Flies. Everything feels weird, off. The sky is so red. A dark, dusky, organish red. Scary red, not beautiful peaceful sunset red. And the flies… the flies are so… sticky. They. just. won’t. move. Trudy swats at them. She waves her hands them. Nothing. She has to literally brush them off like specs of dirt.

The weather forecasters are warning of an “historic wind event.” Historic because it’s September and this area doesn’t usually get wind storms in September. Historic because the trees are full of leaves, leaves that create the resistance needed for the wind to grab them and break them and drag them down. Historic because it’s so so dry and hot. Historic because this is the Pacific Northwest and this doesn’t happen here.

September 7. The storm hit last night as predicted. There are several downed limbs. The green house blew over and tomato plants are ruined. What do you do with tomatoes harvested too soon? You make salsa. Facebook is chatty with salsa recipes and green house jokes. Dog training and practice continues as normal. A smoke plume, looking deceptively white and fluffy, rises innocently far in the distance. The wind is still gusting. The fire is a distant worry.

September 8. A text comes in asking if they need to evacuate. Do they? The news outlets are alive with fire updates, but it’s hard to find information about specific areas. The fire seems to be a long way away. Is it? Texts begin flying back and forth. There are internet searches trying to find a map. The map. The map showing where the fire is. Oh, wait. It’s plural now. Where the fires are. Once found, the maps are reviewed and studied. There is one fire a few miles south and 0% contained. The wind continues to blow, hard. Double V farm is under a Level 3 (“Get out now”) evacuation order.

Okay, that’s good to know. Now, what? Thirteen dogs—including three livestock guardian dogs (LGD) —over 100 sheep, 16 goats, 9 ducks and assorted farm equipment would not be a quick, easy evacuation. There is no easy answer. Leaving is a must. A quick call to her parents 50 miles north brought the expected “Of course you can come here. Of course you can bring all the dogs.”

The dogs all fit in the van—it is cramped and tight and stressful—but they fit. But what about the rest of the animals? Every option is investigated and debated. One of the hard things about a fire is time. Hurricanes and wind storms give some warning and they come with a time table. Tornados, earthquakes and fires aren’t that helpful. In that moment there is no way to tell if they have an hour, a day or mere minutes. Do you stay and risk everyone or do you leave and risk some? There is no easy, no right answer.

Three hours later with all the dogs loaded, Trudy drives out, heading for her parent’s home. Dave stays to complete some last minute preparations with a promise to follow soon.

The electric cross fence needs to come down. If you can’t get the animals out, the next best thing is to move them into the largest area possible and let their instincts guide them to safety. Fire is a strange thing. It might burn one area and leave an adjacent area untouched. Taking down the fence will allow the livestock the freedom to follow their instincts. They now have access to the full 60 acres. For their safety, the sheep and llamas usually housed in paddocks on the neighboring farm are added to the mix on the Double V.

Dave sits parked in the driveway, unable to bring himself to leave. Talking on the phone with a friend, he debates his options. Maybe the fire won’t make it this far. Maybe the firefighters will get it under control. Maybe the winds will shift. What else can be done to protect the animals, the house, the buildings and the equipment from the fire and looters? The ash starts falling. More debate. More ash. Larger pieces of ash. More debate. The ash fall increases and there isn’t anything left to debate. There aren’t any more options, it is time to leave.

49 miles southwest of Molalla, Vicki Avery reads a facebook post describing the situation at the Double V and shows it to Mike, her husband. Lifelong sheep and cattle ranchers, Vicki can’t imagine being in a situation where they would be forced to leave their animals behind. She dials Trudy’s number. How many animals need to be moved? Vicki and Mike move livestock on a regular basis—Mike’s truck and trailer can easily accommodate at least 60 sheep, more if they’re small. It is too late in the day to start, but they would head up in the morning. When she was later asked why they drove into the fire, putting themselves and their equipment at risk, Vicki’s answer was simple. “Never occurred to us we wouldn’t help.” This. This is the best of who we are.

September 9. There are now several fires burning south of Molalla, OR. All of them 0% contained. Urged on by the incessant wind, they continue to grow and march north. Believing the roads were closed and the only thing left to do was the waiting and praying, Dave leaves on a business trip to the Midwest. Trudy is glued to the TV. Fires have erupted all across NW Oregon and SW Washington. The newscaster warns of the danger if the fires merge. Based on news reports, rumors and eye witness accounts from friends, it appears the highway to the farm is still open. It might still be possible to make it to the farm. Still time to get the rest of the animals out. Trudy heads out to meet Mike and Vicki.

The smoke is so thick, visibility is almost zero. Driving is beyond difficult. Roads are closed—some because of damage, some because the area is on fire.

The trip north is equally difficult for Vicki and Mike. Roads are closed and road blocks are in place. Mike drives as Vicki studies navigation apps on her phone. Time they don’t have is slipping away as they jig and jog to find a way to the Double V.

Trudy’s phone blows up as offers of help flood in. As anyone who has handled livestock knows, sometimes many hands make light work but just as often many hands make more work. More importantly, without really knowing what she is driving into, Trudy doesn’t want more people putting themselves at risk. The offers are kindly, but firmly, turned down.

She pulls into the farm yard. The fluffy white smoke and blue sky are gone, replaced with a dark, dusky, organeish red. Scary red, not beautiful peaceful sunset red. Everything feels weird, off. It is so quiet. How can chaos be silent? The flies… the flies are everywhere and they are so… so sticky. They. just. won’t. move. Trudy swats at them. She waves her hands at them. Nothing. She has to literally brush them off like specs of dirt. Together she and her 8 year-old Australian Shepherd, Jill, begin searching for the livestock.

Together in the ranger (a four wheeled farm vehicle), Trudy and Jill cruise the pastures looking for the sheep and goats. Sixty acres is a big area. Still, you wouldn’t think 100 large animals can be so hard to find. 100 herd animals, animals that will want to stay together. But hard to find they are. Trudy and Jill drive through the pines on the east side of the farm and through the oaks on the south side. Between the poor visibility and the gentle rolling of the pasture, every inch has to be searched. It is a relief not to find burned carcasses, but frustrating to find nothing. It is slow going. Not only does every inch of the pasture need to be searched, but the ash is still falling and it’s getting in Trudy’s eyes. They water as they try to wash out the gritty, painful ash. Trudy puts on sunglasses, hoping they will protect her from the ash. They do, but the dark lenses block what light makes it through the smoke. Trudy can barely see well enough to drive. She drives a little and stops to wipe her eyes. Drives a little and stops again. The conditions make it difficult to search quickly and yet the conditions make it essential to search quickly. There. Over there. Maybe. Is it? Yes! Finally in the furthest corner of the farm she finds the flock.

Slowly, patiently, determinedly, Trudy and Jill push the animals back to the front of the farm. Back to the only way out. Even with the help of a person on a ranger, 100 animals is a lot of animals for one little dog to move. But all heart and courage, Jill does it. The smoke is thick and oppressive. Northwest Oregon now has the worse air quality in the world due to the smoke. People are told to stay indoors and avoid breathing the poor quality air. Exercising outdoors is definitely out of the question. People can wear masks and while they exist for dogs, they’re rare and hard to find. Jill keeps working.

When a ewe or goat makes a break for it, Jill is quick to cover and she tucks it back into the flock. They have to keep moving, moving toward the front and the way out. Trudy does her best to limit Jill’s activity. Little do they realize this will be the easy part. It is slow going, but together they keep the livestock heading in the right direction. A text comes in—the truck and trailer are here.

Her eyes hurt from the ash and the smoke. The wind just won’t stop. It is so hard to breathe. They head toward the house and evacuation.

Still in the pasture, but close to the trailer, Jill keeps the flock contained while Trudy, Vicki and Mike strategize on how best to load the livestock. When Vicki and Mike look at the Double V flock, they estimate the flock size to be more than their trailer can hold. They say nothing . They are a little less confident about their ability to get all the animals in one load, but just as determined. Loading in the middle of a pasture isn’t always an easy task. The air is so bad, they can’t afford to have anyone exerting more than necessary. They make a plan. They configure the trailer, equipped with a loading ramp and pens, to minimize everyone’s movement. Wanting to use Jill as little as possible, Trudy and Mike will work the pen. Together they will move the flock to the ramp and send the sheep up ramp and into the trailer. Vicki is at the top of the ramp, opening and closing the trailer door. Easy peasy.

They set up the pens and get the ramp in place. Trudy and Jill get the animals into the pen. First step, done. So far so good. Now comes the tricky part. Sheep and goats are prey animals—anything new or unusual can mean death, so they are naturally wary and suspicious. Sheep at the Double V aren’t tame, but they are accustomed to the people and dogs that live there. They’re used to being penned and moved through chutes. None of that is very alarming. But add in poor visibility, the smell of fire, strong unrelenting winds, an anxious shepherd and two strangers and everything becomes very alarming. The sheep are skittish, flighty and uncooperative. An amorous and opportunistic ram further complicates the situation. The sheep balk. They won’t walk up the strange ramp. Moving them up the ramp from the ground isn’t working. Getting them into the trailer is going to be tough. It is going to have to be a hands-on thing. A one sheep at a time thing. One uncooperative, frightened sheep at a time.

Their eyes hurt from the ash and the smoke. The wind just won’t quit. It is so hard to breathe.

A small pickup pulls into the yard and two young men get out. “Need any help?” they ask. They aren’t livestock people—they are just two people who want to help. Two people willing to put themselves at risk to help strangers. Two more people who represent the best of who we can be.

“Have you ever been around livestock?” Mike asks. “Nope. But we can help. Just tell us what to do.” Their lack of experience makes them more obstacle and less help in the pen. Mike asks them to stand on the outside of the pen, explaining that simply standing there will keep the sheep out of that corner thus making it easier for those working in the pen. He’s not lying and their presence helps push the sheep toward the ramp.

Trudy and Mike adjust their plan not to use Jill. She covers, keeping the pressure on and moving the sheep toward the ramp. Mike and Trudy catch each sheep, pulling and pushing it to the ramp. At the ramp, Trudy takes over and half carries and half drags each ewe up the ramp and into the trailer. Lean and fit and tough, Trudy barely outweighs the sheep. Wanting to return to the flock still on the ground, the sheep try to come back down. Now at the same time as Trudy pushes a sheep up the ramp, Vicki fights to keep the sheep in the trailer from coming back down. It is exhausting.

Their eyes hurt from the ash and the smoke. The wind. Please God, just let the wind stop. It is so hard to breathe.

The sky is red from the fire and the smoke hangs in the air. Ash keeps falling. It is so hot and so dry. Their eyes burn and they can barely see. It is hard to breathe. The flies. Those damn flies land and stick and it is aggravating. Loading the trailer is slow work at a time when they can’t afford to work slow. They are no longer sure how close the fires are or even where they are. Is it still more than one fire? Have the fires merged? How much time do they have? They all think it, but no one says it. Scared but determined they keep at it.

A double decker trailer is loaded by sections. When one section fills up, Vicki closes the gate to that section and Trudy begins filling the next. It soon becomes clear that not all of the animals are going to fit in the trailer. The additional animals from the neighbor have put them over capacity. It is time to stop and reassess—not a good time to take a much needed break. Based on the amount of space let in the trailer, the number of animals left to load and the need to make loading as fast and easy as possible they decide the rams, goats and maybe a few sheep will need to wait until the next trip. Leaving any animal behind is hard. Trudy, Vicki and Mike keep at it. The top deck is full and closed off. They move the ramp. The sheep are less suspicious and more willing to step onto the lower deck and the loading begins to go faster. When the last section is full and the gate shut, there are four rams, six ewes and sixteen goats left in the pen. There are 106 sheep in the trailer.

The ducks. They haven’t even started to catch the ducks. When you don’t know where the fire is and you don’t know which roads are open and which ones are closed, running straight into the fire is a very real possibility. Time is critical. Ducks aren’t necessarily hard to catch. Finding them, catching them and putting them in carriers when it’s hard to breathe and hard to see, is hard. Birds, any kind of bird, are very sensitive to air quality. Chasing them when the air is this bad, even in an attempt to save them, might be what kills them. They, too, will need to wait until the next trip.

Mike and Vicki generously offer to take the animals in the trailer to their farm and care for them there until the Double V is safe. They leave and head south, their trailer loaded to capacity with sheep. They’re unnerved as firetruck after firetruck screams past, heading north toward fires. There clearly isn’t enough time to unload and come back for the rest of the animals today. Working in the current conditions is hard enough in the daylight. Trying to finish in the dark would be exceedingly dangerous and likely impossible.

Praying for the best and fearing the worse, Trudy stays just long enough to open the pen to release the remaining animals back into the pasture. She puts out hay and lots of water for the animals left behind. Then, exhausted, she heads south to help unload and settle her animals at their temporary home.

Hours later she is finally, finally back to her own temporary home. After walking and caring for the 12 dogs waiting for her there she can finally care for herself. After a much needed shower and dinner Trudy sits down to check the phone that had pinged all day while they worked. It had chirped and rang and buzzed while she was on the road. The driving had been far too treacherous to risk taking her eyes off the road or her hands off the wheel. Calls and texts went unanswered. She is beyond tired but she needs to return messages and reassure friends and family. Yes, they are safe. Yes, they have gotten most of the animals out. Yes, the house is still standing, or it was when she left. No, they don’t need anything. No, there isn’t anything you can do to help. Thank you for calling. On and on it goes. As she answers one, another two come in. It’s overwhelming and exhausting.

She can reassure others, but there is nothing she can do to take the knot out of her own stomach. When she and Dave bought the Double V it was a rundown Christmas tree farm. There had been turkeys living in the basement of the house. They had cleaned, repaired, painted and fenced. Slowly, painstakingly they had created the farm, kennel and home they had always dreamed of. Sitting in her parent’s living room, she watches the news reports on the TV. Newscasters talk of the fires that keep marching toward her home. They warn the four separate fires are expected to merge into one. When, if, that happens, the fire will be unstoppable. She learns the firefighters are being pulled off the fire. She wonders if there will be anything left of their home. It is agony. She is emotionally and physically exhausted.

Every night she talks with Dave. She tells him what they’ve gotten done and shares her fears. He listens and gently reminds her that this is why they have insurance. Whatever happens, it’s going to be okay. They’ll get through this. Really. Together they’ll get through it. He hangs up and tries to remind himself.

September 10. The next day dawns with a bit more promise and a little less wind. The fires are still burning but they’ve slowed down. Trudy checks with friends, listens to new reports and decides to head down for the rest of the animals. Is the trailer Dave built her for Christmas big enough to hold the remaining animals? Maybe. Is the van powerful enough to pull a fully loaded, packed trailer? Probably. Trudy’s phone rings. “Hey. My name’s Molly. Brett and I are friends of Vicki and Mike. They said you’ve still got animals at your farm. We live pretty close to your place. Want some help gettin’ them out?” Fueled with a combination of optimism and desperation, Trudy once again heads south.

On her way back to the Double V with Jill, Trudy formulates a plan on how best to get in and out quickly and efficiently. As impossible as it seems, visibility and air quality are worse. She tries not to notice the businesses and homes burned to the ground, nothing left but the memories. Once someone’s future, they are now just remnants of someone’s dream. She fights with her imagination, refusing to believe her home might be in the same condition. Traffic was heavy on the freeway as people fight to both get out and get in. The highways though, the highways are eerily void of traffic. Roads are closed. Detours are up. It’s hard to know which route to take. It’s nearly impossible to know what’s still open, what’s closed and what’s on fire. She keeps pushing on. Praying she gets there in time. Praying she can get there safely. Praying she can get back out.

The texts start coming in, this time from Molly. They reached the Double V, loaded the sheep and goats and are heading out. They warn the conditions are bad—smoke is even thicker and visibility is worse than yesterday. They advise Trudy not to come. What about the llamas and ducks? Someone with a truck and trailer had stopped while Molly and Brad were loading the sheep and offered to take the other animals. Not sure who they were, but the animals are all out.

Trudy wants to check on the farm. Wants, needs, to see for herself that the animals are all out. Wants to see the little yellow house still standing. But today there is a new threat. Looters and the locals working to stop them. The fire has brought out the best in some and the worse in others.

Looters. They’re attracted to chaos like moths to a flame. Molalla is a rural area. An area filled with small farms and ranches. Newscasters have been reporting on the challenges facing local law enforcement. It has been four months since the death of George Floyd. Riots and protests are still a nightly occurrence in nearby Portland. Between the unrest, the pandemic and the fires, law enforcement agencies are stretched past thin. Patrolling for looters is on the list, but not at the top. So the locals have stepped up and are taking on the responsibility. Unofficial neighborhood watch groups, many armed, are patrolling the area. People wanting to help are driving from farm to farm, checking to see if all the animals are out. Looters are also driving from farm to farm, checking to see if the people are out. They are looking and hoping for any opportunity. So many strangers with unknown intentions make the area feel even more unsafe. With the animals out, Trudy feels it’s best to head back to her parent’s home.

Dave steals glances at his phone at every opportunity. People around him try to keep his mind off what’s happening at home. People at home, unable to reach Trudy send him messages asking for updates on the farm. He doesn’t have any updates. He doesn’t have any answers. Ignorance isn’t bliss, its torture.

Trudy finally reaches Dave. She tells him what they’ve gotten done and shares her fears. He listens and reminds her they’re safe. The animals are safe. The rest is just stuff. Stuff can be replaced; this is why they have insurance. Whatever happens, it’s going to be okay. They’ll get through this. Really. Together they’ll get through it. He hangs up and tries to convince himself.

People continue reaching out to Trudy and Dave. Everyone feels so helpless. Everyone wants to somehow make things a little easier. A little better. They’re desperate to do something—anything—to help. It’s overwhelming and exhausting and reassuring. A friend offers to help look online for the missing Double V animals.

Facebook is like any tool. Helpful if used properly, dangerous if its not. The fires were an opportunity to show the best of Facebook. Groups were created. Some serving as virtual distribution hubs for supplies. Someone has hay. Someone else has straw.

“I have a barn with open stalls. You can bring your goats here.”
“I don’t have horses anymore and my pasture is empty. You can come here.”
“Yes, I have an empty chicken coop. Come on over. Here is my address.”
“The fairgrounds are open, you can take animals there. They even offer camping so you can stay there too.”
“You can camp at the event center.”
“My dog panicked and ran off. Has anyone seen her?”
Updates on evacuations are posted. More offers to help. “I have a truck and trailer. Who needs help?”

Someone posts telling of some llamas and ducks that were picked up just south of Molalla. How can there be more than one such group? A private message is sent. Yes, they have the llamas. No, they don’t have the ducks. They don’t know anything about caring for ducks so they handed them off to someone else. A lady in Portland has them. Portland. Arrangements are made to pick them up the following day.

Another message to Trudy. This one is from Maddy, a neighbor offering to help fireproof the Double V. It is, of course, impossible to truly fireproof property. But things can be done to make it safer and harder to burn. This is an offer Trudy gladly accepts.

September 11. Again Trudy heads south, this time without Jill. Again, roads are blocked and detours are up. People are warned not to come into the area. Trudy has to take backroads to get to the backroads. Houses and farms are deserted. Police came through the day before, going door to door telling people to leave. They can’t force a home owner out, they can only warn of the danger. If the fire makes this far, which is still likely, fire crews need to know if the residents have evacuated or not. So driveways are marked with an ‘X’ or ‘O’ accordingly. The warning is good for both fire fighters and looters.

People, acting suspicious, are driving around slowing down by each farm. Slowing down too much. Signs warning “You loot, we shoot” are posted in yards and on barns. It feels post-apocalyptic. Mad Max must be just around the corner.

On her way down, Trudy passes an old man sitting on his porch. He sits there alone, cradling his shotgun. He sits there surrounded by smoke and ash. Alone. She looks at him and wonders about him. Wonders why he’s alone. Why he’s still there. She wonders about his story. She keeps going, heading down to her own farm. Continuing on with her own story.

Oregon has never experienced an event of this magnitude. There are more than six separate fires. All in populated areas. All still burning. Firefighters from all over the United States are either on the fire lines or headed there. And yet, there simply are not enough hands, not enough resources, to get the fires under control. The local feed store becomes a command center as the locals prepare to join the fight to stop the fires. The owners never leaving the store. This fire crew is comprised of local farmers and ranchers and business people. People forced by circumstances to defend their homes and their neighbor’s homes. Volunteers at the feed store work to organize equipment and food and other volunteers. They track and monitor the fires. They are vigilantes hunting a deadly enemy.

Work begins at the Double V. Fire needs fuel. Anything that can feed the fire is cut back or watered down. Landscape, recently planted, is cut back from the house. The farm truck is moved to an area of the pasture that has been heavily grazed. Paul, Maddy’s husband, works on starting reluctant tractors. They hose down the buildings and the yard and the porch. Trudy cuts back branches and limbs up trees. Maddy mows the lawn. There is dead grass in the yard fence. It’s a direct link from the ditch along the fence to too near the house. Trudy takes it down. The work is exhausting.

Their eyes hurt from the ash and the smoke. The wind, slightly less powerful than yesterday, continues to blow. It is so hard to breathe. They keep at it.

Trudy goes inside, grabs important papers, special photos and Dave’s gun. She takes pictures of everything in the house, praying she’ll never need to show them to anyone. Outside, any trailer or piece of equipment that can be moved is moved to middle of the field near the truck. Gravel is put down around the tank of heating oil. Finally, finally everything that can be done has been done. Their face masks are nearly as black as the ash and soot blown in by the wind.  It’s time to go home.

Back at home, Trudy calls to check on her animals and walks the dogs. The ducks are at friend’s farm. Two are missing. Another trip to the farm is scheduled for tomorrow and she’ll look for them then.

September 12. Trudy and her father head south for another day of fire proofing. Buildings are hosed down again. More brush is cut. Trudy searches for the missing ducks. She is hopeful yet skeptical they survived the heat and smoke and predators. Doubtful she’ll find anything but feathers. Each of their hiding places is checked. Behind the big feeders? No. Under the shrub by the road? No. Wait. There. Tucked in behind the bales of hay. Two hens are hunkered down, no doubt wondering where everyone went. Trudy catches them up and heads out. Her steps a little lighter. Live ducks feel like a sign that maybe, just maybe it’s going to be okay. Now, please, please, let the wind stop.

September 13. Dave flies back home. He spends a little time with his family and then heads to the farm. He’ll stay there, protecting the farm from the looters and the flames until the evacuation orders are lifted. It’s still too dangerous to bring the animals back. The wind is still blowing. The fires are still close. The Beachie Creek and Riverside fires are less than a mile apart. If they merge, it’s over. It’s. All. Over. There won’t be time to load animals. There will barely be time for Dave to get out. Trudy and the dogs stay at her parent’s home until it’s safer.

September 14. Dave is still holding vigil at the farm. The wind is still blowing and the fires are still burning. Trudy is still waiting. Waiting for the air to clear and the fire to slow and smoke to dissipate. Waiting until it’s safe for all the animals to go back home.

September 18. Eleven days. Eleven days of worrying and waiting and praying. Eleven days later it’s finally time for sheep and ducks and dogs to come home. It takes time and coordination to arrange for all the animals to return to the farm. Sheep from here, goats from there, ducks from somewhere else. Trudy and the dogs from 50 miles north. Finally, everyone is back at the farm.

Now the repair work begins. Dave fixes the fences that were taken down and hooks them up. He moves the tractors and trucks back to their proper place. Trudy works to bring order to the chaos inside the barn. It’s in shambles…Tables are overturned. Gates are broken, latches and clips are missing. Feed troughs and buckets are gone. There’s no way to tell how or when or why it all happened. It could have been animals looking for a way to escape the smoke, more likely it was people trying to catch and evacuate the animals. The most important thing is there aren’t any bodies in the chaos.

Epilogue: For days after Dave and Trudy are back home, strange cars drive by the Double V. The drivers slow down and sometimes pull in down by the barns. Each time she sees them Trudy jumps on the Ranger and heads down the hill—fast. Once they see her coming, the cars pull out and are gone. Are they potential rescuers looking for animals in distress? Are they looters looking for an empty farm? No way to know. So each time she sees one, it’s a race to the barn. It’ll be weeks before the fear subsides and she can begin to relax.