Forgive My Absence

A funny thing happened on the way to recovery from the Calf Canyon/Hermits Peak Fire: I lost my way. I have been through Post Traumatic Stress Disorder before. And I just figured I was there again. I knew my way out. Keep putting one foot in front of another.

Replant all the seeds which were abandoned without water when I was yanked from my roots and put in an alien environment. Check on your neighbors like the Red Tailed Hawk, and Kellie across the street, and Leslie back from Guam. Plant a garden way late and paint. Survive.

But like head injuries, each subsequent episode of PTSD gets harder. Not easier. Denial stronger. I became obsessed with my garden. Things which are green and growing and close to the ground so I could keep my head down and not scan the horizon for any cloud which looked too much like smoke. All clouds looked too much like smoke. When my Angel Fire friends talked of fire pits and fire works I zoned out. I even began deleting those fire bugs which talked of such things too much.

Soon my friends were only from Black Lake or Mora or Chacon. We avoided talk of the fires and evacuation but became focused on wind, and water, and rain, and wells. And Weather. Weather forecasts. Long range forecasts. Promise me spring and summer of 2023 will not be like the same period in 2022. I built new raised beds and bought twice as many seeds as I would need to fill them. Meanwhile I left the final demolition of the hoop house undone.

And the painting on the easel undone for months and months. I found it hard to plan for a future; a path out of the track of the fire.

The fire crews preparing for the challenge of another fire worked on roads and barriers. They knew our fire could have been worse. Could still be worse. It was so hard to fight because they could not get to the front lines easily. And they knew as big as it was it could have been twice the size or more. The minute they finished the work on Forest Road 76, the containment line and access road, I had to go. I had to see the road my sister and I so often went traveling on in the jeep. I had to see if there were trees left. They made it more beautiful for photographers.

Those of us in Black Lake now talk about how we feel about the fire and the evacuation. Not a formal 12 step recovery group. It happens when we bump into each other. A few minutes of acknowledgement of the damage done to our souls. I urged my friends to drive up FR 76. Some have. But I have not driven to Mora even with friends there. I hope by fall I can go to Pescos and see the damage there.

But I did make it back to my easel and the painting there. The Sisters done, but not yet signed. Baby steps.