When the fires came for us
I thought our home in Colorado was safe. But as flames devoured the state, we found ourselves in a national tragedy
Topics: Life stories, Colorado Wildfires, Life News
The stairs of a home that was completely destroyed in the High Park fire near Fort Collins, Colo. (Credit: Reuters/Rick Wilking)Pets, passports, photos: That’s what we took when we evacuated in the dark, the glowing rubble of fire being swept at us with a huge broom of wind that was collecting debris into our corner of the planet. At 3 a.m., the reverse 9-1-1 had come, the officer had pounded and yelled his get out, it’s right there, and we could see the fire ourselves. We were moving fast and yet, for a second, I stopped barefoot on the wooden floor to observe the dissonance of my thoughts, turning from but it will never get here to but here it is.
This wildfire, which had started so far away, was now cresting the closest foothill, was coming out of the forest and into farmland. Impossible. We didn’t live deep in Colorado’s mountains for this very reason. We lived in the valley below the mountains, in a stretch of green irrigated pastureland and farms – a type of landscape more to our aesthetic and also out of the way of such calamity. And yet, this glowing ball.
How can the world shift so? The winds, the fire, my thoughts, our life?
Then I was caught up in movement again. My husband starting the sprinkler system, my kids gathering their backpacks, me gathering the last armload of mementos. Chickens were caught and plunked, uncaged, into the car. They stood on the car seat, bokking, climbing over the golden retriever and the cockatiels and boxes of diaries and photos. We piled in and drove away, silent, police lights flashing in the dark, shifting from red to blue, red to blue.
My parents’ ranch is nearby, and by the time we arrived, other evacuees were already congregating in the lighted kitchen. Their animals were being unloaded, too: a blind horse, donkeys, dogs. My mother made coffee; my father stood at the window watching the plumes of smoke, confused not only by his Alzheimer’s but by this sudden onslaught.
The sun rose; the sky lit. The winds continued to storm, huge plumes of smoke swirled, ash sifted onto our cars and into our lungs. Sirens rang out all morning; helicopters and tankers filled the air taking water from the lake to the fire. I felt seasick with confusion: Flee? Stick to home ground? I felt shifted apart; my bones and tendons and cells all slightly altered and too loosely strung together. Suddenly this was our tragedy, and the ever-present newest calamity on the news was mine, and I couldn’t watch it with the semi-disinterested ah, too bad for those people, because there was no such protective thought to go to; no knowledge that it was them, and not me.
Laura Pritchett is the author/editor of six books. Her fiction includes the novel "Sky Bridge" and "Hell's Bottom, Colorado." Her work has been published in many magazines, including The Sun, Orion, 5280, High Country News, High Desert Journal, OnEarth, Elle and others. She has received numerous awards, including the PEN USA Award, the Colorado Book Award, and the Milkweed National Fiction Prize. More at www.laurapritchett.com. More Laura Pritchett.





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