As we were going down the ridge yesterday, I noticed that the land had recovered nicely from the last fire which swept it, a few years ago. There were only a handful of dead, blackened trees still standing among the wide stands of green oaks and pines. The thought occurred to me that I should try to get down there with a camera before the next fire happened. Too late.
Luckily (for us, anyway,) the wind has been from the north, and the smoke (not to mention the flames) are all being blown away from the town. That luck is unlikely to hold all summer. Once again, I'm reminded that this is one of those places people should not be living in. Sooner or later, the whole town is going up in flames. If it happens this year, and we have to evacuate, I am not taking Sluggo with me. The cats, yes. But not Sluggo. Sluggo should be able to survive a mere forest fire, anyway, his origin being Hell.
But, for now, it appears to be safe. The wind may change with evening, but I'm not making any plans to flee. After all, I am a native Californian, and have that endless capacity for ignoring the inevitable. When the paint starts curling on the walls, then I'll think about packing. For now, I'll just make some iced tea and sit in the yard, watching the smoke curl lazily into the azure evening sky above the forest roof. Mmmm. The sunset ought to be brilliant.
