As I sit at my laptop looking out on a Highland summer day that is alternately sunny and drizzly, I think of all of you and wonder what I can possibly write about in the aftermath of the Carr Fire that is of any use to anyone. But write I must. You see, you’ve all been on my mind almost constantly since the Carr Fire raged through your world. I worried for you, kept abreast of developments, marveled at the work being done at aNewsCafe to keep everyone updated even while the fire raged, and pored through Facebook reports being posted by those of you who I know personally. If I didn’t see updates for a while I feared the worst, and when there was finally some word of safety I felt utter relief.
Now that the extent of the damage and loss are starting to be known, I’m filled with sadness for everyone affected by that monstrous fire. From six thousand miles away I can’t help in any practical way, so it’s really a “for what it’s worth” kind of thing, but… I care about you all, whether I know you or not. Hearts don’t recognize distance, and I’ve carried you in mine for weeks.
We haven’t had much rain here this summer which is unusual, but when it has rained over the last couple of weeks I have wished fervently that there was some way to send some of it to you. And now, when the work of clearing-up and rebuilding lives begins, I wish for some way to actively, practically help. Unfortunately all I’ve got are words, to try in some way to lend support from afar.
A couple of weekends ago my husband and I and a visiting friend went up to John O’Groats for the Mey Highland Games. Things were a bit different this year, firstly because the Mey Games weren’t held in Mey and secondly because the Games were “adaptive” for the first time, meaning that para-athletes from all over had been invited to participate.
I’ve told you about the Highland Games before, sharing photos and stories from our former village, and many of you are familiar with Highland Games in other locations, too. So why the mention? Because watching the para-athletes do things you’d think they couldn’t (caber-toss from a wheelchair, anyone?), all I could think of was the word ‘resilience’. And there, on a rainy-and-sunny day out in the open fields in the far north of Scotland, once again I immediately thought of all of you.
One of the sayings I detest most in all the world is, “someone always has it worse.” First of all, to me it seems to invalidate and trivialize the feelings of the person who is suffering. Secondly, because one could argue that if that’s the case, then there’s also always someone who has it better, too. Seems to me those things cancel each other out, so really, what do comparisons matter? They don’t. Suffering is suffering, regardless of the circumstances of others. The reason I say that is because I want to be clear that I’m not sharing these “Invictus-style Games” with you to compare anyone’s post-Carr-Fire struggles and losses to those of people who have lost limbs or the use of limbs. They are obviously very different circumstances.
I’m also not telling you about the para-athletes for “inspiration,” inspiring though they may be (and they are). No, the reason I decided to write this particular article was because what struck me, while watching the athletes compete, assist, and cheer each other on, was their indefatigable resilience, and the way they supported each other through literally every step.
The athletes we saw were, like you, ordinary people forced into a vastly changed life due to extraordinary circumstances beyond their control. I cannot imagine what they have each gone through, just like I can’t fathom what you have all endured. What I can imagine are things like shock, tears, anger, anguish, horror, sadness, devastation, and depression. Pain – mental, physical, and emotional. Feeling losses, and feeling lost. I read your stories and saw all of those things reflected in your words.
How does anyone get through something as huge and crushing as the Carr Fire? Resilience. Even while the smoke still stings and hearts beat faster at the sound of every siren and helicopter, there is talk of fund-raisers, of rebuilding, of community support and of people helping each other even if all they can offer is tissues and a hug. From folks who opened their doors to people who had been evacuated, to those who have rescued animals displaced by the fire, in ways both large and small you have all supported each other as well as you possibly could while going through hell together. Your restaurants have fed people in need, you have looked after your firefighters and rescue workers as well as you could, and in some cases you have fought alongside them to save each other’s homes. I see and sense a fierce determination to come out of this stronger, to rise from the ashes as it were, and to support each other in the moment, as well as to see this all the way through.
It’s often said that terrible times bring out the best in people (the worst, too – a pox on all looters!), and those continuing best efforts will sure be needed in the coming weeks and months, which may prove to be as hard as what has already come to pass, though in a very different way. When adrenaline dissipates and exhaustion sets in, sometimes despair is right there, crouching, waiting to creep in, wanting to gnaw at scant reserves of hope and energy. That’s when I think resilience becomes crucial. You all must be so tired already, as you figure out life after the Carr Fire. Pushing through each next step, be it insurance paperwork, cleaning up smoke/fire/water damage, land-clearing, and everything else that has to happen as the smoke clears and the dust settles is bound to become more tiring, as time goes on.
Hopefully in these coming days, if someone starts to stumble, someone else will help hold them up, and when a helping hand is needed, multiple hands will be extended. If spirits are low, hopefully someone will be there to listen and encourage, to be silent in understanding, or to provide some distraction even just for an hour of “normalcy” when it is needed the most. I think, so far, that’s what you’ve been trying hard to do for each other, and you have been doing it well.
You have the love and support of so many people from all over the world, but most importantly, you have each other. I can’t send you rain or supplies, or security or healing… but what I wish for you, with all my heart, is that you will continue to be resilient.
Sending love from the Highlands…
