I am sitting in my mom’s office, which used to be my
bedroom. Last night it was my bedroom once again, and today it is my
office. My housemates and I, along with 35,000 others in Santa Barbara, have been evacuated. The
Jesusita Fire has now burned 3,500 acres. The officials say it has been
10% contained, but to us that seems an arbitrary number. Ninety percent
of a fire can still displace thousands of people.
Evacuation, for me, was quite a simple affair. I was
out of the house, helping serve dessert to students an end-of-the-year function at Westmont, my alma mater. In November, the Tea Fire
ravaged Westmont’s campus leaving five
buildings burned. While I was on campus, I took a picture of the Jesusita
Fire with the Tea Fire-scorched trees in the foreground.
By the way, did you know there are some people who are citizens of heaven? Though they might be evacuated from home
after home after home, they are always home.
They were never at home in the first place.
I was planning on visiting my parents only a few miles
south afterwards, and when I got there, my housemate called to tell me our
apartment had been evacuated. There was no way of getting home to grab
any of my things Fortunately, I had already packed almost everything I
wanted into my car: my laptop, a few days’ worth of clothes, and a bunch of
books. The one thing I didn’t get–the thing I will truly miss if my
apartment burns–was my beautiful Tacoma
guitar. In Carpinteria, I stepped out of my car to see the sunset obscured by the
Jesusita Fire’s plume of smoke, below.
opening for business. It was closed, evacuated as well. Then, at around
9, a good friend from Westmont called in
tears.
“We’re getting evacuated,” she said.
“They’re giving us until noon to get out.” Westmont
was, for the second time this year, being threatened with fire.
“Have you gotten a hold of your parents?” I
asked. Tomorrow, she is scheduled to graduate. Her parents are in
town from Washington
to celebrate with her. We dare not think about what will happen if the
fire cancels those plans. Fortunately, the ceremony is being held on
another side of town.
“No, I haven’t been able to get a hold of them.”
“Shoot…”I said. I thought; I calculated.
“Do you need someone to help you pack your things?”
“Well, yeah, but you don’t have to,” she said,
still crying.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I borrowed my mom’s car, a Toyota Highlander, which is a
little better for packing boxes than my two-door Honda Civic, and drove toward Westmont. My heart was beating as I drove toward
the shadow of that eerie plume of smoke which hung in the air and blocked out
the light of the sun.
When I got to Montecito, the roads were barricaded by
police. I drove up and down the hills of the small, wealthy town, looking
for a road that had been missed by the police. I didn’t find any. The
four entrances I knew were blocked.
In defeat, I called my friend.
“I can’t get up,” I said.
“The roads are barricaded.”
“Oh, they just started letting people through if they’re
picking up Westmont students,” she said.
“Awesome! Alright, I’ll
be right there.”
When I got to Westmont, it
was a madhouse. Parents were parked
everywhere, blocking the roads. Students
were going back and forth from the residence halls to their cars in the parking
lots. The campus shuttle was evacuating
students who didn’t have cars.
I helped my friend pack and then helped three other
friends. By 11:50, when we left, almost
everyone was fully out of their rooms with all their belongings.
And so now here I sit, at home–well, my parent’s home–at what was my home for 21 years. My cousin is here too. He was evacuated from his home, went
to a friend’s–which ended up being evacuated a few hours later–and then went to
another friend’s–which was also evacuated.
He was evacuated three times. Now he is sitting in the living room
watching the news.
I am at home.
Did you know there are some who are citizens of heaven? Though they might be evacuated from home
after home after home, they are always home.
They were never at home in the first place.
I would like to live like this. Today I am getting a small chance.
