...whaaam, the winds pick up and ignites smoldering debris and trees on the opposite bank of the Creek, making you wonder if headed back to the Bay Area tomorrow is the right thing to do! Within minutes of a phone call, however, three separate trucks were on site, headed by our great friend Rick Hagan (full, bushy Montana macho mustache and all), our own Clinton fire chief--nothing but the best here!--and quickly determined that the fire (which, even before I could get my camera, "torched" three undeserving trees--hence only smoke pics attached by Der Blogmaster) was localized, but, just to make sure a helicopter sweep of the entire fire-stricken drainage will be shortly made to make double sure that small embers don't (again) become double trouble.
Meanwhile, I begin the amazingly long process of "gridding" this house and yard to retrieve all of the hats, boots, shoes, wading sandals and shirts that have been war gear around here for the last week--it is amazing what got used and what ended up where. Never short on supplies around here, pretty much every necessary item of apparel and footwear nonetheless did get used at one point in chaotic time or another. So far, two pairs of each item of foot hardware, but I can't say the same for socks!
As I begin my mental transition homeward I am quickly coming to realize that, as I said earlier in one of the seemingly umpteen zillion previous blog reports, I have become very much "a local" here through all of the activities of the previous several weeks. Born, raised and always California resident, that is no small realization on my part. I knew in my hearts of hearts that this was a special place and held special things for my family, friends and clients (the latter two being concentric), but it always was "that other wonderful place". Having fought as hard for it as we now have, having exposed ourselves to elements of higher risk than normal in doing so and in working so closely with the infrastructure that permeates a fire, things have now changed a bit for me. This is no longer (an)other place; this is our place, our home and our center of gravity. Not that we will ever permanently leave California, mind you, but when I leave this earthly orb, I want my ashes to remain here in my now newly declared home, God's own backyard, Montana, spilled into Rock Creek at mile marker 47 (the year of my birth last century), so I can forever be at one with the fish and the valley that I cherish so much.
And, meanwhile, the hill across from us she continues to smoke, smolder and burn (next report I will give you an up date on "Smoldering Tree"--I have missed him this packing day)...ah, the vagary of it all.
RCR
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