A Burning State

With all the news about Ted Kennedy’s passing, I had no idea that we were starting another wildfire season, until I stepped outside to water the garden.  As it turns out, 600 acres of the Angeles National Forest are consumed with flames.

And then I smelled it, that sick scent of embers mixed with dust.

Growing up in Northern California, wildfires were an occasional bane of living in the Golden State.  Lately it seems that they fester with increasing regularity.

Several months ago, I was calling my friend, Janet, who lives in Ottawa, and there was another natural disaster about which I’ve already forgotten.  Her housemate answered the phone, we chatting briefly about what was going on, and he asked, “How can you live there (in California)?”

It’s a fair question.  California has been taking it on the chin lately . . . and in the neck, torso, head, arms . . . between budgetary fiascos and nature tossing more challenges at us, it’s a wonder anyone would want to live here.  Of course, we remember the weather, opportunities, culture, beaches, mountains, desert, and food, and we’re immediately reined back to our state.

But these fires have got to remind us that when man tries to conquer nature, one way or another nature will exact revenge.  You can’t deplete water sources, build homes near dry vegetation, and spout pollutants into the air without nature lashing back with fury.

Wildfires are the worst disasters to face out here.  An earthquake is shocking, but passes almost as soon as it starts.  Heavy rains are frightening, but necessary for our dry climate.  But these fires leave a sulking presence:  you can feel the particles burrowing in your skin, it hurts to breathe, and during a horrible fire, ash is everywhere.

I hope I’m wrong, but I have a feeling it’s going to be a long, painful autumn.

Get me water reclamation systems, solar power, more rail, electric cars, and eco-modular housing soon, please!