The Angora Fire

Sunday, June 24, 2007. I wake up, open my blinds, prepare myself for another boring Sunday. I glance out my window and admire the trees outside, the flowers beginning to bloom, for some reason the scene in front of me was so much more compelling today than it has ever been. This was the house I grew up in, and loved. A small, one story, blue house with grey trim. Right in the middle of the prettiest neighborhood in Tahoe, North Upper Truckee.

I walk down the hallway, and glance around at the numerous pictures on the wall: me dancing as a child, my brother Joey in his football jersey, my Mom and Dad's wedding, family photos. Not realizing a significance. I hear a voice from the kitchen: "Chelsea honey, breakfast is ready", it's my Mom carrying a plate full of homemade waffles and scrambled eggs, my favorite. During breakfast we discuss a family day at our favorite beach, minutes later, plans are set.

We arrive at Round Hill Pines beach at noon, park the car and head towards the beach. It's not the warmest day, the sky is cloudy, unwelcoming almost, but I make the best of it. Nothing could prevent me from having a relaxing day, or so I thought. Hours pass with no significance, the clock hits three o'clock, something is not right. I glance over at my father, he too had a bad feeling. We look up into the sky, not much has changed about the gloom overcast, in fact the sun is a brighter orange than I remembered hours before. And that wasn't all that was off about the atmosphere; the air, it was hazy, thick. Then at nearly the same instant, my Father and I got up and started packing up our things, we needed to get home, immediately.

I've never made it across town so fast in the 15 years I'd lived in Lake Tahoe. Radios announcing a fire in North Upper Truckee are on every news station, firetrucks are running up and down the boulevard, people are on their cell phones in every car we pass, babies crying in every backseat. Running a red light suddenly didn't matter, and the cops on every corner obviously agreed. Since I was the smallest baby, fire had always been my biggest fear, and I was desperately wishing that I could wake up from this nightmare. I squeezed the door handle, sweat drops slowly slid down my devastated face. Nothing I could do would allow me to wake up, because this wasn't a dream, this was real.

We pulled into our driveway and almost simultaneously ran inside our house and began frantically gathering the few belongings we could. Flames were up to our fence, and approaching quickly. Once again I stopped and glanced at the pictures on the wall, mesmerized almost. Taking mental notes of each and everything I could take in, I was tempted to just stay inside the room, and never leave. Recollecting myself I remembered my goal of retrieving my baby blanket from my bedroom. Feeling stupid for taking such a long detour, I hurried to the end of the hallway. Inside my room I couldn't help myself, I soon found myself crying, and in an instant a wave of fear came over me, and it was like something was preventing me from moving, making every breath difficult. I grabbed my most cherished childhood memory and shut my door behind me.

The memory of that day plays over and over in my head nearly everyday. Sure, it was nearly three years ago and my family and I are now living in a beautiful new home in the same location. In many ways things couldn't be better. However, there's a certain part of me that will never let the memory of that day fade from my mind. From time to time I will find myself dreaming of days in that house, and playing out events that never got a chance to happen behind those doors. I wonder at times what possessions I should have saved, pictures I should have recovered. Things as simple as barbie dolls, and Christmas ornaments can get me worked up from day to day. But, if there's one thing that the Angora Fire taught me, it is that "things" can never last a lifetime. A simple piece of property should not hold much significance in your life. The memories that you carry along with them, the events you encountered while in their presence, this is what the real sentimental value comes from. I could spend a lifetime wishing that I could have my house back, but that will never bring it back to me. And I could pray everyday for beautiful neighborhood to reappear unharmed, but in the end I should save the gesture for something more appropriate.

I can honestly say that losing my house to a Forrest fire changed my life in more ways than a new living arrangement. If I could go back, I wouldn't change a thing. The Angora Fire made me who I am today, and taught me more life lessons than I could have ever learned in a classroom. I am stronger now, and I have learned what it is like to lose something you love. I cherish each and every moment I am given, because in reality nothing is guaranteed to last a lifetime. And you can never be sure when the chapter of your life has met the end of it's road. I live my life to it's absolute fullest and I am ready for anything that could ever come my way.