A SENSE OF COMMUNITY

I look out of the window on my way to visiting my niece in Devon. The London skyline gradually gives way to tall ancient trees and green fields with cattle and sheep grazing peacefully. The pastoral landscape is gentle. I breathe in deeply even though I know the windows in the train are tightly shut. I want to ingest this cool green vista, get it deep into my lungs before I allow myself to revisit thoughts of red scorching flames, raging fire with black and grey smoke eating its way across the hills and mountains towards the Ojai Valley where my daughter and granddaughter have their home. I feel as though I have a cold, heavy stone sitting deep inside my diaphragm, stopping me from becoming paralysed with fear. I look at the screen on my phone, sitting, waiting on the table in front of me, and again I see photographs of red and orange flames devouring land. It is very frightening and my heart goes out to everyone affected by this uncontrollable fire that in two seconds can bring a home filled with memories, love, and everyday life down to ashes. A loss that must be so devastating, that only a reminder that the most important things in this world is that our loved ones are safe. “At least they’re safe,” I tell myself over and over like a mantra as I think of my daughter and granddaughter, hoping beyond hope that their home is still standing when they come back after the fires have subsided and the animals are safe. I think of them now, tucked up in a strange bed, staying with friends close to Carpentaria having been evacuated from their home as the fire raged closer towards them. Everyone was taking their horses, dogs, cats, chickens, rabbits and whatever possessions they could lay their hands on in the shortest time allotted to them, just in case. And how must that feel; just in case? I scroll down the posts on Instagram trying to glean more information. Someone has posted a reminder to keep pets safe indoors but to leave water outside for the scared and thirsty wild animals. A wave of sadness takes hold of me at the thought of the terrified animals running for their lives amidst the blazing forest. Another post praises the courageous firefighters, asking people to donate freshly baked cookies for them. Replies to the streams of photo’s tell members of the Ojai community to be safe, replies that tell the unfortunate people who have lost their homes that their hearts are with them, their love, their prayers. I have witnessed first hand over the years while visiting my family the sense of community that takes place in this spiritual oasis. It is a rare gem; a valley with mountains on the horizon, mountains that last time I was there, earlier this year, were covered in wild flowers, yellow and purple and fresh grass, a result of the rains earlier in the year. I look at my phone again, reading more of the replies and seeing more of the photographs. This is the positive side of social media; hundreds, thousands of voices that are there, reminding those who feel scared that they are not alone. My stomach tightens as I read the weather forecast for the following day, that the winds are expected to be even stronger, possibly 80mph. I know what that means; it will wipe out the whole valley. I, amongst others who had also read the news, pray for a miracle because that’s what it will take. And that’s what happened the following day – It was a miracle. The predicted 80mph winds did not materialize, winds that would have blown a wild and ferocious fire throughout the valley, leaving behind devastation, did not happen. There was no wind that day.