Many people seem to have an almost hour by hour recall of the Labor Day weekend when the fire started. For me, I really struggle with even the days. Not sure why, but let’s start earlier with the story of how we came to live on the mountain.
We owned a cabin in Alder Springs from 2003 to August of 2020 and Alder Springs is part of the story for us. We absolutely loved the place. It was so green and lush and in its own little microclimate. Trees, ferns, wildflowers, great people too. Lots of history there with cabins going back to the days of stagecoaches. Our cabin was called “Rocky Chalet,” we think due to all the rock terraces. It was a beautiful vacation cabin.
We loved the area too and our long-term plan was to live in the area full time, so we purchased a property about a ¼ mile away and reluctantly sold Rocky Chalet, closing on the sale less than a month before the Creek Fire destroyed it. We sold it to Drew Nelson’s parents. Drew and his wife Allyson Brooks lived behind and above Rocky Chalet and we were so happy it was staying in the family, so to speak. Sadly, they never got to see the place before it burned.
As anyone who owns an old cabin like the ones in Alder Springs knows, they are a labor of love. Like the repainting of the Golden Gate Bridge, you start at one spot and seemingly just keep moving around the place repainting, fixing wood rot, improving this, fixing that and then starting over. 17 years …we will never forget Rocky Chalet and Alder Springs. It was a painful loss even though we had sold it. Hope some people return and rebuild and enjoy the now amazing views.
If we were going to live in the mountains full time, we needed a place built newer than 1959! We purchased a place just up the road in April 2019 as our long-term plan while we lived and worked in the Bay Area. Covid hit, Ron was laid off, and we moved in full time much sooner than we could have imagined! Big curveball for sure.
We worked hard over the next few months cleaning, clearing, cutting, piling, burning, and hauling off brush to create even more defensible space. If you looked at the property from a satellite image, it had some of the largest clearances on the ridge. We made every effort to not be overconfident. While we cleaned the property, we settled into a good life together after a forced relocation. Good times, good memories living our dream in the mountains.
Labor Day weekend 2020 came. We obviously knew about the fire start, heard about the rapid spread. Obviously we could see the smoke column as well, with it eventually growing into a massive pyrocumulonimbus, mushroom cloud looking formation. At night we watched the fire creeping up to the far-off ridges knowing fire doesn’t move easily downslope. At some point we started seeing vary large air tankers coming in and I recall going outside and literally cheering them on thinking that now we might make some progress. Sadly, they couldn’t gain access to the fire.
The glow was scary and got scarier the second night. At some point the cloud collapsed and visibility went way down and it was like a hell scape. We really still didn’t think our place could burn. Nevertheless, we started packing some things. We got the cars out, we got the quad out. As we returned from our second trip to our family on Lodge Road, we saw signs marking each property and sheriffs at a house. We asked them what was going on and they told us it was a mandatory evacuation and we had about 20 minutes to get ready before they escorted us out…
I hope you never experience this. It’s overwhelming and frightening and feels emotional even as I write this more than 2 years later. We got back to the house and started scrambling. Rose took videos of everything we had, gathered artwork, some pictures. It was such chaos! I was outside running all the big sprinkler heads we had for fire protection all over the property, watering down the roof, moving all flammables away from the building like they say you should. We looked for anything we could do to save our place. In all the chaos we left behind boxes of family pictures now lost forever and so many other things. Everything we did save is a “survivor” and has special meaning.
We landed at our good friend Paula’s home in Clovis and it was an amazing refuge. It was so stressful. Our first night at Paula’s we got a call from the alarm company that a smoke sensor went off. We hoped that was all it was…smoke intrusion. Sadly, the next day or maybe it was two (I think) while I was at the first day of my new job, I got a call from an ex-Sheriff that had access that our place was gone. Devastating.
The work of a lifetime, gone. Starting over. A new job you can’t lose if you want to rebuild. Stress upon stress for us. What to do? We immediately decided to rebuild. We contacted a builder that cared, contacted an architect and within 3 weeks had conceptual plans. We broke ground in April 2021 and Pius Construction’s team had us moved in in November 2021. We will always be grateful to them. They fought for us at every step. So many others helped in so many ways.
I’d hate to think of where we would be without the focus of the rebuild. It was costly to rebuild in so many ways, but we are back and couldn’t be happier. So many others for so many reasons can’t rebuild at all or their rebuild is delayed. It is a multi-year effort to rebuild communities after an event like this. Know that many are still displaced and hurting and support local rebuild efforts is what I would ask. Have insurance, don’t be underinsured like we were, have a plan to evacuate, and keep working on fire clearance. Thanks for reading.
My name is Vince Wiggins, and my husband is Keith Davis. We bought 10 acres on Sharin Woods Rd in the spring of 2000. Sharin Woods means Sharing Woods. They left off the g from Sharing to make it sound more country or hillbilly like. As one neighbor told me years ago, “It means we’re sharin dah woods!” He said it with a southern, hillbilly accent, too. He also said, “We wanted it to sound like the hillbillies that we are.” Anyway, Sharin Woods Rd is in the Pine Ridge area across Auberry Road from Mile High. After purchasing our little slice of paradise, we spent every weekend and vacation day for the next few years clearing our 10 acres. We had a well drilled, brought in the electrical line and finally in 2004 we started building our home. It was a 3000 square foot log home. We personally dug the footings for the concrete to be poured in and we installed the floor for the main level after a crew had erected the cinder block walls of the basement. Keith and I with the help of my sister Joyce and her late husband Chuck raised the log walls. Later with help of a friend (and his crane) we put in place the main beam and log rafters that would support the roof of our home 25 feet above the main floor. Over an almost two-year period with the help of professional electricians, plumbers, and carpenters we finished our home. It was far from the largest or nicest home in the area, but it was ours and we loved it.
In 2009 along with our friend and business partner we purchased Cressman’s General Store. Keith managed the store and using his charming personality and business sense he turned Cressman’s into a thriving community business. I continued to commute to Fresno daily to teach elementary school but now shopping for Cressman’s became an almost daily part of my routine after school. It was a lot of work, but it was definitely a labor of love. For 10 years with the help of many wonderful and dedicated employees we developed and expanded the business. We sold Cressman’s in 2019 to our friends and mountain neighbors Ty and Tara Gillett.
On the afternoon of Friday, September 4, 2020, I had been at the lake with our dog Buster. As I left the lake fire trucks were headed up hill. On the way home I stopped at Cressman’s, and I heard the news. There was a fire in the Big Creek area. From our deck later that evening Keith and I watched as the dark plume of smoke rose in the distance with a reddish, orange glow from the fire reflected in it.
The next morning (Saturday), I went to Cressman’s to fill gas cans for our generator. If PG&E had to shut off the power, we wanted to keep our well pumping water. Our friend Mark Elizondo came over and installed a transfer switch at the well so we could power the well pump with the generator. We never got the opportunity to use it.
We put rainbird sprinklers on posts all around the perimeter of the house to soak the area in case the fire reached us. Although, we could not actually believe the fire would come that far before containment. As Ty at Cressman’s had said earlier that day, “It will have to burn over 100,000 acres in order to reach us!” Little did we know…
Sunday, September 6, 2020, we had not slept much at all. It seemed as though all we could do was stare at the glow on the other side of Stevenson Mountain and wonder, what was burning? Whose home in Big Creek, Huntington or Camp Sierra was burning? We hoped and prayed they all evacuated safely. Thick smoke filled Jose Basin below us. We could no longer see the homes in Dogwood across the basin. Later we couldn’t even see the basin. Our phones were going crazy with messages from friends and family checking on us. We were determined at that point to stay and fight the fire.
As the time passed one by one neighbors called or texted to let us know they were evacuating. We slowly began to pack. I hooked the jeep to the back of our old, but classic RV, Gus the Bus. We loaded things in the back of my truck. We had not actually decided to leave but we thought we should get ready. We could now hear thunder. This was thunder generated by the fire. The Creek Fire was creating its own storm, a fire storm.
About 4:00 P.M. I was looking at a video shared on Facebook of the fire up by the Shaver Lake Dam and The Point. In the video I saw a wall of fire 30 – 100 feet high. It looked unstoppable! At the same time Keith was watching a news update and the weatherman said the winds were going to increase in the Shaver area by the next morning. We knew at that point that we had to leave. We did not want to risk our good health or our lives trying to protect the house. What would I tell Keith’s family if something went terribly wrong? We left notes explaining how to use the generator and our fire protection set up just in case some brave firefighters came to our home. Before leaving we stood in our living room holding hands. We cried and we prayed that our home would be spared God willing. We evacuated. I drove Gus the Bus towing the jeep and Keith followed in our truck. We didn’t think it would all burn. I didn’t want to feel like we were abandoning our beloved home! But we did.
We joined our good friends Drew and Allyson along with their 2 children Araya and Brooks. They had evacuated from Alder Springs to a ranch house off Wellbarn road in the Marshall Station area. Allyson’s mother, Vicky Brooks evacuated there as well. This home and ranch are owned by the Sierra Foothill Conservancy, Allyson’s employer. We are so grateful to SFC for their hospitality and help. We stayed there for two nights in Gus the Bus, parked next to the ranch house. It is a beautiful foothill area ranch surrounded by the table mountains, but it was hard to enjoy or appreciate the beauty. Thick smoke filled the air and worry filled our minds. We wanted to go home and check on things, but we were not allowed to. It was not safe.
Monday, Keith texted Ty at Cressman’s telling him that we could go shopping for supplies for the store. We knew he was trying to keep the store open for the first responders. Ty didn’t reply until late that night. We were shocked as we read his words, “It’s gone guys! I am so sorry! We tried to save it, but we couldn’t!” He said that everything at Cressman’s had burned in a matter of 15 – 20 minutes while he watched from the viewpoint at the top of the 4-lane. Ty sent us video clips and, we were in shock!
The next day Drew and Allyson received a message from a fire fighter friend. Their home, Vicky’s home and almost everyone’s home in the Alder Springs community had burned to the ground. I’ll never forget that moment. We were all crying as we tried to hold back the verbal sobs so we wouldn’t scare the kids. How do you keep telling them it will all be okay when they know it is not? At moments like this you began to realize that nothing will ever be the same. We knew we would be okay, and we were thankful that we were all safe, but now what?
The area we were staying in at the ranch was placed under evacuation warning, also. It was not mandatory for us to leave yet but we felt it was best. If the ranch had to evacuate there would be trucks and trailers evacuating livestock and we did not want to be in the way with our 36’ RV. The ranch has only one way in and one way out, so we left and relocated to the Madera Fairgrounds.
As we arrived at the fairgrounds, we received confirmation that our home had also burned. The pictures looked so horrifying that at first I kept saying, “That’s not our place. That doesn’t look right!” Keith kept telling me that it was our home. He said, “Look at the rocks around the flower bed and the rocks that lined the walkway to our front porch.” He was correct. As foreign as it looked, it was our home. We cried and sobbed again!
Bad times seem to bring out the best in people. Madera Fairgrounds was closed because of COVID-19, and they were not approved by the state to be an evacuation center. (We found out later that Cal Fire keeps the Madera Fairgrounds on reserve hold as a staging center because it is centrally located and has easy highway access.) But, as soon we told the Madera Fairground’s employees that we had lost our home in the fire and we came there because my sister Joyce had worked for years in the Madera Fair office, they welcomed us in and hosted us there for two weeks. We literally had this beautiful facility to ourselves. At times, it was just us and the security officers there.
Bad times seem to bring out the best in people. I can’t emphasize this enough. We were literally being bombarded with offers of help, places to stay, food, clothing, money. Family, friends, work colleagues, acquaintances, everyone wanted to help. We even had friends from high school days contacting us. My friends I had worked with at King Elementary showed up with food, gift cards and much needed hugs. Keith’s Gottschalks friends came through with two carloads of supplies and an overwhelming amount of money. We told them we would share with our neighbors who had lost their homes also. Their response was, “No! This is for you. Give us a list of names and we will help your neighbors, too.” And they did. I could go on and on with tales of generosity and empathy. The state of our community is STRONG!
After two weeks, we were allowed to visit our burned home for a few hours. We hoped to find mementos and things we could salvage. The pickings were slim. Everything was incinerated. Glass and light metal objects had melted. I couldn’t even find the license plate from a dirt bike that was in the garage. The license plate had melted along with countless other things. We sifted through ashes looking for mementos. I had three boxes of family photo albums that my mom had assembled from my childhood and an old, iced tea pitcher that my grandma had always used. They were nowhere to be found. So, we resolved to look to the future and look forward to the potential of a new beginning. The past is the past and we have beautiful memories to carry with us. It was now time to move on.
We have spent the last year traveling in our RV. We’ve been up and down the Oregon and California coast. We have RV’d to Lake Tahoe, the Eastern Sierras, the Grand Canyon, the Texas hill country and more. We have visited places in Arizona, California, Colorado, Nevada, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Oregon, Texas, and Wyoming. Along the way we have visited many friends and family members. We enjoy life on the road. I must admit, I am a Nomad at heart but, we still have our roots firmly planted in the mountain side overlooking the Jose Basin.
A new barn is under construction. Plans for our new house are being drafted. It will be in a new location, with a better view but still on our Sharin Woods Road property. We look forward to the future in a new house on our old home property. We will live in the middle of the Creek Fire burn scar, and we plan on working with local foresters to help reforest and properly manage our area.
Domino. Three months to the day since Allyn last saw her. Our house and property burned the next night. Today she was there, awaiting us. Allyn actually thought he was dreaming. She looks a bit bedraggled, but no burns or other injuries. She’s lost a little weight, but nothing significant. Asleep under the bed now. A miracle.
I was living in Alder Springs with my two small children which is located in Auberry, California at the time of the Creek Fire. I had been in the home since 2019. When I first saw this small little home with a beautiful view I knew it was the one and I had to buy it. I wanted to live in a place that was beautiful and that could give me peace and quiet.
My family and I spent a lot of time there, especially once the pandemic fell upon our County in March 2020. I was able to work from home. My children were doing their school work online. During our lunch hours we did crafts and I would always have the children paint the scenery because it was so beautiful. I loved to get up every morning and sit outside to sip on my cup of coffee. At sundown I would like to watch the bats fly around.
During the Labor Day weekend of 2020, myself and some friends had a spot reserved at Vermillion Campground by Edison Lake. Once the reservations opened up we booked. The Chacons, Evans and Pasillas families which was a total of 5 adults and 10 children. We had a wonderful time camping enjoying the campfire and eating s’mores on Friday night. On Saturday we decided to rent fishing boats and go across Edison Lake to look at the big stumps and the forest on the other side. We had never been there so we wanted to do some exploring. When we were crossing the lake with the kids I noticed that across the ridgeline there was smoke. I said, “Oh no, there is a fire and I wonder where it is at?” It looked small but as we were going across the lake I could see it getting bigger. As we were exploring it started to get late and I told the others that it was best if we head back because the sky was getting filled with smoke. “This is not good,” I thought. When we got back to the other side and back to the campground it was really smoky. I said, “I don’t know what we should do. Somebody needs to tell us what is going on and what we should do.” We decided to continue camping. I’ve been camping all over the place my whole life but I want to tell you that this night was the scariest ever. The bears were out of control in the night and were banging on everything. The dogs of the other campers would not stop barking. I have never heard bears so active in my life. I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do. I tried to calm my kids down because they were panicking I told them that it was going to be okay, the bears are not going to bother us, it’s probably just the smoke. My daughter was shaking next to me and my son was on the other side and vomited on his sleeping back. They were so scared. I didn’t want the bears to smell the vomit so I threw the sleeping bag out of the tent as far as it would go.
The next day in the morning, which was Sunday, my friend wanted to go on a hike to the Devil’s Bathtub which was on his bucket list. After breakfast I told him, “I don’t think you should go” and he said, “This is why we came up here” and I said, “You know it’s getting pretty smoky and it’s an all day hike and if we get evacuated I’m going have to leave because we have to stay safe.” I also jokingly said, “If they make us leave I’ll leave you a note”! He left on the hike so my other friend and I decided to take the kids over to Vermillion Valley Resort. We knew they had a TV there where we could see the news. We took our sweet time taking showers and went into the store to get the kids snacks then we noticed an evacuation order sign! I told my friend to use the satellite phone in the store to notify her parents and my children’s dad that we are getting evacuated since we did not have cell phone service. I wanted someone to know that we were ok.
We then head back to the campground and everyone is already gone. My heart dropped and I was like, “Oh my God, this is serious.” The host walks up to us and tells us, “We have been issued an evacuation order.”, and I’m like, “Oh my goodness, my friend and his two boys went off on a hike, how could I find them?” The host said, “Well, you guys just need to go now”. So I and the others in my group packed up our stuff quickly and threw everything in the vehicles. I left a note. I wrote, “I have to get who I can out. I’m sorry I have to leave but as soon as you get back to this tent you need to leave. I left water and snacks. The host has extra gas if you need it. Once you come back, just leave, because everyone’s evacuated”. I didn’t know what else to do; there was no way for me to go look for him. As we are leaving and we’re driving down the road and two lady hikers jumped in front of my truck. I stopped. All I heard was “Help!”, and I asked, “What’s going on?” and one said, “My friend is having an asthma attack, I need help. Can you take us back to the resort, we can get help there? I told my friend in the car behind me that we have to turn back, we have to help this lady, and we can’t just say no and leave. One got in her car and the other in my truck. Then two more hikers come out of the brush as we are turning around. I have them jump in the back of my truck. It was probably about a mile or two back we dropped them all off. I told the lady, “I hope you guys can get help here, but we have to go”.
On the way down there is no cell phone service at all. The air is smoky and we had no clue where the fire was coming from. We then get to Mono Hot Springs and everybody there was evacuated, gone. There was no one around at all and I’m thinking to myself, “Are we like the last ones to get notified here”! I was so nervous, my friend was nervous but we kept trying to remain calm for all the kids we had with us. We decide to take a bathroom break and a quick mental break because we were having a lot of anxiety driving. After a short break we continued down the mountain. I told my kids, “I’m driving, and this road is just one way down, it’s skinny and bumpy and you guys need to look around for fire because I can’t focus on what’s around. I need to focus on the road. After a long while we made it to China Peak and the Sheriffs were there with a road block. The sky was red and it was super smoky. They directed us to park in the small parking lot across the way. They told us to park and wait, that we couldn’t go any further because the fire is by the road at Shaver. The parking lot was full of vehicles. I looked at my friend and she looked at me, we were very worried. Our other friend took longer to come down from the mountain because she wanted to wait for her brother to come back from hiking but she eventually decided to evacuate. I was happy to see her family. As we all continued to wait the Sheriff announced that they were going to move us to the big parking lot and told us to park in the middle of the parking lot. My friend and I looked at each other like, “Did we just come to our death?” We had been so high up in the mountains before which seem to be safer at this point.
As we waited in the big parking lot, I looked at my friend and said, “This is not good, there’s fire all around us, the sky is red! It was daytime but the sky was so dark it looked like night. We were extremely terrified but had to remain calm for the children. The Sheriff notified us that we would be here for a few hours, to just relax and to go ahead and feed the kids. Then after a short time the Sheriff announces that they need us all to line up because they want us to write our names down. I looked at my friend and told her, “if they want us to line up, they don’t want to tell us what’s going on and they want us to put our names on a list, we are going to die! Oh my God! We’re not going to make it out of here”. All the children were so scared. I’ve learned a lot about emergency situations over the years so in that moment I felt like once you’re on a list, the Sheriff will take a photo of the list, so it is submitted so they know who died in the fire for their records! After everyone in the parking wrote their names down the Sheriff announced, “OK, we’re going to have a helicopter come in and take you guys out.” My thoughts then switched to, ”We are in the middle of this parking lot with fire all around us, “Can they really just come in and pull us all out”! I know material things don’t matter but I told my friends, “take a picture of your truck license plate, anything you have in your vehicle, your registration because it is all going to burn, you need it for your insurance, we’re not going take any of this with us if the helicopter comes.”
We then continued to wait and wait we were all very scared filled with anxiety, not only because of the fire and the ash falling on us but because we were going to have to ride in a helicopter. Then all of a sudden the Sheriff announces, “there’s a break in the fire, get in your vehicles, we’re going to guide you through it right now”. I looked at my two friends and said, “Let them all go first”! Let’s be the last ones because if the fire is on the road you need to be able to turn around. So we waited until all the other vehicles went through and waited towards the end to leave. I’m in straight survival mode. Our phones still didn’t work at China Peak, we couldn’t call our families. I did not want to die that day.
As we drive down and pass the lake there is fire on the left side and fire on the right side, and my kids are yelling, “Mom, the power poles are on fire! Mom, look at that tree, it’s on fire!” I just keep telling them, “As long as it doesn’t fall on us were going to be ok, just pray. Let’s just get through this”. There were cows in the road following the cars trying to get out. I thought to myself, “I’ve been through Shaver so many times in my lifetime, this is so unreal. This is horrible; I hope all this doesn’t burn. I was so panicked I just wanted to get through it and out. As soon as I got a halfway past the lake my phone starts ringing off the hook. Family, friends and co-workers trying to get a hold of me to make sure I was ok. After we got through Shaver, we are supposed to be heading straight to Fresno on the 168. My friends headed straight down but I felt I had to stop at my house. After I passed Cressman’s coming down the hill I made a right towards Alder Springs. I had only one important bin that had birth certificates and important paperwork that I had to grab. I knew if I lost that it was going to be hard to get all that again.
I didn’t see any of my neighbors as I arrived so I figured they had been evacuated. I could see the smoke coming up in the back so I snapped a quick photo of my house. As I ran in my house, it already smelled heavily of smoke. I thought to myself, “I’m just getting this bin, my truck is full of camping stuff, I can’t fit anything, and nothing else matters right now. I don’t think it will burn! Then I said to myself, “Okay, let’s go. And hopefully, everything’s going to be okay”.
When I got to Fresno I went to my friend’s house that was camping with me. We were so worried about my friend and his kids, the one that went hiking. We kept watching the news, we kept checking social media, and we wanted to make sure they were okay. We wanted to make sure that they hadn’t been burned in the fire. We felt bad because you never leave one behind. We were so stressed out until someone finally posted a picture of who was stuck at Vermillion Valley Resort. We saw him and his two kids and we were so happy that they were okay. They had to be rescued by helicopter and there were moments where we thought they’d get lifted out and then the smoke would change or the wind and they would cancel the rescue. We waited at the airport on the helicopter to show up. It was the worst feeling ever when an attempted rescue is a fail. They went through their own traumatic event because they had to be evacuated in a helicopter, and that was really back and forth. We were worried about them, but they eventually got out safe.
I prayed that my house didn’t burn. Watching the news and scanning social media daily was stressful. Then one day one of the newscasters was driving through my neighborhood and did a small clip. I could see where my house should have been, but it wasn’t there anymore. I cried and cried. I was literally in shock for a month. I didn’t know what to do. I stayed with my best friend with my kids. We slept on the couch, and then I had to rethink my life. We didn’t have clothes, shoes, nothing but my camping gear and few changes of clothing because we were camping. When everything in your house burns and your house, you honestly have no clue what to do. You’re floating and lost. It’s one of the hardest things in life that I have had to go through. I bought that home and worked very hard to fix it up because that is where I wanted to retire. My kids were happy there and I was happy there. After a fire and the wait before you can go back to your property was very hard. When they tell you that you can go look at your property and see what you can recover but there’s nothing there. The granite countertops and fireplace, crumbled. There’s not one thing that is salvageable, nothing. I just had no words. The whole Alder Springs neighborhood was all gone but one home.
My best friend, Erin, has helped me through all this and guided me while I was in shock and lost. My friend Mario came over and said, “Get in the car I’m taking you to buy whatever you need for yourself and the kids”. I honestly didn’t know what to choose still in shock. I kept saying I don’t know, I just don’t know. My friends and co-workers came together and donated clothes, gift cards. My kid’s school donated. My family and the whole community donated. The Red Cross helped me with temporary Hotels to live in. I didn’t know how much love there was in this world. I feel like everyone gave me everything back and double of what I had before. It’s so nice of everyone and it’s been really overwhelming. I did not know how many people loved me and my kids. It hurts my heart to hear other stories from other families because I know how they feel.
Now that my property has been cleaned and all that debris is gone, I’m hopeful now, you know. I take drives out there to remind myself not to give up. I feel that there’s hope. I’m going to rebuild even though there are no trees around my property. I still want that space on earth; I still want to retire there.
It was Aunt El’s birthday. She was driving up from San Diego to Grandma Ellen’s cabin on Dowville East, the cabin that had been home to us for the last two months. “Us” is my husband, Nick, myself, and my two boys, James and Luke, our sweet mountain toddlers-in-training. Nick was on leave from the Marine Corps, and we were in a period of transition where we were living in various homes and locations – so the cabin became a haven of stability for us.
It was September 4, 2020; the boys and I had spent all day inside the cabin, a rarity, as we practically lived in those mountains or in the dirt any time we weren’t eating or sleeping. That day, we had a job to do: make birthday posters and a Speculoos cake for Aunt El – we couldn’t wait until she arrived. A delicious birthday dinner of chicken tacos was preceded by our two naked toddlers running around and jumping on the couches after bath time, with the Huntington mountain scape in the background. It was heaven, as every day of the two months spent up there was to us.
My mother-in-law, Deborah, then informed us that there was a small fire in Big Creek, the way my father-in-law intended to drive home. After warnings to avoid the route, he drove down anyway. Words like “Minor” and “Harmless” eased our worries and allowed us to sleep soundly that night, but upon waking, something was obviously wrong. Smoke. Smoke everywhere. Deborah went to work trying to gather information while Ellyn and I tried to appear as if nothing was unusual – for the boys, of course – but despite our best efforts, we vacillated between worry and denial. Finally, Ellyn, Deborah, and James, my three-year-old, were tired of waiting and reading infrequent updates on the status of the fire, decided to walk toward Mushroom Rock in an attempt to, “scope out the situation,” as my San Diego sheriff sister-in-law stated. I stayed home with my sleeping one-year-old as the smoke increased by the minute.
Ten minutes later: sirens. A loud speaker. It was time to pack. Before the law enforcement even arrived, I was literally running through the cabin, up and down the stairs, packing everything I could. Car seats. Ugh, why didn’t I put those in Aunt El’s truck as soon as she arrived? Nick had been gone for three days at that point on a work trip, and the responsible me would have put car seats in a vehicle to allow for immediate evacuation.
Evacuation. A word I never thought I would use in my life. We were evacuating the cabin – our solace, our happiness, our everything for the last two months.
So I ran. And packed. In retrospect, I should have thrown the clothes that were in the dirty laundry basket into a bag – advice I read several months later, but something that I will never forget. As I packed, the police arrived to tell me what I already knew: we had to leave. Evacuate. There was that word again. But my son, my mother and sister-in-law were still walking! I was fearful, but calm. I had to control what I could – packing. Food, clothes, whatever I could fit. Finally, the hikers returned, and we were all packing together, half anxiously, and half angrily. If this was nothing, we were losing precious days in Huntington. If this was something, where do we go from here?
We were one of the last cabins to drive down Dowville, toward 168; a familiar drive. Never did we ever think that the landscape we drove past a hundred times last summer would look so very different when we returned. Line Creek. Beautiful Line Creek. It still brings tears to our eyes six months later.
Our plan was to stay with Deborah and her husband, Allyn, my in-laws, to “Wait out the fire.” They lived in Alder Springs, not too far away, so we assumed we’d be back in the cabin in two days’ time. That night, Ellyn and I ate dinner on the balcony as we watched the ridge light up like a string of orange Christmas lights. It was surreal, and exciting in a way, as if we were experiencing something big, but of course we feared for the survival of the cabin and for the entirety of Huntington Lake.
The next morning, the sky in Auberry was heavy. The smoke penetrated every aspect of life – the sky, the trees, the house. The sun was a brilliant red, and James noted the “Fireball” in the sky. Oh, sweet boy, it is a fireball indeed. Later that morning, again we heard the dreaded word: Evacuate. Evacuate your in-law’s home, the home your father- in-law took 30 years to build by hand; the home where your husband spent his childhood and formative years, the home that made him the man he is today. Evacuate this home. To where? We were nomads before the cabin, and now we were lost.
The fire became very real that day. The denial was gone. The realization of the gravity of this fire set in, and we knew we had to make other plans. Like Ellyn and I felt the night before, we were experiencing something big. Big and terrible.
So, we left. Deborah packed up her emergency box of sentimental family items as she so responsibly had on an “In case of emergency” list. Allyn, my father-in-law stayed. He stayed until the bitter end, which tragically, was an ash-covered foundation that was once a home. It was gone. 30 years of labor and of course, love, was wiped out. Allyn left in time, thank the Lord, but reluctantly. He, they, left behind everything, and it was gone.
Six months feels like a long time, but the night the Creek Fire started feels like yesterday. My husband, Nick, and I talk about our life at the cabin almost every day. When we’re not talking about it, Nick is thinking about it. He grew up at the cabin in Huntington Lake, the family cabin owned by Grandma Ellen, the incredible matriarch of her line. Nick’s memories extend further than the farthest tree, and his soul lives in those creeks. Mine does too now. We were married at Mushroom Rock, we honeymooned at the cabin, and our oldest son took some of his first steps up the dirt driveway.
The cabin survived, but Nick’s family home burned. Line Creek is a moonscape, but Home Creek remains intact at first glance. For every tragedy, an aspect of the forest also remains untouched. The fingers of the Creek Fire extended far and wide, but they didn’t reach everything. This is the hope we hold onto. We pray that the creeks are unchanged, and that as we explore deeper into the Sierra mountains, we will find more life than death.
Our hope is for the boys to learn to swim near the docks of Dowville, skip rocks by the dams, and catch fish in the same creeks that Nick grew up fishing. We have hope.
