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The Color of Hope

by Ellie Slade

I left my Rancho Bernardo home today to venture into the ”before and after the fires zones.“  Some of the ”before zones“ in Poway were left untouched.  At first the tranquil images of suburban Poway filled my vision as I traveled through  north side of the canyon where secluded custom built ranch homes dot the green hilly landscape surrounded by huge boulders and white picket fences.  On public fences along the highway there were handmade murals on butcher paper in bubble letters that said, ”Thank you fireman!“  But other than these signs, there was no vestige of fire.

Traveling further into Poway, the ”after zones“ that are closely adjacent to the untouched areas bore out another reality.  The fire cannibalized the canyon and consumed the once wide open green space; replacing the verdant hills with rubble, ashes and knotted blackened tree trunks.  Sporadic tattoos of red fire retardant were dumped and smeared on the blackened earth next to the scorched underbrush.

Signs with ”Evacuate livestock here,“ ”Rosie is back,“ ”Pray for us,“ and ”You have a friend in Jesus“ were posted along the rustic road as I descended into Ramona.  To my right I saw a makeshift altar of silk flowers, perhaps in tribute to the people who died or sacrificed their home, livestock or labor.  As I approached Ramona, some of the horses, haystacks and quaint lifestyle remained.  Not all was lost; the fire somehow erratically skipped round pouncing on some homes and miraculously ignoring others.  Everywhere a smoky chemical smell something like burning plastic mixed with greasy barbeque grill ashes permeated the atmosphere.  As I moved closer to the commercial area of town a big sign that prominently advertised, "Anxiety counseling," in chipped green and white paint hung outside of a shabby clapboard house.

Despite the beautiful day and the overwhelming feeling of ”thank God I did not lose my house,“ I could not help to think what it was like for the people who did not have towels, bedding or a roof over their heads with an unknown rebuilding period hanging in the balance.

I went into the public library and noticed that yellow tape was over the drinking fountain as water had not been restored yet.  Despite the tragedy of the last week, there was an espirit de corp feeling that could be felt in the library, as well as the supermarket, feed store and barber shop.  No matter if you were in Ramona, or Rancho Bernardo, people were helping each other out and wanting to tell their story of how they left or lost their homes at 4:00 am with trees falling and traffic backed up waiting to flee the fires.

My once quiet suburban neighborhood has been visited the likes of Arnold Schwarzenegger, President Bush and FEMA.  Where houses once stood, there a signs that read, ”ACME Demolition“ or ”Termites Finally Gone.“ 

Even though things do not seem very funny, I bought a Halloween half mask of an owl with an orange nose that cackles on my face or in my purse… depending on how funny or absurd I want to feel.  However, I don’t want to put on a witch mask or be named after the Witch Fire that burnt down some 300 homes in my small area of Rancho Bernardo.

Writing this all down helps let it go and makes room for the new changes that will undoubtedly occur in the future.  It compartmentalizes and synthesizes reality into smaller mouthfuls that can be digested by the overwhelmed mind.   It is often said that life deals us a large pill that we cannot even lick, let alone swallow.  Be that as it may, I am sharing this with you to let it go.  I do not want the experience to stick in my throat like a peach pit and choke off my breathing with memories of smoke.  

It is now 193.5 hours since the first San Diego fire was discovered and we are 70 to 90% contained.  I just watered my roses and checked to see if they are still growing.  Good news: the roots survived and the flowers will flourish again.  I take my best lessons from nature and keep planting…  The color of hope is green.