It was a Friday when we woke up at dawn, phones dying, plugged into walls that lost power sometime in the night, and we looked for plumes of smoke. On the west face of the mountain, we’re audience to every sunrise, blind to every sunset. The day was clear. We knew the fire was burning somewhere, but without power, we had no way to check. No way to call out. So I put on my cycling kit, and I prepared to descend the canyon to the coast. I kissed Ben, and I told him I would call him when I was able to get news at the bottom of the canyon. Topanga Canyon Boulevard was backed up with cars. It happens sometimes when there’s an accident on the Pacific Coast Highway where the road dumps out at a single stoplight, but drivers were being erratic and rude. People were turning around, pulling over, and I kept swerving to avoid their desperation. I heard a loud pop and knew I’d broken a spoke. I stopped, opening my brakes, and kept riding, the rear tire still rubbing against the brakes and forcing my effort. I would need to have it fixed in the city. When I reached the coast, the stoplight was out. Something was wrong. There was tumult at the gas station. Aggression was palpable. I turned left in the shadow of a car going the same way over the freeway, and then saw them: the cars pulled over, cameras pointing back toward me. I stopped and unclipped, looking over my shoulder to see what was worth getting out of your car on your morning commute to see.

The smoke was unbelievable, like the earth had mirrored itself in the sky. The smell was unmistakable, emerging from the notes of gasoline and exhaust to pronounce itself as nothing short of chaos. I pulled out my phone to call Ben, but there was no service. Power was out everywhere. There was no way to call him until I got further into the city. Malibu was on fire. We couldn’t see the plumes on our protected western face, but the fire was coming. It was unbelievable.

I passed hundreds of cars on my way into Santa Monica, traffic backed up for miles. The whir of my bicycle making music with the wind against the open spaces between the cars. I kept pulling out my phone to see no bars, No Service. All along the coast, phones pointed toward the horror behind me with jaws agape behind them.

I checked the news at stoplights, desperately looking for a fire map. Over 10,000 acres and spreading fast. Evacuations notices pouring in. Winds becoming increasingly erratic, fire raging through a range deeply dehydrated by drought. I needed to go home. I needed to be there. But I thought I had time. I took my bike to the shop to fix the spoke. 12,000 acres. I went to work, and I tried to call Ben.

“Hey, this is Ben. Leave a mes—”

All my calls, straight to voicemail. Without power, our WiFi calling didn’t work. He would charge his phone in his car, I knew he would. 15,000 acres. I dropped my bike off at the shop, walked to the office, and continued to check the fire news. The Santa Anas blew hard and fast, pushing the fire through the Santa Monica Mountains. People kept leaving work, talking of back alleys, throughways to home. Text messages came in emojiless and short.

“Are you in Topanga?”
“Do you know if we’re in danger?”
“Have you guys left?”

I tried to call Ben again. Nothing. I tried to call our landlord, Jerry. Nothing. I kept trying to call as more people kept trying to call me. Gchats from best friends. Slacks from coworkers. Emails from parents. And a text from a neighbor:

We can’t go home. Do you think Ben could get Sax from our house? I think the bedroom window is unlocked.

My phone rang. I was already holding it.

“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Helen’s Santa Monica, your bike is ready.”

It was time to go home. I told work, I’m sorry, but I need to go, it’s fastest by bike anyway, yes I’ll let you know but it should be fine, just want to be sure. I walked at a clip to the shop, but news reached me faster than I could reach home: mandatory evacuation of Topanga, all zones, immediately.

The canyon is broken into 9 zones. There are 3 primary outlets. One that goes to the valley, one to the coast, one deeper into the mountains. All zones needed to get out, splitting between the valley and coast exits. We’d seen a few evacuations, but this was first time it was mandatory, for everyone. No recommended, no voluntary — mandatory. For everyone.

I tried to call Ben — straight to voicemail. I got to the shop, and the fire was on the TVs.

“Miss?”
“Sorry, I’m here for my bike,” I said, staring at the news.
“Last name?”
I looked back at the woman.
“Sorry, what?”

Red flames, red news banners, red retardant falling from the sky.

“Your last name. For the bike.”
“Right, sorry, Wright. W, R, I, H, sorry, G, or G, H, T.”

…Woolsey Fire grows to 20,000 acres…

“Ma’am? Your bike?”
“Sorry! I’m sorry, just, these fires.”

I couldn’t go home, he couldn’t get the news, and I couldn’t stop apologizing for being lost in the smoke. The fire was growing and I stood wide-eyed in the slow commotion of the bike shop. And then he called.

“Hel—”
“Benny! Benny, are you evacuating?”
“What? — Hi Kelton!”
“Is that Jerry?”
“Yeah, we’re just hanging out. Trying to find where in the house has reception. Power’s still out.”
“It’s mandatory evacuation.”
“Really?”
“Yes, the whole canyon, it’s mandatory. Our zones go out through the coast, zones 1-6 to the valley.”
“We can’t even see any smoke. Is the fire close?”
“They’re worried about a windshift.”

A pause.

“Ben?”
“Sorry, moved from my reception spot. OK, well, I’ll get our stuff together, is there anything you’d like me to pack?”
“I actually need you to go get Sax from the neighbors’ house. They can’t get home.”
“The cat?”
“Yes, can you get their cat?”
“I’ll try. I’ll pack up all the animals and our stuff and call you when I’m out of the canyon.”

A long time ago, I was prepared for this. My father was a smokejumper — he jumped out of airplanes to fight forest fires in the great American west. Photos of him in his gear, young and strapping and cash-strapped, hung around my childhood home. Next to each photo of him was a photo of my mother, rifle in hand, never to be out done by my father. When I moved to the West, I knew forest fires well. Because of them, I knew all disasters well. I knew all about go-bags and tennis shoes at your desk and extra supplies in your car. I grew up with handguns in center consoles and spare keys hidden in wheel wells, with gas tanks always full and cash never low. I grew up checking exits and the wind.

I was prepared, but I wasn’t there. And it made me mad. God, it made me mad. I could see myself in my house, my cabin, my stretch of cliff and dirt and wood, and I could see myself moving through it with the efficiency and grace of deep responsibility and care, knowing so completely in my heart the list of what mattered and what didn’t, and playing the perfect game of Tetris in my truck with all the perfect pieces of my life. But I wasn’t there and it wasn’t my call.

Four hours and 15,000 acres later, Ben pulled up to my office in my truck, his heavily modified Subaru WRX left in the driveway at home. And in the truck, three animals, the passports and wedding certificate and wills, my engagement ring and the necklace my grandfather left me, my first target practice with my dad, the checkbooks, the emergency litter box I had bought months ago, and a duffel bag of my clothes.

It was a Friday night, the fire was devouring the thirsty earth, we were taking refuge in a friend’s place, and I was going through the duffel of how my husband imagined I dress. He packed my favorite jeans, a pair of badly stained khakis, a sweater that didn’t go with either, another sweater that I wore every day on our honeymoon, a flannel I don’t wear, two technical t-shirts meant for riding bikes in the dirt, enough loungewear to clothe an elephant, only bras without underwire, and no shoes.

From the city, I could see he had time, but from where he was, all he could see was that I had called 15 times and he needed to break into the neighbors’ to save their cat after their other cat had gone missing in that canyon only a few months after moving in… and only a few months earlier. He packed some funny things, but he packed the right things.

Seven days later, we were able to go home. Topanga had been spared. Malibu had not. Paradise, much worse. I saw my father in the faces of those men on the news. I saw his friends. I saw their proximity to loss, the weight of what they saved on their shoulders, the permanence of what they couldn’t on their souls. And I saw my home in the ones that burned. When we walked in, our house smelled of cedar and fir and tobacco, as if the warmth of a home well-loved found a way to melt our candles, the fire miles and miles away. I stood in the doorway of the cool evening, holding Finn, looking at this strange rental I call my home. A painting of our first place together. A blanket I’ve never unfolded on the back of the couch. A pile of dismembered stuffed animals in the dog’s bin. Three homemade cookbooks. “One free massage” handwritten ticket. The Topanga Survival Guide sitting on the shelf. All the things that would have been gone forever, forgotten for years, etching themselves into a picture of what I would always remember as the home I didn’t want to lose.

One day, this canyon will burn again. But I know my exits. And my go-bag is pretty simple: it’s a cat, a dog, and a boy that leaves his sports car behind to save his girl’s truck.

I wrote this piece listening to City on Fire by Tyler Hilton, and My Day Will Come by James Francies & YEBBA.

Subscribe to the newsletter at tinyletter.com/keltonwrites.

Nicole.Special dog

The conductor-dog Nicole during one of its work trips on an evacuation train. Together with its owner, also the conductor, she has already made dozens of evacuation rides.

 Nicole helps to cope with stress

katy-l-wood:

katy-l-wood:

GUESS WE’RE DOING THIS EARLY THIS YEAR. (Though, honestly, we never really stopped, did we?)

So. Let’s talk evacuation bags. This is specifically in relation to wildfires, but it can translate easily to other disasters.

A great resource is the Ready for Wildfire website. But I want to expand on their list just a little bit.

For your “grab and go we need to run in the next three minutes” bag you should have:

• Face masks of some sort.
• Snacks that you can just open and eat. More food if you have specific allergies and such that will make it difficult to eat at a shelter. At least a couple bottles of water. (Water is probably easier to just keep in your vehicle, if you have one, due to weight.)
  
• A PAPER map marked with multiple evacuation routes. (Drive them ahead of time to get a feel for them.) Your phone could die or lose signal at any time. You need paper, and you need to know how to read it.
  
• Prescriptions and other medications. Things like ibuprophen, tums, etc.. Some other general first aid supplies like bandaids and wound ointments are good to have as well. I also tossed one of my free C*VID tests in there this year.
  
• Change of clothing. Try and have two if you can, one set of day clothes and one set of comfy night clothes. Plus several days worth of socks and underwear.
• Extra glasses or contacts if you wear them.
• An emergency creditcard and/or some cash.
• Phone chargers including wall plugs. Even if cell towers go down/get overwhelmed your phone will still provide a flashlight, music, any documents you have saved on it, etc.
• A jacket. Light or heavy, depending on the season at hand. Gloves and a hat if the current season is cold.
  
• A battery powered radio with extra batteries or a crank/solar radio.
• Pads/tampons if needed. Honestly, bring some even you personally don’t need them in case anyone else does.
• Shampoo, conditioner, soap.
• Copies of important documents.
• Pet supplies including: Medications. Carriers. Leashes/harnesses. A few baggies and/or cans of food. A travel litterbox and a couple baggies of litter. Treats. A toy or two. Anti-stress sprays. Bowls.
• A deck of cards. This isn’t really REQUIRED, but it is small and easy to tuck in so you can have something to help pass the time.

You need to have a version of all these things that is JUST for your emergency kit. It can’t be something you take back out to use, it all needs to just live in the kit. I keep all my human stuff in a big backpack, and all the pet stuff (minus the carriers) is in a little backpack. The backpacks and carriers all live in my coat closet right next to my front door.

This is the stuff you grab when you have no time. If you DO have a little time, then you can grab other things like family photos, computers, small valuables, etc.. But your life is NOT worth those things. One of the two people who died in the Marshall Fire died because he stayed behind to try and rescue his family history documents. Know what you’re going to grab, who is going to grab what if there’s more than you in your household, and what the evacuation plan is.

From my personal experience, the Twitter accounts for your local fire departments and county emergency services tend to have the most up-to-date information during an active disaster. Stay safe.

Also, if you don’t have a vehicle and/or are disabled in a way that will require help evacuating, talk to your neighbors. Just a simple “hey, it’s fire season, and I don’t have a car, if something happens can I hitch a ride to the shelter with you?” and exchange numbers. Do it with a couple neighbors in case someone isn’t home. If you do end up trapped, just call 911. They will send someone to get you.

sepulchritude:

Hey Houston, Beaumont, and Lousiana folks, make sure you’re prepared for the hurricane

• Stock up on water. You can use tupperware or empty milk jugs if you need to, and fill up your bathtub if you have one. If the water goes out, you don’t just need enough drinking water for every person and animal in your house, you need water to wash yourselves and flush your toilets
• Figure out which room will be the safest if you need to shelter in place. You want somewhere with no windows, no outside walls, and a clear route of escape if you need to leave quickly. If nowhere is a perfect fit, prioritize things in that order: absolutely no windows, preferably no outside walls, and an easy escape route if you can
• Put some of your water stash in your shelter room too in case the rest of your house becomes unsafe
• Move anything that could conceivably bash a window off of your porch and out of your yard. Put it in the garage or bring it inside if you have to. Keep yourself and your neighbors safe, storm winds are no joke
• Move anything that has to stay outside (like cars if they can’t go in a garage) as close to the house as possible so they’re at least somewhat shielded
• Make sure your flashlights have batteries. If the power goes out, you don’t want to be using precious phone battery life just to see. Candles are also fantastic, especially for long-term outages, but have a working flashlight or two as well
• Fill up your ice trays. You want plenty of ice in your freezer if the power goes out. You can freeze some of your water jugs too so you can drink them as they melt
• Fill up your car if you can. Gas stations are probably pretty crazy right now but try your best, it’s only gonna get worse from here. Pick up a car charger while you’re there if you don’t have one
• Charge your devices and unplug them if it looks like the power might go out soon. Electrical surge is a bitch
• Unplug EVERYTHING or preferably just shut off your power if it might flood soon or if you evacuate. You know what sucks? Electrified flood water
• Check your local news stations for updates. They’re on twitter too if you don’t have cable

Hurricane Laura is a category 4. For reference, Harvey was also a 4. Ike was a 2. Houston shouldn’t be getting hit as badly as Beaumont and Lousiana, but Harvey wasn’t supposed to hit us that bad either. Be prepared.

Stay safe y’all

Edit: Laura made landfall last night (8/26/2020) as a category 4 hurricane, just shy of a 5, and has decreased to a category 1 since then. Houston was almost completely unharmed, but east Texas and a lot of Lousiana were hit hard.We have no way of knowing how many are injured or dead this morning.

It’s been hard times for everyone this year, but if you have the ability to donate to the Red Cross or give blood, they really need it right now.

katy-l-wood:

katy-l-wood:

The evacuation prep poster is done! This poster is designed primarily with wildfires in mind, but the tips can apply to preparing for any much any disaster.

If you share this image outside of tumblr, please link back to my website: www.Katy-L-Wood.com

[[Image ID: A poster including a layered graphic showing what items to have ready to prepare for evacuating your home based on how much warning you have that you need to evacuate. The inner, red, level is labeled “No Warning.” The next, orange, level is labeled “Less Than an Hour.” The next, yellow, level is labeled “More Than an Hour.” The final, green, level is labeled “General Preparedness.” The items associated with each level and the text are included below. /end ID.]]

———-

Evacuation Prep:

As the world changes, it is important to be prepared to safely and efficiently evacuate your home, potentially with little or no warning. Preparing ahead of time can help to reduce stress and anxiety, and help you evacuate safely if the time comes.

Red Level (No Warning): People | Pets | Keys. Human life matters most. If you can’t rescue your pets, let them out to give them their best chance. If evacuating by car, don’t forget your keys.

Orange Level (Less Than an Hour): Crucial Meds | Important Papers | Money | Paper Map | Pet Vaccination Records. Crucial meds and medical equipment. Papers including passports, birth certificates, medical records, etc.. Multiple forms of payment. Paper map with marked evac routes in case of signal loss. Phone. Most evac centers require vaccine records for pets to be allowed in.

Yellow Level (More Than an Hour): Photos | Hard Drives | Computers | Chargers | Irreplaceable Items | OTC Meds | Pet Supplies | Pet Food | Clothes | Weather Gear. Family photos. Hard drives and computers. Make digital backups ahead of time. Charging cords. Irreplaceable items such as collectibles and mementos. Over the counter medical supplies such as Aspirin and tampons. Pet supplies such as bowls, crates, toys, and litter. Pet food and treats. Clothes. If you are running out of time grab your laundry basket. Weather gear if needed.

Green Level (General Preparedness): Food | Water | Radio | N95 Masks | Multitool | Power Pack | Gas | Stove + Fuel | Flashlight | Toiletries | Emergency Contact Info | Bedding | First Aid | Can Opener. Easy prep, shelf-stable food. Water. Battery powered/rechargeable NOAA weather radio. N95 masks for smoke. A multitool. Rechargeable power pack for phones. Keep your car at least partially fueled at all times. Portable stove and fuel for cooking food without power. Flashlight and spare batteries. Toiletries including hair products, toothbrush and paste, etc.. Emergency contact info for friends and loved ones. Spare pillows and blankets. Dedicated first aid kit. Can opener.

Save yourself time and stress by preparing an evacuation bag ahead of time and keep it in an easy to access place. At the end of every season rotate out the perishable items within such as food, water, and medications. The more you can keep in the bag, the more time you’ll have to grab everything else. Remember, it is okay if you can’t do everything. Some preparation is better than no preparation.

If you are in the U.S.A. and experiencing disaster related anxiety call the Disaster Distress Hotline at 1-800-985-5990 for support and resources.

———-

If you share this image outside of tumblr, please link back to my website: www.Katy-L-Wood.comf

Also. Please know the final file version of this was nearly 600 layers. I don’t know how my computer didn’t explode.

katy-l-wood:

katy-l-wood:

The evacuation prep poster is done! This poster is designed primarily with wildfires in mind, but the tips can apply to preparing for any much any disaster.

If you share this image outside of tumblr, please link back to my website: www.Katy-L-Wood.com

[[Image ID: A poster including a layered graphic showing what items to have ready to prepare for evacuating your home based on how much warning you have that you need to evacuate. The inner, red, level is labeled “No Warning.” The next, orange, level is labeled “Less Than an Hour.” The next, yellow, level is labeled “More Than an Hour.” The final, green, level is labeled “General Preparedness.” The items associated with each level and the text are included below. /end ID.]]

———-

Evacuation Prep:

As the world changes, it is important to be prepared to safely and efficiently evacuate your home, potentially with little or no warning. Preparing ahead of time can help to reduce stress and anxiety, and help you evacuate safely if the time comes.

Red Level (No Warning): People | Pets | Keys. Human life matters most. If you can’t rescue your pets, let them out to give them their best chance. If evacuating by car, don’t forget your keys.

Orange Level (Less Than an Hour): Crucial Meds | Important Papers | Money | Paper Map | Pet Vaccination Records. Crucial meds and medical equipment. Papers including passports, birth certificates, medical records, etc.. Multiple forms of payment. Paper map with marked evac routes in case of signal loss. Phone. Most evac centers require vaccine records for pets to be allowed in.

Yellow Level (More Than an Hour): Photos | Hard Drives | Computers | Chargers | Irreplaceable Items | OTC Meds | Pet Supplies | Pet Food | Clothes | Weather Gear. Family photos. Hard drives and computers. Make digital backups ahead of time. Charging cords. Irreplaceable items such as collectibles and mementos. Over the counter medical supplies such as Aspirin and tampons. Pet supplies such as bowls, crates, toys, and litter. Pet food and treats. Clothes. If you are running out of time grab your laundry basket. Weather gear if needed.

Green Level (General Preparedness): Food | Water | Radio | N95 Masks | Multitool | Power Pack | Gas | Stove + Fuel | Flashlight | Toiletries | Emergency Contact Info | Bedding | First Aid | Can Opener. Easy prep, shelf-stable food. Water. Battery powered/rechargeable NOAA weather radio. N95 masks for smoke. A multitool. Rechargeable power pack for phones. Keep your car at least partially fueled at all times. Portable stove and fuel for cooking food without power. Flashlight and spare batteries. Toiletries including hair products, toothbrush and paste, etc.. Emergency contact info for friends and loved ones. Spare pillows and blankets. Dedicated first aid kit. Can opener.

Save yourself time and stress by preparing an evacuation bag ahead of time and keep it in an easy to access place. At the end of every season rotate out the perishable items within such as food, water, and medications. The more you can keep in the bag, the more time you’ll have to grab everything else. Remember, it is okay if you can’t do everything. Some preparation is better than no preparation.

If you are in the U.S.A. and experiencing disaster related anxiety call the Disaster Distress Hotline at 1-800-985-5990 for support and resources.

———-

If you share this image outside of tumblr, please link back to my website: www.Katy-L-Wood.comf

Also. Please know the final file version of this was nearly 600 layers. I don’t know how my computer didn’t explode.