After the Wild Fires

The other day, Roger and I took a drive in our little 2002 Audi convertible (a spontaneous purchase when it came in on trade at the Volkswagen dealer I worked at selling cars this past year, and, oh, it is sweet). We drove the loop around Mt. Nebo, the tallest mountain in view from home.

Last summer, wild fires raged through the area. This was my first time on that road since, and I was curious to survey the damage.

Growing up, I didn't have experience with wildfires (though we often hiked to lookout towers in the mountains of New England, so we must have had them from time to time). When I moved west, and especially since living in our Utah neighborhood nestled near the mouth of a canyon, I've seen so many fires. I've seen every mountain around us on fire at least once.

The two things that have surprised me most as these mountain wild fires have become familiar to me are (1) it is rare for entire forests burn to the ground - the fires skip and jump and often leave many trees they pass completely unscathed, and (2) that the mountainsides and forest floors are always green the following Spring.

The past few years I've experienced some metaphorical wild fires, as have too many people I love.

Like really devastating, life-changing wild fires.

As I return to writing here, I realize that much of what I've experienced are not my stories to tell or are stories that need to be told in private, in person.

And so in an irritatingly vague way, I will say this:

As my wild fires ripped through--and some are still flaming up--I have feared total devastation. I have experienced deep, personal visceral fear. I have wondered what I'm rooted in and if my roots will hold.

And yet, here I am! Here we are! There are trees still standing alive; there is green everywhere.

All is not lost. It is not.