When you choose to live in Malibu, wildfires are a way of life. While autumn is one of the most beautiful times of year here, when the Santa Ana winds kick up, it's usually the signal that "fire season" is upon us. I learned this the hard way when our house burned down in a massive wildfire that claimed 18,000 acres and hundreds of homes. It was the very first house we ever owned and we lost absolutely everything, from treasured family photos and artwork to hundreds of as-yet-unused wedding gifts.
It was a devastating experience for us as a young couple ... and yet, in some ways, it was wonderful. Now, don't get me wrong: I would never trivialize the experience of losing one's home; but we didn't lose our lives, and the lessons we learned charted a course for the rest of our lives.
I trace my commitment to environmentalism directly to that wildfire, which constituted my first up-close introduction to Mother Nature -- a force and a spirit I will forevermore regard with awe. As a city-bred kid, I was more or less sheltered from Nature. We went indoors when it rained, turned on the A/C when it was hot and bought our (imported) produce in a supermarket. In Malibu, life's different. Most residents grow fruit and vegetables and may have horses and livestock. And while we're hardly "roughing it," it's virtually impossible to shield ourselves from the elements.
After the fire, I will never have the same attachment to material things, whether or not they have sentimental value. Both my parents passed away when I was young, so the things of theirs that I lost were emblematic of so much, but I learned to treasure the memories I hold within me above any mementos I'll ever own.
And I will always look upon firefighters as the most courageous, heroic and noble of people. Without a doubt, the work they do -- selfless and fearless -- is humbling beyond words.
When fire broke out in Malibu, yet again, that familiar feeling of panic set in. We feared for ourselves, our neighbors, our pets and for the wild animals in the mountains. I evacuated with the children while Richard stayed to "hold the fort," prepared to jump in the car with our five dogs and two birds at a moment's notice. From the safety of our hotel room, I watched in horror as fires raged in Malibu, San Diego and other parts of Southern California. It felt as if the whole world was burning.
Again, the firefighters waged an epic battle. Watching them in action was as remarkable as it was the first time. We were told that winds reached an astonishing 80 miles-per-hour, yet against all odds, the firefighters saved house after house. For every home that burned, hundreds were saved. These heroes slept (barely) in tents pitched in the middle of town, keeping watch over Malibu.
This time, we made it through the blaze unscathed. Our home is safe and our family unharmed. Not everyone was so lucky. Many people died, thousands of homes burned down and entire communities were wiped out. There are so many families who are facing a homeless Thanksgiving this year, and my heart goes out to them. After all, I was there. A hard as I try, I can't recall where we had our Thanksgiving dinner the year we lost our house. I'm certain we didn't skip our turkey dinner, but I can't recall where or with whom.
This year, when Thanksgiving rolls around, I know where I'll be: at home in Malibu -- it's a little singed and worse for wear, but still the awe-inspiring place I call home -- with my precious family and friends, my most valuable "possessions."