SHROUDED
It’s been weeks and we’ve been shrouded in smoke from the Oregon fires.
Silenced—caught perpetually in a clouded sunset. Sounds have diminished and the world has turned gray. Weeks ago, I watched the Greenridge fire from my front porch; apprehensive as I spotted bright flares of newly ignited trees go up in smoke. The smoke roiled and boiled for several days. Easterly winds kept it away. It turned into a fog when the fire was contained and I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that Mother Nature had spared us, again. Then a new haze formed from the west and sunk to the base of Mt. Jefferson reminding me of the Tule fog that can blanket the land. It was a pretty sight with a robin egg blue sky above the mountain.
The next morning the air was orange. The blue sky was gone, and I heard the news. Santiam Canyon was a world ablaze. Lives, homes, businesses, and the forest we loved had turned into the ash and smoke in an apocalyptic world. For weeks now, I’ve sheltered from that smoke reluctant to breath in the remains of all that loss. “It’s hazardous and unhealthy,” the authorities say. Stay indoors. Do not drive. Stay, shelter, and suspend your life already at a standstill from a demon virus.
I thought about the volcanic smoke during the Cambrian era, and the smoke and ash that formed the K-T boundary that marks the end of the dinosaurs, and the Mazama ash layer that is so distinctive in our Oregon soil profile, all markers of time for geologists and archaeologist. The fires today would create the same type of marker, a gravestone, of sorts, that will be remembered. My mood lightened knowing that future generations would know of this time and contemplate the pain of so many. They would not be forgotten.
Not heeding authority’s advice, my husband and I walked our dog in the hazardous smoke. Silence surrounded us, sounds muffled and missing in the shroud of smoke. I wondered at the regeneration hidden in the smoke and ash and realized that it would renew my garden. Humans have burned fields for millennia for just such a reason. I thought about evolution and asked, “With each breath, didn’t I become a living manifestation of what was, as my body absorbed and metabolized the smoke? Can I inhale the pain and loss of others and help them mourn?”
If only I could.
Then the crisp, bright song of a Townsend’s Solitaire rang in my ears. I couldn’t see him. He was lost in the haze as he inhaled the smoke and sang. Evolved from a dinosaur eons ago, he sang to the ashes of all that was lost, sang to the future, of resilience, and brightened my day. I thank that little bird for replenishing the hope in my heart, for helping me to see through the fog.
When I got home, I bagged up items to donate to homeless fire victims, knowing my little gesture of help would be heard. A local was filling her horse trailer with our things and making the drive, braving roadblocks, downed trees, and smoldering forests to share our community song of promise and love.
