As we rounded the hill, I looked over my shoulder and spotted the smoldering on the ridge; the charred, blackened remains of Pinons, the dark gaps on the mesa.
Last week I got my first emergency text alert warning me of a fire. I could see the plume of smoke from my back porch, and the smoke was overwhelming every morning. I obsessively checked the East Canyon Fire Facebook page and spent hours looking out over the property towards the smoke. I packed an emergency bag for the first time. The newness of this "normal" made me continuously question if I was overreacting or underreacting.
When we drove by the scene of the crime, it was 79% contained. Today it's 98% contained.
In a few miles, we had reached the canyon. There was no evidence that destruction lay just up the road. The air was fresh, and the water ran clear, life was springing up all around us. And so we enjoyed a day away from the problems, caught up the beauty and excited by handfuls of palm-sized brook trout. As I sat in the shade, surrounded by freshly bloomed columbines, I was perfectly happy.
It's hard not to notice that it seems like our country is on fire. You can see the smoke plumes every time you read a paper or watch the news. The stench of carnage is overpowering and overwhelming. Most days, I yearn for a cool spot, surrounded by flowers to forget it all.
On the way back up the mountain, peering over as the fresh wound in the mesa side, I knew that this was natural, necessary. As frightening as fire may be to us, it's nature's way of healing. In years to come, that piece of land will become stronger.
In a way, what we're currently experiencing is like a lightning strike. It was bound to happen, and it needed to happen. As soon as it hit the land, it took off like wildfire, stretching across the country, impacting us all. There's no stopping it, not now. But, there is a way to contain it. If we're diligent in our efforts, leading with an empathetic heart, we can make it to the other side, stronger.
And remember to find your stream from time to time, sit amongst your columbines, and appreciate every little gift that swims your way.
