The Fire

On September 8th, 2020, we had a fire here in Southern Oregon. It started in our little town of Ashland, about five miles from our farm. I was just about to launch the Farm Wench site, but had my usual morning chores to get through first. We hadn't had a drop of rain in months, and the effects of climate change had been affecting our region before that.

 With little to no snow pack in the mountains, and disease crippling our evergreens, things were getting scary dry.

 That morning before dawn we heard a strong wind brewing outside, and it became ferocious by mid-morning as I finished my chores. I was afraid to let the chickens into the pasture for their morning romp, because the wind could have kept them from getting back into the chicken yard. I kept them in and opened the gate to the long run. This would prove to be both a mistake and a blessing, depending on how you look at what happened soon after.

The chickens huddled under their favorite hedge in the long run, some of them braving the open area to get back to the coop for food and water or to lay an egg. The horses got their morning cookie while I put on their fly masks, and I filled everyone's water bin with pump water. This would be the last time I could use the pump for a week. I met my husband as he walked from the house toward the shed. The wind was wiping around us and I hugged him tightly. "I'm scarred," I muttered into his sweatshirt, "what if there's a fire?" "Don't worry," Ross said in my ear, "we are an oasis of green lawn. A fire wouldn't get near us."  Just as I got back inside I received a text from my neighbor Laura. She and her husband Doug had purchased the big field below us some five years ago. Our beloved Bear Creek ran alongside their land and provided much-needed irrigation for the vegetables they grew. We all had irrigation during the spring and summer, but Talent Irrigation District informed us they would be cutting that off early, due to the low reservoir levels from the drought. Laura and her family had survived the Carr Fire a few years earlier, and she was getting nervous. In her text she said that our area was currently under Level 1 of "Ready." Level 2 is "Set," meaning there is a significant risk in your area and Level 3 is "Go," meaning evacuate immediately. 

I hadn't heard any warning on the TV, or received any other emergency texts, so I was surprised to hear we were on a Level 1 alert. I tried to comfort Laura, saying we were probably safe from fire since we were surrounded by heavily watered fields and close to Bear Creek. What did I know?! Minutes later I got a call from my veterinarian's office just down the road, asking if we were alright. I'd been taking my dogs to Animal Medical Hospital for over ten years. I knew and loved everyone who worked there and they took excellent care of our animals. Now they were worried about me! "What's up Diane," I asked when she expressed concern. "There's a huge plume of smoke coming up to your farm!" she gasped. That's when I received the second text from Laura. The nearby water treatment plant was supposedly on fire. I then got more texts from the three other Jackson Road ladies I counted as dear friends. "We have to evacuate....now," each of them said.

I stood in the middle of my living room, frozen for a minute in fear. What should I grab? I ran to the back of the house and retrieved some jewelry, a 150 year old oil painting of an ancestor, and my violin. After throwing those in my car I grabbed my computer, phone, some documents and two of the three Red Cross Survival backpacks my sister had gifted me many Christmases ago. I got my water bottle and some prescription meds and rushed to Ross outside who was turning on all the irrigation hoses. All of the dogs were out, so my daughter got her dog in the car, while I put my old girl Luna in mine. Remembering the chickens, I ran to the coop and braced open the little gate leading out to the pasture. But the chickens were too afraid to leave the hedge in the long run. After trying to coax them out for a minute I realized it was impossible. I ran to my car completely believing my chickens were all going to die in the fire.
Carly's boyfriend Jack grabbed his two dogs and both he and Carly headed down the driveway now full of billowing smoke. Carly screamed at her dad to get in his truck and leave with them. He'd put our two big dogs in and started up the truck, but was still trying to get water going. "Dad, let's go! It's not worth it!" she screamed. I hugged him while he said, "I'm right behind you." "Don't do anything stupid honey," I said, and drove out after Carly and Jack. They went right, towards the Billings Farm and away from the smoke. I went left, toward the smoke but a shorter route to the freeway. I didn't realize I  was driving alongside a wall of flames until later when I viewed a video my daughter took right before evacuating. At 11:40 we were told by neighbors to evacuate. By 11:45 the flames were coming up our road. I think we got out by 11:50. We'd had no official warning. None whatsoever. 

Ross finally left the property a little after noon. By then the wonderful rural firefighters had arrived and basically ordered him out. The fire was now crossing Jackson Road, and licking at his tires. He drove as far as the Billings' neighboring field and parked under a water cannon they brilliantly started up. Mary's husband, Larry stood beside him. Before long a neighbor from across the creek joined them, and watched his house go up in flames. The fire chief very graciously came up to the men to check on them, and Ross asked if something could be done about the fire marching along our fence line toward the chicken house. The chief said a few words into his radio, and miraculously a helicopter appeared, dangling a huge water bucket! It quickly took water from the Billings' pond and proceeded to douse flames all along the fence. The remainder was dumped directly on top of the chicken house, saving the structure. I later learned that the chickens stayed under that hedge until the netting over the long run disintegrated from the fire's heat. The chickens then flew over the little knee-high fence and ran onto the green lawn in front of our home. Smart girls after all, and Billy the rooster kept them all together.

A huge plume of black smoke rolled over our house, obscuring it from vision. This was when Ross thought he'd seen the last of the home we'd worked so hard to keep over the coarse of ten tumultuous years. All of Carly's flower fields that she'd sweated over for over three years were surly going up in flames. All of our possessions and memories...gone. But at least we were alive. An RV that had been abandoned on the side of our road caught fire, so the fire chief warned Ross to stay back. Before long a propane tank within the vehicle exploded, effectively putting the fire out since there was nothing left to burn. Ross waited almost an hour for the smoke to clear and get the okay to see what remained of our home. When the black cloud finally wafted away there our home stood, untouched by the flames! Ross drove up to our gate just in time to see the firemen putting out flames on a big cedar tree by our fence. The house across from us, where the Logel family lived since the 1960s, had also been saved. My friend Laura's place just down the road was burnt to the ground. Speaking to her later I learned that she'd come from the greenhouse on the other side of the field. Her house seemed fine so she left her dogs inside and rushed to check on her goats and chickens in a nearby enclosure. Those animals had run into their shed for shelter. The flames skipped over the shed and completely incinerated a huge old tree just in front of it. The animals were okay, but Laura and her foreman, Derrick doused the shed with water as a precaution. Laura assumed something like an ember fell and ignited a wicker chair on her porch, because in minutes her house was on fire. Derrick ran back for the dogs and saved them just in time, scorching his face in the process. The house burned quickly, but at least the animals had been saved.

​Meanwhile, my daughter, her boyfriend Jack and I were all driving separate cars with our dogs to my son's house a few towns over. I made a detour to my friend Terry's farm, to stop shaking and give my dog Luna some water. Terry tried to calm me down, but she and her family were busy preparing to evacuate as well, so I left after a half hour so they could focus on that. Terry had offered her barn to house my chickens, but I told her there just hadn't been time to collect them. Now she was at a loss with what to do with her animals. I later heard many stories of people coming to the aid of fellow farmers in need of help with their livestock. Moving farm animals during a fire is absolutely frightening and there have been some true heroes in my town.
I made it to my son's house only to discover another fire creeping toward their town of White City. My daughter Carly reminded us that there was only one way in and one way out of my son's neighborhood, so we all packed up yet again to convoy back to our home in Ashland, where my husband claimed things were safe. The interstate was closed, so we drove the back roads, passing lots of traffic going in the opposite direction. We finally made our way into the little town of Talent. We were shocked over how quickly the fire had moved into the area, and drove along the main street with one side completely in flames. The sound of propane tanks exploding drove us back north until we could finally access the interstate and head south toward our home. Both sides of the freeway were black from the fire that had raged along Bear Creek, with some power lines and trees still burning. One power pole on the freeway began to lean dangerously close to the road just as we were driving by, and we passed a number of abandoned semi trucks before we came to our off ramp. I prayed our neighbor's homes were alright as we drove up Jackson Road, and sure enough, the two Victorian homes of neighbor's Bev and Nancy had survived! Ross told me later that their husbands stayed behind just as he had, making sure the irrigation was running and turning the hose on anything that caught an ember.

As I drove into our farm I noticed the Wizard's Way Flower Farm sign I'd painted for my daughter last spring was still there! Everything around it had burned, but the sign remained. It made me so happy, but I took the sign down for safe keeping and it remains in our garage until next spring. My husband came out to greet me, covered in soot and our two big dogs bounding out to join in a joyful reunion. My son, his wife and our two granddaughters arrived shortly thereafter, and we spent the evening eating cold roast beef sandwiches by the light of two oil lamps I'd collected from an old neighbor a few years ago. I'm a bit of a prepper, and so I had lamp oil in the barn, along with water and food supplies. We used irrigation water to flush the toilets, but had no running water because our pump for the well ran on electricity, and that had been lost right around the time we evacuated. As it grew darker, everyone bedded down where they could and I went out to see if I had any chickens remaining. Ross told me that when he was allowed to return home he found the chickens scattered around the green lawn and wet pasture. Apparently they had cowered under the hedges in the long run as the fire burned the surrounding fence. The heat created from those flames melted away the protective netting covering the run, allowing my flock an escape route over the knee-high wire fence on the other side. With a glimmer of hope I entered the hen house to count how many chickens I had left. All twenty-one had survived! I counted again just to be sure, then gave my rooster Billy extra love for protecting my girls so well. 

Ross spent most of the night putting out embers and helping our neighbors water down a big burning oak tree threatening an adjacent pasture of dry grass. He finally fell into bed around eleven, still covered in soot, and we tried to sleep in spite of the orange glow on the horizon, proof that the fire continued to burn Phoenix, the little town next to Talent. The next morning we managed to hook up the generator and save most of our food. My German shepherd became ill from drinking irrigation water, and my dear friend and veterinarian Leanne, came by with some medicine for him. She had saved her farm and the one next to hers where my friend Kyle lived. They used a water truck she'd purchased that year, while Kyle and another worker pushed back the fire with a tractor. Leanne told me that, after her staff called me about the encroaching fire, they began to evacuate all the animals in the clinic. She'd been in surgery and had to quickly stitch up the dog and evacuate as well. 

The week slogged by, and on Saturday my daughter sold her flowers from her cart by our mailbox. Neighbors and friends came to our farm to purchase flowers, share scary fire stories, and cry in each other's arms. Those who had lost their homes were given free bouquets, and Carly donated all proceeds to various groups in need. The first donation went to the migrant workers who harvest our local crops. Most of them lived in the many mobile home parks that had been completely destroyed. By Saturday night we felt exhausted, but extremely blessed to have a roof over our heads. I kissed my husband goodnight, and right as I turned off my headlamp the power came back on! The folks at Pacific Power worked day and night  to replace all the burnt power poles along our road. We were fully expecting to do without power for weeks, and they'd restored it in five days! Another blessing. It felt so good to have running water again, but I couldn't stop thinking about those who had nothing left of their former lives. 

The people in our area continue to work together to heal and restore what they can. The tell-tale scars of the Alameda fire will remind us of that awful day until the rains finally, hopefully come and allow our valley to thrive once again. We're a pretty strong community and I know we'll persevere.  But I know I never again want to experience a fire on my farm.