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Monday, July 27, 2015


Well, I guess living in a forest does have a drawback or two.  Especially deep into California's recent years of drought.

There's a huge, rapidly growing fire not too far from us.

It started late Saturday, though we don't know how yet, and we were put on almost immediate evacuation alert. We've been there ever since, and it's a deeply stressful time.  You can see the huge columns of flames from our driveway. Especially at night.

We're packed with all that's most important, and we're all still safe, so even if we must leave and the house and land are destroyed, we won't be. Stuff is just stuff, after all.

It's still hard to pick and choose what to flee with, though. . .things have so many memories attached, don't they?

I like those memories. Especially the ones attached to things that people once used or loved themselves. It makes me feel closer to my grandfather to use his tools. Or to make butter with my great grandma's churn. Or store my linens in my beloved gram's dresser. But those didn't make the cut in the space we have available.

And, suddenly, I kind of "get" what the early settlers must have felt as they packed to head west. Things that traveled all the way from across the sea had to be abandoned, either at their starting point or along the way, as they found that only the barest of necessities had place in the wagons. The stuff of their families, the stuff of their cultures, the stuff that connected them to people and places far away. . .abandoned.

I'm grieving for them as I grieve for us. It's hard to leave things behind.

Even if there's a chance we might get them back.

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