Brief Return

As school started at 8:30 from the dining table* we took ourselves off to Trail House for some coffee. They were evacuated also, and won't be open again until tomorrow. John had to get a new battery in his car key at Hammond Autowerks where we take my car for service. While I waited for him I got a text from Cindy who has secret sources of information and said that they were letting people into Wildwood, so we headed over there. 

Los Alamos Road was lined with light blue PG&E trucks replacing burned power poles, but the police at the barricade waved us onto Wildwood when we told them we lived there. Even though we thought we were fairly well prepared, nothing can prepare one for the sight of total devastation that greeted us. There is nothing but ash and white ash covered trees where one neighbor's house stood.* We always complained about the constant leaf blowing that inevitably happened every time we wanted to sit on our porch, but now I would give anything to hear that leaf blower going. Dorrie was the last person who called me before we evacuated to make sure we we had gotten the message. Her last words were, "I can see the flames coming over the hill. We’d better go”. She and her mother and both their dogs evacuated safely.

On the other side of us, the chimney* of Janet and Paul's house stands in isolation in front of the eucalyptus trees that Janet loved and we hated, knowing how much fuel they provided for the Berkeley Hills firestorm of 1989. These trees have suffered, but they will come back. Nothing can kill them. I imagine Janet and Paul will too. They lost a house to Hurricane Andrew when they were both in the Air Force and Janet managed Andrews Air Force Base.

Inside, our own house is practically untouched. The remains of the apple cake we were having for dessert are still on the kitchen counter. The backup battery was working perfectly on everything  but the well pump which is turned off so it doesn't blow the inverter. The well people were supposed to come last week to fix/replace the pump...another irony in the almost forgotten battery saga, but have rescheduled.It is hard to schedule people when we don’t know when the evacuation will be lifted... There is no mains power yet, although the entire PG&E fleet plus all manner of trucks  of unknown purpose and city trucks filled with huge white bags of what I assume to be toxic waste are rumbling down the street.

Outside, almost all the plants are either burned and/or dead for lack of water. Large parts of the irrigation system are melted and little puffs of smoke are still emanating from the base of burned plants. We know from one or two of John's aborted attempts at smoking out rodents that the roots of plants can smolder forever....A thick layer of white ash, black soot and burned leaves coats the ground and the porch. Between the burned carcasses of olive bushes that used to line our driveway is an enormous rodent hole* where we know an entire family of ground squirrels lived because we saw them all the time on the driveway. Firefighters used axes to cut down burning planks of fencing* and arbor. Almost all of the fencing is gone as is John's three compartment compost container. Our house is fine, and will be livable once it gets a thorough cleaning,  but the surroundings are going to require some adjustments a lot of work.

We will survive, perhaps even thrive with the opportunities offered by the necessity of
new landscaping, the burned hills will regrow, the birds and the animals will come back, but my heart is breaking for our neighbors who have lost everything. For today, all we could do was pick up a few clothes and a warm jacket, for the mornings are chilly, and leave. 
You can’t do much without water....

Cindy called after we left to say that they aren't letting people in anymore....there are no new evacuation downgrades....So we continue to wait.