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If you were forced to leave behind all of your valuables, unsure if they would still be there when you returned, how would you react? Two years ago, I was finally able to answer this burning question. I had just moved from my house in Santa Clarita to a larger house that was also in Santa Clarita. I was teaming with excitement since it was almost double the size of my old house and in a nicer neighborhood. I could finally show off my status as a one-percenter to my friends. One of my favorite features of the new house was the mountains directly behind it. It felt like I had an entire mountain range as my backyard. However, all of my excitement went away when a brush fire started fairly close to my new house. This event was one of the first times in which I felt truly fearful and finally realized that my possessions are not as important as I had once thought.
It was a bright and sunny day in the glorious Santa Clarita Valley, I had just moved into my fancy new house, and an esteemed gentleman from Direct TV had come over to set up our cable and Wi-Fi, everything was going perfectly. Later that day, I noticed a plume of smoke billowing out from behind the dry, chaparral-covered mountains around my house. I was so enthralled by the smoke that I didn’t realize my house might be in danger. A few hours later my curiosity turned to worry when I realized how quickly the fire was encroaching on my beautiful neighborhood. Thick, black clouds of smoke hovered over my house, dropping ash and debris from the fire. The smell of smoke was so strong that it would bring even the most avid a pack-a-dayer to a violent cough. The light from the sun had turned an eerie shade of red after passing through a filter of smoke and ash, before reaching the ground. Fire trucks were beginning to pull into my street in droves, and at one point there were about ten of them. The firefighters had assured us that our houses were going to be fine. By nightfall, the situation was looking up. Most of the fire trucks had left, and the smell of smoke wasn’t as strong as it had been earlier. No less than a minute after making these observations, my doorbell rang about 20 times, it was the police, and they were evacuating us. Luckily, we still owned our old house, so we were able to spend the night there. The next morning we drove back to the new house and sure enough, my new house survived, along with all of the other houses in the neighborhood.
Being evacuated from the fire was one of the first times that I felt true fear and true helplessness. I had to leave my house and all my belongings, with the exception of a few items, not knowing it was going to be there tomorrow. However, while I was evacuated, I realized that none of those mattered and that the safety of me and my family was most important. When we came home to find our neighborhood still standing, I had a newfound appreciation for the firefighters and their hard work. They did save my beautiful house after all.
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