Walking in Smoke

The woods by our house are on fire.  Not by accident.  Cal Fire trucks have been up and down the ancient service road across the creek for months tending the forest, thinning trees and piling up deadfall and branches.  Occasionally, from our windows we see a column of smoke from a distant burn pile, but today our little canyon was awash in grey haze.

With time on our hands these days, the "we should take a walk"-talk has turned into actual, real live, grab-your-shoes-and-water-bottle walks.  At first we strolled around the neighborhood (we can pass almost a dozen houses in a half mile.  I consider that a neighborhood, of sorts).  Today we headed up to the lookout, a steep, mile-each-way hike that leads to the most gorgeous 300+ degree view of four counties.  From up on the mountain you can see two lakes, clear out to Sacramento, and over your shoulder, all the way to the snowy Sierras.  It's a moderate hike, but one I haven't done in months because of a recent Hashimoto's flare up.

As we set out, we saw smoke and figured they must be doing more burn piles up the way.  Burn piles?  No. Burned hillsides, scorched slopes, billows of smoke from smoldering logs and charred earth.  And fires, actual live fires burning along logs which lay against the trunks of living oaks, and flames climbing vertically up the sides of tall pines.  It was eerie, like the set of a scary movie here, in the same place that just six months ago was a terrifying powder keg.  I understand with my logical brain that burning the forest now is safe...er...ish.  I mean, it's supposed to rain tomorrow, and it rained a bunch last week.  But am I the only one that thinks it's totally freaky for someone to set the woods on fire and walk away?  There wasn't a soul in sight.  Standing there, the only comfort I found is knowing that the planet has a godly capacity to heal.  Earth burned to blackened ash redresses herself in glorious green in a season or two.

Walking the old fire road through clouds of white smoke has added to the surreal feeling of the days we are all experiencing.  Much like the preemptive burning of forests, we are seeing the damage and fear around us resulting from the need to shelter in place, but we of course know that the infernos of summer, and those of this pandemic -were it to break loose on an unsheltered population- would be beyond devastating.  We do not err, but stand confidently on the side of caution.  I worry for hourly workers and others whose jobs have evaporated in this crisis, for those left mourning and for communities devastated by trauma.  Our family prayers are long and earnest for our family, friends, neighbors and the world. 

From the view at the top of the lookout I am blown away by the thousands of trees, the hills and valleys that have surrounded me in my over-scheduled oblivion.  I forget that it is all around me when I am puttering through my days, only noticing the nearest branches that frame whatever country road I am traveling on at the moment.  I can't see the literal forest for the trees, and I struggle seeing the people in this disease; the individuals behind the numbers, stats, reports and hopeful bell curves. 

So we walk in the smoke, hoping, trusting this fire won't overcome us, and when the haze clears, bracing for the sight of smoldering hillsides, praying in faith that summer will heal us.