Making peace with the risks, rewards of living in a fire-prone region
SANDY BANKS
It felt like I had just closed my eyes when an early morning phone call jarred me awake Tuesday. I didn't recognize the number or the voice, but her words jump-started my smoke-fogged brain.
"I'm back at home. And Noni's safe," Margaret Rodie told me. I crossed one thing off my worry list.
I wrote about 88-year-old Margaret in my last column. She was among thousands forced to evacuate Monday in Porter Ranch. But when the order came, she couldn't find her cat, Noni.
She feared that Noni had run off in the commotion and would wind up -- like her last cat -- a coyote's supper. So she drove out of the complex, parked near the gate and spent hours waiting in her car -- ignoring advice from her daughter, son-in-law and a bossy columnist that she settle in somewhere safer and more comfortable.
When police gave the all-clear sign that evening, "I was the 10th person in line to go back home," she told me when she called. When she got home, a frightened Noni was hiding inside.
"I'm glad," Margaret said, "that I waited it out."
We all waited it out this week as fire roared through our wind-blown patch at the northern edge of the San Fernando Valley.
The Sesnon fire started a few miles up the road from my home. But the heroism of firefighters and caprice of nature left Porter Ranch largely unscathed.
My neighbors know we're lucky, and that it's too soon for celebrating.
On frightening, ash-filled days like these, we rue the annual return of the Santa Ana winds. But check back next week when our lives are calm and the air is clear, and we'll shrug it off as the windy season. Hey, at least it keeps the wind chimes jingling.
One thing became clear to me as I walked the streets this week, talking to evacuees in this fire-prone region: With our tract homes, cul de sacs and shopping centers, we may be suburban in appearance, but we're something more in spirit.
From our front doors, we look out on manicured lawns. But our backyards share space with canyons and mountains, and all the perils and pleasures that come with it.
We relish the rain, but remember to wear boots when we garden because rattlesnakes might be hiding in the muck. We ride our bikes along the trails in Limekiln Canyon, and know we might spot a deer -- or a mountain lion. We brake for possums, raccoons and coyotes; and keep our trash cans covered and our cats inside.
