Captain's Log # 21 - the 2017 Sonoma Complex Fire, part b - the 'army' of looters.

10/28/17

Your Vigil-Auntie and her PTSD

A few years ago I recruited the neighbors in my subdivision to join Nextdoor.com in order to lobby our county supervisor to re-pave our streets. The process was well received, a lot of residents joined. We got the attention of our supervisor, she and I are on a first name basis and our streets are scheduled to be repaired in the (before-fire) not too distant future.

I’ve had good cell phone service the entire time and was the Nextdoor spokesperson to the evacuees of our neighborhood. “How’s the smoke?” “Better, there’s a small oculus of blue sky directly above, otherwise everything is yellow-grey.” Speaking of smoke, when I was in Sonoma, finally getting some gas, I saw a wall of smoke, like those photos of sandstorms, totally opaque less than a football field away. It was another one of those ‘oh-s__t’ moments.  I went back to Phyllis’s, slowly trying to determine which road I could use to get out of town as there were reports of fires and road closures all around. I never figured it out. Funny how your brain shuts down in a crisis. One thing’s for sure, the sheriff on their loudspeakers tell you, “Go south on Arnold.” Good boys.

It must be stated that Cal Fire and the sheriff were perhaps overly generous with their ‘advisory’ and ‘mandatory’ evacuation recommendations. They don’t like civilians hanging around and crowding the streets when they are moving their equipment - at breakneck speeds. A lot of people left town, it was so quiet, I loved that part. We were allowed to stay and when I ventured out, the roads were almost empty. Nice. I know, I know, it is devastating to the local economy and the employees who depend on ‘visitor serving’ businesses. The Chamber of Commerce has begun an advertising campaign. As I said in a Facebook post: If you’re in construction – you’ve got jobs!

Without electricity and no information (we do have a battery powered radio but it took a couple of days to find the best source of news which I learned from people on Facebook) the few remaining neighbors frequently gathered in the street, “Do you recognize that car?” I went up and spoke to everyone, “Who are you, what are you doing here?” Or, “Any news?” People love to share bad news, they revel in it, and they love to be seen as having the best information, thus the birth of rumors. One house down the street had an attempted looting the very first day. I think it was an inside job, a disgruntled, former employee who knew the house had tools, the homeowner is a tree trimmer. One frail neighbor alerted the alpha male gorilla of our street, he went over and intimidated the looters and took a photo of the license plate. A third neighbor called the police, the cops were here in 10 minutes, and I’m told, arrested the two men. Only a child’s piggy bank was taken. That story got told and re-told so many times it sounded like our neighborhood had been invaded by an army of looters.

At work they have distributed flyers about the feelings you might experience after a traumatic event, this has been extremely helpful for me. “Fatigue?” Ha! Try complete exhaustion and total lethargy. “Irritability” and “quick to anger” - oh, yeah! This past week I finally understood the phrase chip on her shoulder. That would be me, stalking the halls waiting for someone to cross me so I could scream at them. Fortunately, that didn’t happen, but irritable? My response at a staff meeting planning a good-bye party for one of our employees, the food suggestions were donuts, Danish and sausage, “You people! How can you eat that crap?”  My concern is that people won’t be able to differentiate between the regular me and the PTSD me.

A Little Campfire Chemistry (Bill and Phyllis, this is for you.)

We had/have a light dusting of wood ash – on everything. Of course it covered the car, then we had 3/10^th of an inch of rain. The next day I went out to the car to charge my cell phone and the car was spotless, like it’d been through the car wash. I think it was the calcium and potassium carbonates in the ash (probably potassium as calcium is not readily soluble) mixing with the rain and any oils on the car that made a soap and cleaned the car. I’ve heard of using wood ashes to clean greasy cast iron pans, now I’m a believer. Wool preparers know that the potassium salts in sheep sweat mix with the natural lanolin to make a soap which is useful in cleaning a fleece.

The Haircut

Somewhere I learned when you move to a new place ask someone with a nice hair cut who their stylist is, then go to that person. I did that when I came here in 1993. The day of my appointment she had a family issue and I was given to another woman who I think forged her beautician’s license. She hacked and chopped at my hair until I cried “Stop!” It looked like it had been cut with a weed eater. My knees were weak, my stomach in upheaval, I was so shocked, and, I had to pay for it.

Before the fire I had a mop of hair that now trapped ash and soot like crazy. The first week was all about trying to stay safe but I had a job interview on Tuesday of the 2^nd week and really needed a cut on Monday. My regular stylist wasn’t answering her phone, neither was the one that had been recommended to me so I drove to a couple shopping centers to find someone, anyone, to cut my hair. From my previous experience above you might imagine my apprehension. Most businesses were closed but there were two Hispanic stylists in one shop and they were taking walk-ins. My regular stylist just gives me a simple cut and a blow dry but Linda used every tool, spray, unguent and ointment at her station. She used scissors for the basic cut then a straight razor to fine-tune the sides, then an electric razor on my neck. She sprayed water, hairspray and some fragrant thing. She used a blow dryer, curling iron, back-combed “for volume,” and topped it off by taming any recalcitrant hair with a deft touch of pomade. She held up the mirror so I could see the front and back at the same time. I exclaimed, “I should go out to dinner!” There are some shops in town where you can’t get a haircut for less than $60. I was wondering what this was going to cost, I had 60 with me. “How much?” I had to ask twice. “25.” I gave her $40 which is what I pay regularly.  I want to go back to Linda with another mop and say “Do what you want. Surprise me.”

While she was working I closed my eyes and fell into a dark, silent space of reverie, a dream-like trance. Total relaxation. It was then I realized how stressed I had been.

One last story: once upon a time I was 17. My father gave me a 10-speed bicycle as a high school graduation present and I biked everywhere in Monterey. I convinced two girlfriends to take 120-mile bicycle camping trip: riding to the top of Carmel Valley, across the Santa Lucia Mountains on Arroyo Seco Road then down the Salinas Valley on River Road. (What was I thinking?) I took a red wool Moroccan blanket, a gift from my brother Rod, as a sleeping bag. I learned that coldness and moisture creep up from the ground; no sleep that night. We biked up most of Carmel Valley and decided to camp in a dry, grassy field surrounded by chaparral. I knew enough to clear the grass from the fire pit and surround it with rocks. Dry twigs and branches were readily available and laid in the pit. I applied a match and Whoosh! a 10-foot pillar of fire burst up with yellow tongues leaping above it, like a wild, living thing. In that instant I imagined all of Carmel Valley burnt because of us. Ash and cinders began falling around us, we dashed around stomping them out and put dirt on the fire. We ate our food cold that night, much chastened.

That’s the end of the fire stories. At the moment it feels like a dream, although you only have to drive around to see its effects. This weekend I’m building a sweet pea trellis and weeding.

Thanks for hanging in there with me. Let me know what you’re up to.

Many blessings,

Karla, mom, k.j.