All of these wildfires burning in Canada and California are affecting the air quality where I'm working in Minnesota. When the wind is blowing from the north, the smoke from the Canadian fires are blowing into this area. You can't smell wood fire, but the haze is thick and air quality is considered dangerous for individuals at risk. Overall it isn't bothering me, but the sunsets stirred up some feelings I haven't felt in twenty years.
Back in the late 90s, Florida was on fire. I was newly on my own, having flown the nest with a great quickness and relief, happy to be out and free from parental rules and regulations even though the responsibilities were heavy. A friend of mine was also recently fledged himself and feeling the financial pinch worse than myself so he decided to sell his very rare bass guitar in the hopes of making ends meet and float his finances for a few more months. I graciously offered to drive him to Orlando where he could get the most money for his bass and even watched the news to be sure our driving route was open and safe. After finding out that we were clear to go, we headed out only to learn that his rare guitar was an equally rare knock off of such high quality, it almost slipped detection.
Heartbroken, we piled into my '65 VW Beetle and headed back to the beach. I'd tuned in to the local rock station as we were driving but instead of music, we were listening to live reporting of the suddenly rekindled fire activity and road closures. As if to rub salt in our already festering wounds, our route home was closed due to fire hazards. I pulled over into a parking lot and sat there in the blazing Florida sun trying to parse out an alternate route using my second hand, well-lined Rand McNally map. We listened closely to the radio announcements and added more marks to the map to show what roads were closed before finally beginning to plan our return trip. We opted to go through the town of Christmas and hopefully skirt the worst of the flames before the fires got close to the highway.
We were getting close to Christmas on Hwy 50 when the air went from hazy to something that was indescribable. It was so thick I could barely see through it and even though I had my headlights on for safety, the light just reflected back at me from the smoke. We'd rolled up my windows because we were coughing and choking on the air blowing in, but the roads were still open so I decided to push through. I drove white knuckled as we sweltered and choked in my car. I ended up taking my bandanna off my head and wrapped it around my face to try and cut the stink and make the air easier to breathe but it did little more than go soggy from my sweat and make me even more uncomfortable.
The haze thickened to the point that it was almost as dark as full night and then it suddenly took on a reddish tinge. At some point, the wind had switched and we were now driving through an area that was actively on fire. Fueled by teenage stupidity and quavering bravado I drove on past trees that were burning, just trying to push through as fast as my little Beetle would go. It was horrifying to see that living line of destruction hedging closer to the road as we hurtled past but I held it together and kept repeating that we'd be okay. Then the fire started to cross the road ahead of us; we could see chunks of burning debris blow over and across the road to settle on the other side of trees and ignite. We were all terrified at this point. I was crying, my friend was holding his head in his hands and apologizing over and over to me for getting me into this situation, and the other friend in the backseat, the rabid atheist, was chanting a Hail Mary over and over again.
Finally, a fire ranger sped past us on the opposite side of the road, lights flashing and siren blaring, but oddly muted by the smoke surrounding us. His tail lights winked out almost as soon as he passed but it gave me a slight burst of confidence that the way ahead must be clear. Soon there was an almost steady stream of fire fighters in varying types of vehicles headed in the direction we'd just come from. Some of them honked and waved encouragement to us while others just stared in slack-jawed amazement and I'm sure they made plenty of comments about idiot teenagers to lighten their mood before the battle began.
Ahead, I could just make out blue flashing lights through the hazy smoke and began to let off the throttle as we closed in on a police checkpoint. The road was barricaded to prevent anyone from driving through into the fire zone and we had to wait for the wide-eyed and VERY ANGRY local deputy to move one and allow us to pass through. We were then ordered to get OUT OF THAT GOD DAMNED CAR RIGHT NOW and obediently filed out, shaken but so relieved. We received an ass chewing to end all ass chewing from the officers and accepted it with heads hanging and tears streaming down all three of our faces. Once the officers were relieved of their anger fueled by fear we explained that we'd listened to the radio reports and had plotted our route to avoid the areas affected by the fires. The deputies did ease up on us after that because it was very obvious we were just a pack of very scared kids who had just gone through a terrifying experience and it turned out that we were very much not at fault because the route had been clear until the wind shifted unpredictably and rekindled a fire that had been considered under control.
I dropped my friends off and headed back to my apartment, a little studio above a garage in a suburban neighborhood. As I pulled into my designated parking spot, the home owner came out of his garage to chat. I remained close-lipped about my recent experience since he knew my parents and would have called them right away to report on my activities. He told me I needed to go watch the news and keep an eye on the fire activity across the river. Even though he was almost certain it wouldn't jump and I didn't need to worry, he'd knock on my door if we got an evacuation notice to make sure I got out of there safely. I headed up the stairs, weary and exhausted, but instead of showering I climbed out of my dormer window and onto the roof to see if the fire was visible yet. Sure enough, there it was, far off in the distance and marching towards the river with great speed. I sat there, mesmerized by the flames as they danced, twisting up into the air to a height of what seemed like hundreds, if not thousands of feet.
I sat there the rest of the afternoon watching the fire come closer and closer to the river and as it came closer, the ribbons and gouts of flames started to blow across the river, only to fall in and sputter as they hit the water. Then it happened. A particularly large ball of flaming debris blew across the river and landed in the marsh grass of North Merritt Island followed by another and yet another. I went inside, packed a bag, and went down to knock on the home owner's door. I let him know that the fire had made it across the river and I was heading to stay with some friends at the beach.
Thankfully the fires on the island, though they burned a large amount of grassland, didn't reach my place. I went home the next day and everything was safe and sound, though the air was thick and hazy for weeks as the fires raged across the region for almost two solid months. Sunsets were particularly eerie during that time. There was none of the usual technicolor beauty, just a hazy red ball lowering in the sky. It's what the the sunsets have been like here in Minnesota, twenty years and almost two thousand miles from my terrifying experience of my youth. Putting those two pieces together has lifted that unsettling feeling from my heart and I can't help but hope that there isn't another carload of kids out there getting a hard life lesson as these modern wild fires burn.
