I live in southwest Washington state. Our weather is generally pretty mild all year around. Typically we’re not too hot in the summer nor too cold in the winter. A Goldilocks kinda place. But now the weather people were forecasting an “historic wind event”. High sustained winds coupled with even higher gusts were due to hit the area Monday afternoon and last through Tuesday. We get windstorms here, that’s not the historic part. What made this storm unusual was that it was arriving in late summer when the trees were still laden with leaves. The presence of leaves on the trees increased the wind resistance which in turn increased the chances of broken limbs and downed trees. It was also dry. So, so dry. And hot. The west coast was a tinder box just waiting for an excuse to ignite.

I’ve heard of reverse 911 calls and always wondered how they worked. I found out. My neighbor, Lynn, and I both still use land lines as cell reception up here can be spotty at best. We were chatting and solving all the world’s problems, when she interrupted me to ask if I knew what CRESA911 was. It was coming in on her call waiting. I didn’t know why 911, but CRESA stands for “Clark Regional Emergency Services Agency”, so I could guess. At that same moment I got a text from Cheryl, my neighbor to the south. “If you haven’t left yet, you better. It’s bad.” My intelligently articulate response was a simple “?”. I had no idea what was “bad”. The winds were strong, but that’s not a cause for evacuation. She responded. “There’s a fire. It’s close. We all have to leave. Now. We’re already gone – nearly to LaCenter.”

I called Lynn. She confirmed there was a fire about 1.5 miles away – it was upwind from us which meant it was headed our way. With sustained wind speed of 25 – 30 mph and gusts up to 60mph, it wouldn’t take long to reach us. We were being told to evacuate to the west. That was it. Go west. It was a little after 11:00 p.m. and very dark. I had already sold most of my ewes and lambs, but I still had a few animals on the farm. Five sheep, four ducks, two geese, a dog and me. There wasn’t time to call someone with a truck and trailer. What I didn’t know then and wouldn’t learn until days later is if you’re in imminent danger, if you’re at a level 3 “Get out NOW” situation, the sheriff or someone from the fire department will literally come to your door and tell you to get out. I didn’t know that. What I did know was I had gotten a warning about a fire that was very very close. How do I get all of us in a Dodge Caravan in the middle of the night and out?

You don’t. You take what you can, you say a prayer for what you can’t and you leave. That’s what I did. 

I remembered stories from farmers, who finding themselves in similar situations, opened gates, dropped fences and trusted the animals to follow their instincts to safety. William (my border collie) and I opened the gate from the night pen to the pasture and prayed the sheep would go where they needed to find safety. I opened the barn doors and William shooed the birds outside. He and I got into the van and headed out. I normally padlock my gate. Do I leave it unlocked in case the fire department needs access? The gates to the gated community across the road were blocked open. I took that as a sign, shut my gate but left it unlocked. We headed west.

We didn’t get far. Trees were down across the road. Well, hell. So much for going west. Most country roads are spaced at one mile increments, so going around the tree wasn’t as easy as turning down the next block. We turned around and headed the only way we could – toward the fire. I jigged and I jogged trying to get to the highway. It wasn’t a matter of taking “back roads” – that’s all there are up here. I finally found myself on the road leading past the fires. There were two. One was 1.5 miles away, the other 1 mile away. Cheryl sent another message; she had managed to reach someone at CRESA who told her “The county is on fire. We think we have the resources to handle all the fires, but don’t go home.” While not exactly comforting, it was better than I was expecting.

Emergency vehicles were everywhere. The sky was red, not from the fire but from the lights. Firemen with chain saws were helping to clear the roadway as well as cut brush away from houses nearest the fire. By some miracle, the power was still on. Power meant wells could pump water which meant people could wet down their yards and their houses. It was well ordered, calm chaos. It was people helping people save homes.

I remembered my neighbors with the horse farm. Their house was dark, I called. No answer. I headed to their house, pulled in the driveway and was heading to their door when Cheryl called to let me know the county had given the all clear. I backed out of their driveway and headed home. William put the birds back in the barn. The sheep had themselves in the barn and out of the wind—peacefully unaware and happily chewing their cuds.

It was 3:30 before William and I headed to bed. It was one of the worst and best nights of my life. I said a prayer of thanks—grateful for the experience and even more grateful I had a home to go to. It gave me a very small peek into what so many people in northwest Oregon were about to go through. For so many, though, it wouldn’t be a happy ending.

Author’s note: I’ve been asked how I could choose who to take and who to leave. I believe in that situation, no matter what I did, I was making a choice. Yes, the lives of the sheep and ducks lives are my responsibility. So is William’s. I thought hard—I could definitely save him and I might be able to save the others. There wasn’t a scenario where I knew with certainty I could save them all. If I guessed wrong, if I tried to save everyone and he died, then I would have —in my opinion— been choosing them over him. I chose to choose him over them.