News and Opinion from Sisters, Oregon
Last week I had coffee with an old friend — the first person I knew in Sisters. We both moved here from the same area in the foothills at the northern rim of the Los Angeles basin more than 30 years ago. We both noted how hard it hits, watching the apocalyptic destruction wrought by the wildfires that have ripped across our old stompin’ grounds. We’ve both lived in Sisters longer than we lived in L.A. — but you never quite lose your sense of connection to the place where you were young.
I never thought much about it at the time, but I got a sampling of just about every town and neighborhood in Greater Los Angeles, driving truck for a commercial glass company. From East L.A. to Santa Monica, from barrios to Beverly Hills. I bumped up against the stereotypical L.A. — swimming pools and movie stars — but that wasn’t my L.A. I grew up right up against the foothills of the Angeles National Forest. My folks had a cabin in a little mountain town at the end of the Angeles Crest Highway called Wrightwood, so I grew up running around in the woods. And when I wanted more of that, my wife Marilyn and I looked north and wound up in Sisters.
Last summer, a good portion of Wrightwood was burned over in a wildfire. This month, the Palisades Fire took out Will Rogers State Park, including the Will Rogers Ranch House, which I loved — the home of Cherokee Cowboy, vaudevillian and humorist Will Rogers, doubtless the most beloved man in America during the 1930s. And, of course, that is a paltry loss in a catastrophe that has cost at least two dozen lives and left incalculable destruction of homes and businesses.
This is hard to watch. My friend told me he had had a hard time sleeping because this disaster was preying on his spirit.
Part of it, no doubt, is that we both have a strange sensation of watching the world of our youth burn away. Of course, it was already gone — that’s why we moved — but the heart and spirit don’t operate on strictly rational premises. We were both experiencing a deep, unsettled feeling.
That unsettled feeling is heightened by the realization of just how vulnerable we are here in our beautiful enclave among the ponderosa pines. We know damn well that the destruction we have seen in Los Angeles, or in Paradise, California, or closer to home in the McKenzie and Santiam canyons could happen here. The insurance market is a marker of the risk.
It’s hard to imagine it now, but it doesn’t seem that we worried too much about fire in the first years we were here. There just wasn’t that much fire activity. Then, in 2002, lightning struck on Cache Mountain and wind-driven wildfire marched down to consume two houses at the western edge of Black Butte Ranch. The next year, a massive conflagration known as the B&B Complex burned more than 90,000 acres and forced evacuations at BBR and Camp Sherman. And virtually every year since has seen a significant wildfire in our neighborhood, and/or significant smoke impacts from fires across the West. My family has evacuated twice.
No longer are we complacent about fire.
Local agencies and local government are paying attention to the potential (See related story.), and local neighborhoods are taking responsibility for creating defensible space. Individual residents can do a lot to mitigate danger by creating defensible space, “hardening” homes and, above all, being careful with fire. Most of our wildfires have given us time to get ready to get out, but that can create a false sense of security. We all need to be ready to evacuate in a hurry if the worst-case scenario develops in a hurry. And we know that can happen.
Fire Chief Tony Prior says that, “we cannot be complacent, but we shouldn’t panic, either.” That’s right on the mark. We live in fire country. We are in danger. But there’s a lot we can do to mitigate that danger, and a lot we can do to protect ourselves when it manifests itself. Action is the antidote to anxiety.
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