A Close Escape

I stood next to the remains of the Gold Creek Fruit Stand when a red SUV skidded to a stop. A woman jumped out, hands to her head in shock. “This was a valley icon,” she gasped. She jumped back in her vehicle and sped off before I could ask her name. Within a week, a firestorm would rip through nearly 400 square miles of our lives. How many other icons would be gone by the end of the week?

On Thursday, July 17th, I was supposed to catch the early train to Seattle and rendezvous with some long lost friends at a Tori Amos concert. But as the fire came over the ridge and finger-sized bits of burning ash started to fall from the sky, I ditched my plans and grabbed the water hoses. All day long, Tori’s cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “I’m on Fire” rolled through my head.

Earlier that morning I had asked the firefighters at the end of the road, “Do I need to leave?” I was told no, South Fork Gold Creek was fine. I called the Ranger Station, they said DNR was in charge of the fire. I called DNR. The woman told me Gold Creek was not on fire and when I responded that indeed it was, she told me to call 911, despite the fact that Gold Creek had been on fire for four days and had fire crews already there. I called the local police station instead and was told that an officer would be around to notify residents if there was any escalation. Still feeling nervous and frustrated at the lack of communication between agencies, I posted my cell phone number in large letters on the door of my garage before walking the property.

My neighbor relayed some information she had learned that morning. If the fire jumped the line on that plateau across the road, they would cut the power. I decided that would be my signal to leave.

After a morning of soaking down dry areas and dispersing slash piles, I felt sick from the heat and smoke. The power was still on. I was still safe, I thought. I double checked my “Run Away” bag and ensured that the truck was packed, and then sat down on the couch to rest…and promptly fell asleep.

I first saw the Gold Creek Fruit Stand on our virgin voyage into the Methow Valley years ago. The lights were always on and people said sometimes music was playing, but the fruit stand had been closed for years. A ghost fruit stand. A Methow Valley icon.

The sound of a train woke me up. The trees were thrashing wildly; sunlight had turned a terrifying shade of orange, the sky no longer existed. It was replaced with a tornado made of fire. The power was still on, not even that was a dependable means of knowing when to leave, because now was looking like a good time to run. The phone beeped. A text message from my neighbor, Lindsey Ashford. “You Out” was all it said. Their vehicles sped past my house and within seconds the dogs and I were right behind them.

A carved Sasquatch stands guard on the South Fork of Gold Creek. One eye is missing, giving him the flirtatious look of a wink. He is there every evening to welcome us home. He has made the cover of my holiday cards, party invitations, and at one point was my Uncle Dave’s facebook profile photo.  

I hoped the Sasquatch would still be there. The fire had jumped Gold Creek Road, I was unsure if the passage was safe. The firecrew that had been at the bridge earlier was no where in sight. Flipping a u-turn, I went back on South Fork Gold Creek, the Sasquatch giving me a wink goodbye. Coming out by way of McFarland Creek, I quickly drove back up highway 153 and watched the firestorm engulf Vinegar Ridge behind my home. I stood next to my truck and sobbed helplessly, certain there would be no home to return to. Certain the Sasquatch was gone.  

Forty eight hours later, we returned. The Sasquatch welcomed us home. We still had a house. Three hundred homes gone, hundreds of families displaced. We were unreasonably, irrationally lucky.

Days later my phone beeped a text message. An emergency weather alert for a flash flood. I laughed hysterically. Bring on the floodwaters and put out these raging fires. I would have preferred a reverse 911 for firestorms.