. There was a family friend who had just enough time to gather photographs and heirlooms before fleeing a house that would be gone by morning.

But this time around, the experience is different. I hear about the fires from friends and family, and I read about them in the news, but the lack of proximity changes the emotions of the experience. It is harder to get as much information about the fires from 3000 miles away, without the constant updates on the local news. Whereas at home, everyone was informed and concerned about the progress being made fighting the fires, at Columbia, many students are not necessarily aware of what is going on.

While these fires may be far away and seemingly unimportant, they are not so different from a hurricane striking in Florida or a tornado in the Midwest. The disasters may differ by region, but they are all disasters nonetheless, and we should be equally concerned for each.

None of the recent fires were particularly close to where I live in West Los Angeles, but there is always the fear that another could spark up at any moment. Although I may spend more time now at school than at home, that doesn’t change the fact that the house I grew up in could be gone when I return, taking so many childhood experiences along with it. There is also the concern for friends who now live, work, or study much closer to the affected areas and could be forced into a shelter or hotel. In short, the emotions may have changed, but they are still just as strong.

There is one emotion that hasn’t changed, however, and that is a feeling of gratitude to the men and women who put their own safety on the line to save the lives and property of complete strangers. Growing up next door to fire-prone areas, I have a special appreciation for fire fighters. While they may not be able to save every home, they do a remarkable job under the most daunting of circumstances, battling raging fires in 90-degree heat with winds blowing at more than 80 miles per hour. In a situation that seems impossible, they never give up in their fight to protect their community and the lives of others.

So as Thanksgiving approaches and I look back at what I am thankful for this year, this devoted group of individuals will be in the front of my mind. They have saved the homes of a number of my friends, teachers, and classmates, and they allow me to rest assured that while I am away at college, my family and home in California are in very good hands.

The author is a Columbia College first-year.