by Sarah Hoyt
It’s funny that I started writing this post about how unrealistic most books are about widespread disaster and apocalyptic events before the fire started near us. Of course, it’s now completely different, because I can start from my own situation.
First, for those from out East, Colorado Springs – and most Western cities – are very widespread. They’re not all clumped together as in the North East. We have friends within the city that are more than forty five minutes away – without traffic jams.
That said, the evacuation line – though not the fire line – is now about three miles from us as the crow flies and has overtaken the highschool my son just graduated from. That’s a bit close for comfort, but it’s still on the other side of a six lane highway, which is twined at that place by a rocky, treeless creek bed. It’s a very impressive fire break. So far the fire hasn’t jumped i-25, which is a FOUR lane highway.
On the other hand, when the weather shifts in Col Springs (and it seems to be shifting) we tend to get hurricane-strength winds, which could jump that fire break in no time. It’s still unlikely to blow in our direction, but of course, there are no certainties.
So, what to do? Having heard stories of people who had too short a time to evacuate and had to leave pets behind, we are packing both suvs so that at the last minute we can grab the “small valuables, electronics and pets” and bug out in a few minutes. (We have the drill of boxing cats down to ten minutes. Vet trips.)
It honestly feels like we’re over dramatizing. It really is UNLIKELY to get to us, certainly unlikely to get to us in the next few days. On the other hand, this fire is now a firestorm and therefore not predictable. It still feels like we’re overdoing it, and we go about sheepishly, with a suspicion we’re being dramatic. On the other hand overplanning is survivable. Under planning isn’t.
There are reminders of doom all around. We have friends who’ve been burned out of their homes. We have standing requests not to use the cell phones, to leave them clear for emergency work. Planes flying overhead, to help fight the firs are a frequent reminder. The air is filled with smoke (though not as badly as last night.) The construction work across the street is stopped. My doctor has postponed an appointment that’s already been postponed and which I’m anxiously waiting for because it might be at the back of the knocked out immune system. It might be really bad. OTOH it might be nothing. I can’t know till I have that appointment, but the technician who operates the equipment is evacuated, out of town, and they don’t know when she’ll be back. So, the appointment is now mid-July. ALL hotels in Denver and Colorado Springs (Away from the evacuation zone) are booked solid. Our planned weekend away in Denver might be dificult to book, if this gets any worse – and if we have to evacuate, we literally have nowhere to go, so in packing the cars, we’re planning to live out of them for a while, including large kennels to put the cats in.
This is not the first emergency I’ve lived through, though it’s never come closer than it is right now, except once. When I was a kid in Portugal, a fire came to the other side of the train line, a block and a half from my parents’ house. There was no evacuation, so I was on top of the garage, tracking the fire progress. If it got to our side of the train line, we were going to run. Fortunately the wind went the other way, so it cost us a night fully awake.
Before that, there were revolutions in Portugal. After that, there was Hurricane Hugo in Portugal, and there was of course, 9/11.
I’ll use 9/11 if I may, because most of us got that it was an event of terrific proportions. I spent literally two days on line, tracking friends who were en-route through the country and stranded, seeing if we could offer help. And since Dan was working in Virginia at the time, our friend Alan and I went out to meet him. Our meeting place kept changing, depending on how far Dan had got, until finally we were in Hays Kansas, where Alan and I got out, at the airport, where Dan was going to hand in the rental car, prior to coming home with us.
And there we met a local. “Do you know why they cancelled the air show?” he asked. “Is it because of that problem in NYC?”
The way he talked about it, he made it sound like a minor incident that really only mattered to people from NYC.
And that is ultimately how the world ends. Catastrophic events happen, not all over at the same time with the same intensity, but in pockets. A neighborhood will be in chaos and ruin, and next door life will go on as usual. There’s construction going on up the street a bit. The grocery store is operating as normal, and I feel guilty because I’m not out there, painting the porch. (And how do you KNOW that the deck chairs on the titanic DIDN’T need dusting?)
For those of us raised in societies where a stiff upper lip was a virtue, too, there’s the feeling that we shouldn’t over dramatize. Some of our friends and neighbors are in real distress. We? Oh, we’re fine. Live is perfectly routine. Except we’re packing the car to bug out, and that’s probably overreacting.
In the middle of apocalyptic events, people still cook, still gossip, still change babies and do litter boxes.
This is the way the world ends – sporadically. Erratically. With normalcy amid the emergency. And we, mere humans, try to soldier on through it all.
Which is why the world doesn’t end totally but always partially. And then a new world is born.
Mad Genius Club 
8 responses to “This Is The Way The World Ends”
We could see the fires at Los Alamos and it was terrifying. Once we realized it was 70 miles away we stopped panicking, but realizing the size of the blaze even at that distance, or especially at that distance, was it’s own kind of disturbing.
We recently got a little trailer for going to the dump. If we had to bug-out we’d be able to put the pet crates on the trailer. (The chickens would still be abandoned, though.) It’s taken a huge load off my mind.
I evacuated from the Philippines with a three month old and four cats when Mt. Pinatubo blew. So I get the weirdness of “oh, we’re fine,” after all, what is severe dehydration to the point of getting dumb, and a three month old with a bubbled sunburned nose to take care of? There were babies born on the Abraham Lincoln during operation Fiery Vigil, and ladies with fully mobile toddlers *and* a three month old, and then there were the unfortunate ones who had decided to use formula and there was no possible way to get it. At least I was nursing and only had a single infant, praise God.
We were in Florida after that and I noticed that my reaction to Hurricane preparations was different than other people. Everyone understood that you needed drinking water. I was worried about sanitation. Yes, you need drinking water, but almost just as important, you need to be able to flush your toilet.
The most remarkable thing is how quickly the ability to problem solve is destroyed. Every moment exists alone and consumes everything. It’s hard to put events in order, afterward. And no moment, by itself, is dramatic. It’s just IS. And you get through by getting through. One step, at that moment, unconnected to the step just taken or the next one required.
Draw a few five gallon buckets full of water before the power goes out. You can flush your toilet without power, you just need to fill out of the buckets.
I grew up about 20 miles out of town, and it was not unusual to loose power for several days at a time. We had an outhouse out back that was used at such times (obviously not feasible if you live in town) but always drew a couple buckets of water whenever a bad windstorm or snowstorm was forecasted. Toilets are not the only sanitation that requires water, it is always handy to have water to wash dishes in also.
Probably not applicable at the moment, but for many disasters the next most important need after water and food is warmth. Always have a backup heat source that doesn’t require electricity. Wood heat is great, if not gas works (you can cook on a woodstove, that’s a little difficult on a gas furnace) but if your installing a gas furnace, make sure you get one that will operate without electricity, they make some that need electricity to function.
When threatened with a hurricane last year (we’re in NJ – the storms usually don’t come this far), I got the upstairs tub clean as a bonus: had to scrub it before filling it with water. And we still have ten gallons of drinking water in the basement. And the camp stove. And a plan to use the electrical outlet on the Buick Terraza to run the sump pump in the basement, with a long cord, if the power fails WHILE the basement is flooding. And a backup plan to put the chinchilla in a crate and run the AC in the Terraza if we lose power to the house and she is hot (they don’t do well over 70).
I can only imagine what would happen if we REALLY had to clean up after one of these.
We’re thinking of you – safe but wary – and praying for those who HAVE lost so much already.
Darn it: I was going to buy land in Colorado and move there in case global warming raises the sea levels – but that won’t work if global warming makes Colorado tinder.
Sigh.
Actually though it’s record warm for June, the year hasn’t been particularly warm. It’s impossible not to suspect arson.
I’m all ready to shelter in place, including wind up radio — it’s the possibility of having to bug out that distresses me. I’d have to trust my life to the 17 year old. I am night blind, so if we bug out at night, he drives, I navigate.
I pray the fires are brought under control and your family does not have to evacuate. It is comforting to hear that you’ve planned ahead and will be able to go if you need to. Please continue to ignore silly little voices complaining of overreacting. Preparation is a very good thing.
The complaint was from the seventeen year old “this is stoopid” “you’re overreacting” I probably am, but better over than under.
It never hurts to be prepared in case the unthinkable happens.
You’re the second person this morning that I have sent good wishes to because of the fire out there. Praying you and your family remain safe, that no lives are lost in this conflagration and that it is quickly brought under control so no more property is lost. Take care.
It seems to be calmer today. And, you know, we have a plan. (And a turnip.)