Stop it!!

Okay fires, I've had enough. I don't think I can take any more of this. Please stop. PLEASE.

Tonight, I plan on driving the twenty minutes from where I live now (north county) to where I grew up (I know I went so far away--south county). I have been told that 200 homes have burned in the canyon, and as the fire rages on in one of my favorite places on earth, I urge you to think not only of the houses, displaced people, and lost possessions (as they do have insurance, after all) but to also think of what nature has lost at the hands of an arsonist. Silverado, Modjeska, and Santiago Canyons are full of some of the most beautiful, breathtaking, and stunning creations God ever made-live oak and sycamore trees. many of them are hundreds of years old. They have witnessed the changes that are so emblematic of California. The Native Americans moving into the area, the Spanish entering the canyon and using its timber to construct homes and missions, the last Native American massacre in Black Star Canyon, the gradual progression of other settlers, and eventually increased commercialization and track homes. However, as part of its appeal, the trees have not witnessed as much change as most areas in Southern California. Many areas are still completely untouched, and the majority of the homes are tucked away in extremely rural locations.

The trees, the native landscape, the natural habitat, to me has always spoken of the past, what California has been. I could not count the amount of times that I have driven through the canyon simply for therapeutic reasons, and gazed out at the colors, the fantastically muted greens, purples, and blues that speak so clearly of the true California landscape. I have driven the canyon road and I have thought, so many times, about how lucky I am to like in the midst of such beauty. I thought about my dream home, on some remote plateau with views of nature and its miraculous bounty, even its times of want and lack, and how each phase compliments and leads into the next.

Of course, we are not only losing plant life. The canyon is home to countless species of wildlife. Deer, mountain lions, coyotes, rabbits, and hawks to name a few. Hawks have always captured my attention. The make lazy circles in the air, not like vultures signalling a source of food, but, in my mind, simply for the pure joy of it. They soar, they slowly circle, and I imagine them breathing in the scents of the air, taking in the scenery, and just reveling in the feeling of the wind in their wings. They are intelligent creatures, especially in tune to their surroundings, with excellent senses and above-average perception. It is no wonder that royalty in ancient England chose them for sport, respected them. There is much we could learn from hawks.

Among the natural landmarks stand several that are man-made, including the beautiful Modjeska House built by Madame Modjeska, a famous entertainer, in the style of Shakespeare's England sitting among the trees. Another landmark is the Rancho Las Lomas estate, where Josh and I should be getting married next October, God willing it makes it through this week. I remember my adventures in this canyon, hiking along hidden streams and finding the ancient grindstones of the canyon's first inhabitants. The mysticism of my friends in school as they discussed the ghosts that lingered from the Black Star Massacre and the Native American burial ground. Although the landscape looks nothing like this, I always pictured the knights of my daydreams to come galloping through the trees and off to another adventure.

I suppose I always believed that I appreciated the landscape enough, more than most, but facing the flames of some evil human I suddenly realize the strain of humanity on nature, my inability to fully appreciate what was there before it disappears, the longing I feel to be there now, and my gut-wrenching fear to see what is left.

This is why I will travel there tonight. I feel like I need to see it with my own eyes before I can heal. I need to understand what I will be dealing with this weekend, when the fore casted drizzle hits the embers of these fires and sends up the last plumes of sooty smoke. I need to know what we have lost, and then I need to grieve.