I love camping. One thing I might love more than camping is smelling like campfire after I’ve left. It’s just comforting and a reminder of a good time spent with nature and friends.
But there is something eerie about waking up to a whole house that smells like campfire and knowing that smell is caused by 24 square miles of forest burning on the mountains you see every day. There is something unsettling when you associate the smell of campfire with 32000 evacuated people from one town and an unknown number of evacuated houses gone. There is something sad and frustrating hearing that all this was caused by one person.
There are landmarks burning or gone. They had to let a barn of horses free because they weren’t sure who the horses belonged to, but the fire was coming. There are people waiting in crowded shelters who don’t know if they have a home to go back to because firefighters can’t get close enough to let them know which addresses are even there any more.
Last night, there was a chance of rain. Today, it’s supposed to be 90 and dry. I don’t know if that’s mother nature teasing us, or the weather man being too hopeful. But I have to say that this is the one time I have not enjoyed the smell of campfire.