She is in the midst of a remarkable Southern California fire — actually, 8 or more fires. Complicated, of course, by the horrendous Santa Ana winds.
It made me reflect on any number of issues I’d encountered a few years ago, and that I must consider every year.
I chose, in 1993, to leave the flatlands of Fornicalia and seek environs into the higher Sierra Nevada mountains, at around 4,000 feet. I had survived a divorce and, following a late night murder adjacent my house, involving drugs, I concluded that I didn’t want much more to do with civlization. I trundled up I-80 to the point where I could afford a house funded by the proceeds of my prior home’s sale. If I couldn’t have the square footage, then at least I could have the distance from the barbarians at my own personal gate.
The first day in my house was the evening of July 4th, 1993. I had only enough time to assemble the bed my great-grandfather hand-built in 1899 and nothing else. Everything else lay scattered about the patio, the interior, the U-Haul truck.
Since then, I’ve come to appreciate the difference between living in an urban environment, and an environment that was much more and much less.
Yes, I am not living in an area where everyone rests asshole-to-elbow. And I am not under a focused government that wants to license all of your cats, for Christ’s sake. And places cameras at every fucking intersection in order to make more cash. And has the almost daily crack of gunfire, the hourly ring of reverberating sirens from cops and fire personnel. And the consistent droning of blades from cop helos over crime scenes.
Where I am, I know the PostMaster. I know everyone running the local store — and the local hotel. I could have credit, if I wanted, at my store. I have but to ask for a thing and he will order it. When packages get delivered, I find them on my deck, undisturbed, and I know they will arrive safely. The property above me has horses; I can occasionally hear them whinny in the night. I can hear Union Pacific trains run downhill under dynamic braking; and then UP trains struggling uphill in Run 8.
But there are downsides as well. I am connected to the internet via a dial-up modem. My life won’t get any better than that. I’ve been posting on BZ via a dial-up for years now.
And then there is fire.
I live not far from a major roadway: Interstate 80. And also a major transcontinental railroad: Union Pacific’s Number One and Number Two tracks from San Francisco. Which is also shared by daily Amtrak runs; #5 westbound, and #6, eastbound.
I’ve had fires started by assholes throwing their cigarettes from railway cars.
I had a local fire started by some idiot flatlander who parked their car over some pine needles. Which then cooked their propane tank. Which then released, which then shot flames some 250 feet over the local pines.
It made me evaluate then and every season: what is valuable, what can be left behind.
I would ask to all of you: if you only had 5 minutes, what would you take out of your home?
BZ
