I was in the middle of a $4,000 stamp order at the
Bolinas Post Office when Jean Burroughs of Inverness Park called to
alert me that there was a fire on Mount Vision. I rented the lower portion
of Jean and John Burroughs’ house. It was 1 p.m. Tuesday.
I had experienced a big fire before – the Wheeler
fire in Ojai, so I was well aware of the imminent threat to our neighborhood
on top of Drakes View Drive. Still, my boss was leaving the next day
for a two-week vacation, and I felt I should complete the stamp order.
Besides, there had been no order to evacuate, though
Jean and John were loading up the truck and asked what I wanted them
to grab.
I was a good employee, though I knew I was putting
aside my instinct to leave now, and I stayed at work till the
task was done. Thus my drive home at 4 p.m. was frantic, especially
when I first caught sight of the smoke on the ridge. I hit the bottom
of Drakes View Drive at 4:30 p.m. The fire trucks were making their
way up, and a deputy sheriff had just barricaded the road.
My neighbors gathered at the bottom of the hill. The
Burroughs came through in their truck with Taffy, their dog, but Fritz
the cat could not be found.
Helicopters were circling with their monstrous buckets
of water. Planes came to dump fire retardant. We were all in a daze.
Some of us went to the Café Reyes, but I couldn't
eat, and I couldn't look at the fire.
I went with the Burroughs to their dear friends, Martha
and Ralph Borge of Point Reyes Station, and took refuge with them for
Night 1. Didn't sleep much ... just couldn't quite grasp at any kind
of reality. Next morning is even more dazed and confused.
No one knows whose homes have survived or perished.
I find myself kind of wandering about aimlessly and realize I should
go to the Red Cross set up at the school. Care packages with toothbrush,
toothpaste etc., clothes, blankets, food, water, information, a gathering
place were all much appreciated.
My hopes were raised when a neighbor who had made
his way up to find his home survived reported to me he thought the
Burroughs house had also survived. Then my hopes were dashed when Christie
Edwards told me she and her husband had watched the Burroughs' house
go up in flames from their home in Marshall the night before. I learned
later it was actually Jessie Collin Young's studio that had survived.
Another neighbor, holding her young baby, begins wailing
when she learns her beloved dog companion has perished with her home.
I’m starting to get a grip on reality… No, reality is beginning
to wrap its grip around me.
My friends and neighbors, Nan Moon and Tish Van Camp,
who are also evacuees, bring me to Barry Smith's house for the night.
Barry embraces us with tenderness and humor, and allows me the space
to have a complete and total breakdown. I'll always remember Barry with
love and gratitude for the compassion he gave that night.
Next day, all I can think about is Fritz, the Burroughs’
cat, and Sazi, Nan’s cat, who were up there through the fire. It
becomes a daily quest for me, to find my little nephew kitties.
We are all going up now to dig in the ashes.
A very strange and noisy environment now with fire trucks,
insurance agents, work crews. You can see the true lay of the land.
The air is thick with smoke and ash.
It’s Day 3, and I'm walking down the main street
past Zuma. I realize I’m still wearing the same clothes I had on
the day of the fire. It’s really hot, and I need to figure out
what I’m doing. Connie Morse runs out of her store and exclaims,
"Oh my God, Kathy. You're house burned down, didn't it? Do you
need a place to live?"
I find myself muttering things like, "Oh, no.
I’m okay," and then realize I'm not. Connie
is offering me her mother-in-law, Barbara Morse’s family vacation
home in First Valley for as long as I need it for little or no money.
I learn how to say, "Yes, thank you very much." And move in.
After being told I’d have to be at work on Saturday,
I begin getting myself settled in and finding clothes and toiletries.
My best friend, Laurie Manarik in Illinois, has sent me a care package
of Zia facial products. I am grateful to have this luxury, which days
before had been an everyday part of my grooming routine.
So many people want to give me clothes and other things.
Ellen Serber is giving Nan and me free Yoga classes. I’m directed
to sources for money, such as The Independent Journal and Catholic
Charities, who help me.
Meanwhile, my search for Fritz and Sazi has been unsuccessful.
It’s Day 4, and up at 30 Buck Point, the Burroughs place, I learn
Fritz had been sighted by the insurance agent who had lunged to grab
him, fell in the soot, and scared Fritz away. I made my way through
work Saturday, then did my daily ritual of searching for Fritz and Sazi.
I lay in bed that night and remembered that Fritz’s
most active time of day was dawn, and that with all the commotion and
noise taking place in the day and his traumatized state, the best chance
of finding him would be at the crack of dawn.
It was still pitch dark when I hit the bottom of the hill
Sunday morning. The sheriff's deputy stationed there was not going to
allow me through, but when I told him my plan, he accompanied me up.
I walked down the driveway just as the light began to come through and
called to Fritz the way Jean always called him, "Fritzie, Fritzie,
Fritzie, Fritziie!"
"Meow, Meow, Meow, Meow, Meow." I turned, and
here he comes, racing down the curb of the driveway to jump into my
arms, purring, purring, purring. The deputy was astounded. "What
do I do now?" I asked him. "Take him home," he said.
Jean and John and their daughter Bonnie came over
right after church. The only thing we could find wrong with Fritz was
dehydration and singed whiskers. We could only guess how he survived
the inferno – probably in the redwood covered culvert on the road
where he and the neighbor cats used to play.
The Morses were so kind to let Fritz stay with me for
the next three months as John, Jean, and Taffy, the dog, were having
to move around a lot, and cats are not very good at that.
I’ll never forget when John Burroughs said to me,
"Kathy, it is really hard to find a rental!" I replied, "Oh,
yeah, I guess I might know something about that," as I hit him
on his arm.
I have to say, having Fritz to take care of took care
of me. I felt so alone and awkward. Nothing was familiar. Having to
drive past Drakes View Drive to go home to First Valley broke my heart
every day. Though I have always been a renter, I'd been able to live
the majority of 20+ years in Paradise Ranch Estates, on Jean and John’s
property, was very, very close to their family, and felt very much at
home there.
Tish and Nan and I were able to walk around the top of
the hill and visit each other. There
was always a feeling of being so protected and isolated
and in community.
It seemed that everyone else had a spouse to go through
this traumatic time with. I had Fritz, and after a year Jean did the
kindest thing, she officially gave Fritz to me the following Christmas.
I remember lying on my couch in my new flannel pajamas cuddling with
Fritz and feeling like I had just received the best Christmas present
of my life.
I lost everything in the fire: my lifetime’s work
of photography, my mother’s engagement ring, family photos and
mementos, my collections of jewelry, Native American art, rocks and
crystals, friends’ artwork, favorite old shirts and worn-in shoes.
We never found Sazi. What I remember though, is not the
pain and the devastation, but rather the love and embrace of my community
who took care of me and Fritz. It is why as a renter I struggle to remain
here. There is no place else I can think of to call home and family.
I love, cherish, and give thanks to this community and this place.