Friday was the seventh anniversary of the Carr Fire, and as it has been all the years I’ve lived here, a vegetation fire ignited close by. It’s as if the land remembers and its memories become hot embers which ignite a fire all over again. It happens for us, why couldn’t it happen for the land?
This time it was the Horse Fire 2 miles south of me. Air attack was quickly deployed and I watched them make drops. I started my evacuation routine, which is a list taped up in my pantry composed in order of importance, of course, depending on the time I have. It may seem silly to adhere to a script every time, but if you’ve ever had to leave everything behind in ten minutes, panic can set in and things are forgotten. I adhere to a script about everything, every time because panic always sets in. Perhaps it’s the immigrant in me.
I wasn’t here seven years ago when the Carr Fire burned this house down, but I remember the fire well as I sat in my Downtown LA condo. I would have never in a million years thought I would end up living on a Carr Fire lot, bearing witness to the resilience of the land and just how fast it would all return. I shouldn’t be surprised, we all know that ash is the best fertilizer. Our ancestors did.
All air attack was released from the Horse Fire and the fire was put out without incident. I watched the planes fly south towards the municipal airport where they’re deployed from. As the plane sounds cleared, I heard the song of my latest migrating guest on the property, an ash-throated Flycatcher. He’s so elusive, I hear him all day long, but he never let’s himself be seen by me. These days, I’m as elusive as the Ash-throated flycatcher himself. I try to get a glimpse of him just the same as I chase his song with my binoculars around the property, my older rescue Miles never once leaving my side. After I give up trying to see the flycatcher, understanding he doesn’t want to be seen, I head back inside with Miles right there with me. He seems so watchful of me that I have to ask, “What is it, Miles? Why are you taking care of me? Are you sensing something is going to happen to me? Am I going to die?”
He answers with his big watery black-button eyes, but I don’t know what he is saying.
My Love is for the Birds - Sketches 