Sleeping near a forest fire 37

It isn’t exactly the kind of situation you go looking for, pitching your tent mere miles from a forest inferno, sleeping on the ground zipped up into a sleeping bag.

But it exactly what is happening in America right now. On the precipice of danger, finding a way to live.

Arriving at the fire

It was supposed to be a treat. At the end of our six-day wilderness hike, my friends and I booked a night at a hot spring resort. We planned to soak our trail-sore muscles, celebrate the adventure we shared, and relax in a peaceful setting. That was the idea, anyway.

When we arrived, the river canyon was choked with grayish-yellow smoke, at odds with its crystal blue waters and unblemished, old-growth forest. At check in, the reception staff told us we were fourteen miles from the fire, safe enough not to worry, and that officials were giving a presentation the next morning.

After we pitched our tents, my friend Carol looked up. A vertical column of smoke billowed, looking like a distant thunderhead, stark white against the blue sky above. “That’s a forest fire out of control,” she said matter-of-factly. We all stared skyward too, awed, sending up silent prayers for safety of the crew and wildlife.

Understanding what could be lost

This place in the forest has been my soul sanctuary for the twenty years I’ve lived in Oregon. I felt shaken that it could be imperiled, its wooden structures charred, and nothing left but running streams. This is the fate of beloved Harbin Hot Springs in California after a wildfire last year. As we took a refreshing dip in a cool pool of water, I couldn’t push away the images I’d seen of ghostly blackened outlines where buildings once stood. Not here.

That night, I slept poorly on my ultralight mattress, woken around four by the smell of acrid, wet smoke like a doused campfire. I sleepily mused that nighttime firefighting might be dumping water to extinguish flames. And went back to sleep.

I know this must sound like insanity. Willingly sleeping in the very forest ablaze. But I tested my mettle three years previous, when Mary and I camped on the Metolius River with another fire nearby. In equally smoky air, ash fell on us all weekend, Mother Nature carelessly flicking her cigarette wherever she pleased.

All weekend I wondered, Should I be concerned? Are we in danger?  But the posted daily map and fire bulletins describing the tactics reassured me.

Knowing the plan

In the cool, hazy morning, we lingered over the breakfast buffet, slurped our coffee, and wandered into the large tent area to listen to the presentation.

Fire officials from four different agencies—county staff, National Forest, incident response, and county fire team showed up, identifiable by their camel or green collared shirts and few large oval NF belt buckles. Pointing to the large maps for reference, each group took a turn speaking about weather and terrain, strategies and contingencies, the number of crews and equipment on the ground. They spoke respectfully about the other agencies and their collaboration with the retreat center staff. I was impressed.

Fear prevents planning

During the talk, a woman in the front row erratically stood up and sat down again twice. I’d met her on a path earlier that day and commented on the smoke. The intensity of her eyes burned fury. “They told me at the office that the fire was contained. It’s not.” She formed an O with her hand. “Zero percent.” Her anger brought a sinking feeling in my stomach.

As the meeting proceeded, she gasped audibly, swatting her hand through the air. The woman stood again and walked into a nearby building. On returning a few minutes later, she was wearing a light blue dust mask, fidgeting with the straps to fit snugly across her face. Sitting down again in front, she gripped her knees. Was she even hearing the presentation? She seemed deeply anxious, in a contrast with the speakers and others in attendance.

I feared for her well-being, and could also relate to the deep anxiety and stress that comes from being at risk and not having control. Our brain says,There’s a fire! Stop talking and run! Get to safety! Do something!! In times of urgency, being still and looking around for assistance is sometimes the last thing we think of.

Voices of reason

The incident leader told us, “Fire is natural. We’re going to protect lives and property, but we manage fire in the wilderness.” The goal isn’t to put it out. “Come October, the weather will shift and put it out naturally.”

In my bones I knew, It’s going to be okay. It may not turn out the way I hoped, some precious things may be lost, but good people are working together to solve this. Together, they’ll do their best.

And looking at the assembled group of uniformed civil servants, engaged retreat center staff, and hippie-looking retreat guests, I realized, this is what democracy looks like.

The personal is political

Many people jokingly describe what’s happening in the White House as a dumpster fire. The imagery evokes flames and chaos, but we should have no illusions that it’s limited to a container.

Like the wildfire, a consuming blaze has caught in the wind, carried across treetops, and is scorching the values precious to our entire country. Rights frizzling away, programs gutted, and vast populations imperiled. We are a country ablaze.

And yet.

Fire is natural. Can it possibly be that what is happening before our eyes, so dangerous, could actually bring renewal and life?

With a plan, it is so.

The fire response community showed me that with a clear and specific map, yes. With the collaboration of diverse agencies and groups, yes. With a commitment to service and common goals, yes. When our action is purposeful and resists freaking out, yes. And yes. And yes.

We can survive it—and this fire might even be life-giving in the long term.

The nation’s response to the spreading dumpster fire

If you’re isolated in your activism—working solo or in a small group—you might not see what is really happening in our country, the plan that is already saving what is precious.

Zoom out. You can begin to see the democracy fire response team at work, shirtsleeves rolled up and wearing big-D belt buckles. To start, our country’s Constitution represents the highest values of a people and informs everything we do. We have a badass judicial branch that upholds constitutional values time and again.

We have the wisdom of long-standing justice fighters like the American Civil Liberties Union, National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, National Organization for Women, and the Southern Poverty Law Center.

Since November, a new, passionate response to the election has created groups like Indivisible, Women’s March, Sleeping Giants, and Swing Left.

Companies from tech to agriculture are advocating for the rights of Americans and immigrants. We have a press that has endured drastic changes to produce reliable, well-reasoned material that keeps us informed and blasts out corruption.

My Americans of Conscience Action Checklist is part of this response. Your letters and phone calls are supporting the effort.

In other words, we have a plan. And the wildfire’s days are numbered.

What’s precious will endure

Together, we are first responders, the front line, and the wise veterans. We may not have the firefighters’ maps, but every group and person in this movement has a commitment to preserve the rights of our democracy. Together we will see this through until the healing rains come again.

Hope for the soul and a prayer for the spirit

In my bones, I know it’s going to be okayIt may not turn out the way I hope, some precious things may be lost, but good people are working together to solve this (us!). Together, we’ll do our best.

In the moments of doubt, when you see a scary, thick plume of smoke rising in the sky, the latest news of chaos or danger, take a breath. Trust. Send up a prayer for the defenders, those endangered, and for yourself too. 

This is how I sleep at night. May it be the same for you.

37 thoughts on “Sleeping near a forest fire

  • Anne Lloyd

    What a wise post. Filled with sadness, the reality of getting thru the dark days. I too believe we will emerge stronger and holding our country and values with stronger arms than ever. But this is hard. Thanks, Jen.

  • Erica Hunter

    Jennifer — Thank you so much for this beautiful post. So well written and so beautiful. I hope you’re right! Being a glass-half-empty type of person, I’m a bit skeptical, but your words give me hope!

  • Nancy Earl

    Hey Jen, you should write a book!!!! Seriously, this post is so meaningful, hopeful, well-written and inspiring — like all that you write and stand for. You are a blessing on the planet.

  • Marjorie Curtsinger

    Thank you Jennifer. You’ve been a breath of fresh air since the onset of the onslaught. I’m so tired of holding my breath!
    Your post helped a lot.

  • Barbara Dennard

    Beautiful letter. Last night our small Indivisible group of 10 people had our monthly pot luck and discussion group met, and we experienced as always an uplifting of spirits. We are all taking out small steps – calling, writing, going to meetings, linking with other groups, and, several of us, using your newletters as a weekly guide for action. Why waste our time on despondency when there is so much to do.!
    Barbara Dennare

  • Kari

    I have just returned from my own camping trip where I learned about the bark beetle infestation, drought and our 150 years of fighting forest fires and how they all made a contribution. I understand the need for a clearing.
    I completely related to the women you described and your comments about her reaction to the fire.
    I’ve been fighting hard the recurring negative thoughts, the anxiety, anger and fear, over and over again. Meditation hasn’t help me in this like it has in the past. Small action steps have helped a little bit.
    Thank you, Thank you for your so wise thoughts on this. Feeling for the first time some context that I can understand and hold on to.

  • Donna Drury

    I love this, Jennifer, and I love your writing and weekly checklist. It helps me stay focused, calm and sane.

  • Elissa | Sometimes She Travels

    As always, eloquent and articulate. Thank you for the apt and timely metaphor. One summer while working for an active travel company in Glacier National Park, I learned that there are certain conifers that can ONLY reproduce as the result of being exposed to fire; their survival is dependent upon the heat and flames. Like you, I have faith that we will come through this stronger.

  • Christy

    Thank you! So beautifully put! I stopped the news alerts on my phone and am finding it easier to turn off the TV when Trump and his comrades start ‘talking like a sausage, open at both ends…’ (one of my Grandmother’s favorite old German sayings, lol). God bless!

  • Eileen lepera

    Very nice Jennifer – andit is oh so nice to hear some comforting words – words of healing and hope

  • Joyce

    Thanks for this. I get the imagery. But the difference is that in the forest, no one was pouring gasoline on the fire incessantly, day after day, unwilling to let the fire burn itself out. This is quite different. But I appreciate the message and the attempt to calm our spirits.
    Each week I choose the gratitude responses as I am from MA and my legislators are leading the fight out there. But these past two weeks have found me unable to move. I’m trying to step back a bit. But after Charlottesville, I can’t.
    Keep up the good work all of us! and thanks Jenn.

    • Jennifer Hofmann Post author

      With no rainfall, tinder-dry forest, record-setting temperatures, single-digit humidity, burning logs rolling downhill, and winds pushing the fire, it might as well have had gasoline too. What started as a lightning-struck tree has grown to over 5000 acres. In other words, the analogy may not be perfect, but both are out of control. 0 percent contained infernos.

      Know what? It rained last night. 10 weeks ahead of schedule.

      Take good, good care of yourself, precious soul. You can rest. You must rest. And then you can join us in helping the helpers. We can do this together. And a miracle could come any day.

  • Bonnie Cohen

    Thank you, Jennifer, for this much-needed and wise perspective. So grateful for all the amazing work you do.

  • Susan Talbot

    Thank you so much for writing this piece about the forest fire, and its comparison to the current political climate. I was feeling pretty low, and your comments helped raise my spirits! I also love your weekly action list. I use it every week, and it helps me feel like there is something I can do.
    I am so thankful for you and all that you are doing.
    Susan Talbot

  • Amy

    This article is so what I needed to hear. Thank you so much for giving us some hope while we keep our noses to the grindstone.

  • J Hanson

    You are an excellent writer and communicator. Thank you so much for all that you are doing. Your weekly list is a soul saver as it gives me a way to focus my actions and be a defender of what makes us Americans – the melting pot of the world. Together we will grow stronger and more truly united.

  • Kristin McNamara Freeman

    As the Missoula Valley is surrounded by forest fires,, north, South, east and West…smoky skies, ash on plants and the car…and my daughter’s family on evacuation notice from the fire to the southwest…this wonderful story was just exactly what I needed to read today – taking the relevance of the fire experience and applying the lessons learned to so very much more in the realm of life. Thank you so very much.

  • Jennifer Meade

    Thank you, Jen. You a light in the darkness. Please keep doing what your doing. It does not go unnoticed.

  • Laurie Pollack

    What scares me is the ideology of the extremist hate groups that Trump has allowed to burn out of control and stated are fine people. I am white and a middle class professional so I DO have a lot of privilege which yes I do recognize. And I and my family lead a normal life and are not affected directly. But these groups have very negative views of a couple of groups that I belong to. Privilege does not equal safety.
    But I am starting to recognize: that yes it is OK to feel scared, unsafe, threatened even though this does not reflect my day to day real life. And yes I have not failed in not having happy feelings. Americans want to feel positive all the time. That is not real. But when I own these feelings and then join with others to say NO to hate, I am becoming part of the solution. Part of the bucket brigade. Part of healing the world. And somehow the feelings of fear go away. And I feel empowered. Because as a wise man once said “what does not kill me makes me stronger.”

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