A little over a year ago, I caught a whiff of smoke in the air while I was retrieving the mail from my mailbox. 

At first, I ignored it, thinking someone was having a BBQ. However, the smell persisted, even when I was back in the house, and I noticed the sky was turning hazy. Immediately, I stepped outside to see where the smell and haze of smoke were coming from. It wasn’t windy (thankfully), but I could still see and smell smoke billowing up from the southwest, drifting through the skies above my house. 

Alarmed, I immediately checked the news while I stood outside, and saw that the Deer Creek hogback was on fire, not two miles from my house. The flames were slow, but were licking their way north along the hogback towards my neighborhood, and fire crews were just starting to descend upon them.

I called my mom to let her know what was up. She was in Seattle for the week, so I was home alone with the dogs. I wasn’t panicked yet, but I was still nervous, especially when Mom asked, “Can you pack up some valuables, please? I’ll send you a list.”

“Will do!” I answered, “Text me a list of what you think you’d want me to save, and I’ll do it.”

That afternoon, I went through our stuff and gathered several bags worth in valuables and supplies, stacking them up against the front door for easy access. All while I kept a live feed of the situation on the TV. I didn’t know what to expect, to be honest. Up until that point, it hadn’t hit me that I lived in a “fire zone”. Thankfully, there was barely even a breeze, and I heard the hum of a cropduster-style aircraft flying in and out above my house. Once I had all of our important things gathered, I stepped outside once again to watch the fire. 

I clambered up onto the roof of my Xterra with a shitty pair of binoculars and watched that little cropduster fly in and out from the north, dumping water onto the fire each time in came in from Bear Creek Lake. Meanwhile, I could see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles inching along the hogback ahead of the fire, spraying small hoses of water at it while other crews chopped away dead foliage away from the flames, so that the fire could be contained. 

It was a Monday afternoon, and I didn’t know if I wanted to go to writer’s or not. I mean… I didn’t want to leave my dogs home by themselves. But, my neighbors were aware of the situation, and promised to rescue my dogs if, for some ungodly reason, I couldn’t get to them myself. Thankfully, that never happened. 

By the time it was time for me to leave, the hogback fire was almost 100% contained, and there was hardly a breeze in the air. I figured if the winds got bad again and the fire somehow managed to breach containment, I could make it home in time to rescue Penny and Hunter, and get the hell out of dodge. 

I headed to writer’s, taking some time to watch the fire from the intersection of Continental Divide Road and Chatfield Avenue. The hogback was smoldering, with little points of flickering orange lights all across it. Thank God there was no wind, because that fire was sparky! Dried sage and yucca tend to do that, you know. Ahead of the fire was a line of emergency vehicles, watching the fire to ensure it didn’t spread any further. I was so mesmerized by the scene that I almost missed the first green light. But, I figured I could do some more fire spotting from a better spot after writer’s. 

A few days later, a Thursday, I woke up to horrendous winds ripping through my neighborhood from the southwest. The winds were so bad that my dogs absolutely refused to go outside, and I didn’t blame them. So, I just put some pee pads down by the back door and decided to hunker down for the day. Penny stayed by my side, while Hunter hid under my bed the entire day (he only came out if I offered him food). 

Here in Colorado, we occasionally get “murder winds”, especially during the fall through the spring. I call them “murder winds” because of just how scary and violent they can get. I mean, they’re literally hurricane force winds. 60+ miles an hour at the lowest, usually filled with all sorts of dangerous debris. But, that day, the winds must’ve been gusting up and over 100 miles an hour down my street. Logically, I knew I was safe. I’d weathered all sorts of weather in that house and others like it. But, emotionally, the sound of those winds tearing apart my trees and slamming my gates open and shut made me almost as nervous as my dogs. So, I spent most of my morning in my bedroom with noise-canceling headphones on. At least, until I started catching wind of what was going on less than an hour west of me (pun intended). 

The winds were howling a 100+ miles an hour from the northwest where the Marshall fire apparently was. And, if it was as bad as the news was saying it was, if it truly was an unstoppable, growing blaze, and the winds were blowing straight southeast from it, I had less than an hour to get my shit and go if the worst happened. 

My bags were already packed (I didn’t unpack them after Monday because I kept forgetting about unpacking them), and all I’d have to do is throw everything into the Xterra if the worst came to be (which I’d moved part way into the garage because I was worried about it getting pelted by all sorts of debris). But, what then? I didn’t want to drive in that wind. Hell, I didn’t even want to step foot outside for the thirty seconds it would take me to throw the dogs into the backseat. And, all of my in-town family were far east of me, in southeast Aurora, Colorado. How could I make it all the way there safely? 

In the middle of my little “what if” game, I was able to slow myself down and take a breather. 

“Even if the fire bee-lines it over here, it’ll still take quite some time for the fire to rush through Golden, up and over Green Mountain, across the lake, and through the neighborhoods between me and it. Right now, I’m safe and secure in this house. If the worst happens, I have a 4,000 pound, 260 horsepower vehicle with a full tank of gas parked halfway into the garage. I’ve driven through wind before. We drove the Xterra through Glenwood Canyon while flames were literally licking the highway, and we barely smelled smoke. My dogs and I will be alright.” 

Still, I knew I couldn’t simply ignore the problem and hope it would go away. I spent the rest of my day upstairs, watching the news unfold as Colorado’s worst wildfire ever annihilated parts of the west metro area. I remember how scared and helpless I felt as I watched the scenes unfold live. I remember how worried I was about it making its way to my neck of the woods, especially towards the evening when the winds showed no signs of dying down. I feared for the folks who were having to endure my worst nightmare live on TV. I worried about what might happen if the winds didn’t die down soon enough. I worried about my friends who lived near the fire, as well as those who lived closer to me (but, in my mind, were still in the “danger zone”). Overall, I was an anxious mess, just waiting for the worst to happen to us all. 

Thank God, the winds died down significantly a few hours after sunset. Shortly afterward, huge flakes of snow began to float down from the sky. In just two hours, it went from being apocalyptic, to a winter wonderland, putting an end to Colorado’s most destructive wildfire to date.  

Since that year, an even slightly dry and windy day puts me on edge, which may or may not be good, considering I live in one of the driest and windiest states in the country. I think everyone in Colorado gets paranoid on dry and windy days, especially after that Marshall fire. It showed us that wildfires weren’t just a mountain or rural phenomena, and they didn’t just happen in the summer either. If Colorado’s murder winds get a hold of a single spark, no matter the season, Lord help us all. 

Last Friday was one of those days. I knew it would be windy, but not that windy. At least, not until midmorning when, seemingly out of nowhere, it went from being calm to extremely blowy in about five minutes. Penny, once again, stuck to my side like velcro, while Toby sat by the back sliding glass door and watched as the wind toppled over our lawn furniture (which I’d weighed down with logs, but that wasn’t enough). 

Naturally, I got very nervous and watched the weather like a hawk. A couple hours later, I had to go pick up my little brother and a couple of his friends from school, which I wasn’t very thrilled about. Thankfully, for me, I wouldn’t have to drive far, and my route was relatively sheltered. But, I was damn sure nervous about the drive, especially because there was so much debris in the air. 

To add fuel to my fear, my mom called. She was on her way home from work when the worst of the winds hit, and she was getting scared (and she doesn’t think about weather like I do). 

“There are trees and signs down everywhere.” she explained, “And dust. Lots of dust and rocks. Is there a tornado warning?!”

“A tornado warning?” I echoed, “What makes you think that?”

“We’re having, like, tornado winds or something. It’s really bad.”

“Those are called high winds,” I replied, shaking my head a little, “I’m not aware of there being any high wind warnings. But it is bad out here.”

“How bad?” Mom asked, worried. 

“Prolly worse here than it is in Denver. Our trees are gettin’ the hell beat out of them, and there’s tons of dust getting kicked up from the baseball field ‘cross the street.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not. But it isn’t a tornado, at least. We don’t get tornadoes when it’s sunny…” 

“Well…” Mom paused for a second, “I have to pay attention to my driving, still. Be very careful when you pick up the kids!” 

“Will do…” I nodded, “See ya when ya get home.” 

Outside, the winds were getting stronger, roaring against the house and breaking branches left and right. Just before I headed out, I watched a small plastic chair bounce down my street like a tumbleweed, missing the Xterra by a foot or two. I cringed. I really didn’t want to go outside, even for the few seconds it would take me to get to my Xterra. Frankly, I was actually pretty scared to go out there. But, I had to, because my only job in life was to be my little brother’s chauffeur. 

So, I waited for the wind to die down for a moment, checked up and down the street to ensure the coast was clear, then sprinted to my Xterra, getting in just as a gust came through, slamming the door on my leg. 

“Ow! God fuckin’ damn it!” I cursed aloud as I pulled my leg into the truck and rubbed my calf where the door slammed on it, “That’ll leave a mark. Jesus, that hurts…”

The winds shook my Xterra violently, and I watched the huge blue spruce tree next to me to make sure it didn’t start falling before the wind died down. All while, I was seriously considering just leaving my brother at school. 

“His friend’s mom can get them…” I thought to myself. That was, until I remembered the Christmas card they’d sent me last year, with a $100 gift card for Cabela’s. I couldn’t let my fear let my brother’s friends down, too.

So, I buckled my seatbelt, turned the keys, and held onto the steering wheel with both hands. I’d given myself a long time to get to the school, so I could drive as slowly as I wanted to and find a decent place to park. Because… well… those winds were really, really bad, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I was (and am) scared of driving in such winds. 

Cautiously, I drove forward towards the end of the cul-de-sac to turn around, all while the wind rushed right at my truck. It was nice that the winds were blowing almost straight west-to-east, so I didn’t have to fight crosswinds most of the way. But, aside from that, the winds were just horrendous. Like, “Wyoming ground blizzard” bad, but actually slightly stronger, with less snow and more trees and signs blowing across the road. 

At least, I had quite the tailwind pushing me along. 

Like many drivers, I was driving slowly and very defensively. A few drivers were a lot less cautious, and were speeding down the left lane as though the murder winds weren’t blowing down Chatfield full force. As I drove around the bend, a branch about as long as my arm broke off from one of the trees by the road, landing on the ground right in front of me. Had I been going any faster,  it would’ve left a sizable dent in the hood, if not shattered the windshield. I did my best to avoid running over it (the last thing I needed was a flat tire), and managed to get to the school ten minutes before it let out. 

I thought about getting in the round-about by the school so the kids didn’t have to walk so far in the wind. But, it seemed like everyone else had that exact same idea, so I parked on the road across from the school, with the back of my Xterra facing the wind. 

“This is… this is bad…” I mumbled to myself, “I bet if I shifted into neutral, the wind would push me down the road…”

I rolled down the windows as far as they’d go, so that when the kids got to my truck, they’d have an easier time opening and closing the doors. The wind roared by as though I was still driving, only from behind. A part of me worried that, given the right gust, one of my doors could get damaged, and/or someone would get hurt like I already did. But, then, I got a bad feeling that wasn’t just my “what if” game at play. 

It’s hard to explain what these “gut instincts” are or where they come from. But, I’ve always had them. In this case, perhaps I caught a whiff of smoke that subconsciously triggered some primal anxiety, or I just knew that extreme winds+dry, warm air+shitty infrastructure and/or some dumbass with a cigarette= fire. Regardless, I whipped out my phone and looked up the weather news, when, on the front page I saw the headline, “Brush Fire along the hogback south of I-70…”

“Hmmmm…” I growled as a chill shot down my spine. 

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the best wifi where I was parked, so the article didn’t load any maps for me. But, I knew enough to know that the fire was threatening my neck of the woods. All it had to do was jump a couple hogbacks (which, in that wind, it could easily do), jump the highway, and we’d get Marshall 2.0. Given how viscous the winds were, and the directions in which it was blowing, I reckoned we didn’t have long if one little spark managed to jump the highway. And oh boy, did that fire have plenty of sparky fuel on those hogbacks!

First, I reached out to Mom, sending her the link to the news headline asking her to read into it further. 

“It’s all the way out by Red Rocks.” She replied via text, “It’s bad but nowhere near us.”

“Bullshit!” I shouted aloud to myself, “Red Rocks is not even ten miles from us! And sustained winds are coming from there at least 40 miles per hour!”

Instead of sending a frustrated text back to my mom explaining to her that we didn’t live far from Red Rocks (and she still owes me $20 for betting that I couldn’t get a picture of Red Rocks from the valley with my camera, because Red Rocks was “way too far”), I waited awhile longer for the article to fully load. Once it did, I sent a text to Eric with it, knowing he lived closer to the fire than I did. 

Immediately after that, school let out for the day. I watched for the kids I was responsible for. V was the first to arrive at the Xterra. She was having trouble standing up at times the winds were so strong, and I worried that she couldn’t get into the Xterra without getting hurt. But, before I could say anything, she opened the door and lost her grip on it. 

“Careful, now!” I shouted. 

“I can’t get it to close!” she shouted back. 

“Get inside first, and I’ll help ya!” I replied. 

I leaned over the center console and managed to get an arm through the open window of the passenger door, while V grabbed onto the interior handle. I pulled my arm back and got the door to close, just as another gust was coming through. 

“It’s super windy today, ain’t it?” I laughed, doing my best to hide my fear and worry. 

“Yeah…” V agreed with a shaky sigh, “It is.”

Shortly thereafter, my brother and his other friend arrived, and they had a much easier time getting in and out.

Like usual, everyone buckled in, and I slowly made my way home, doing my best to avoid all of the stuff blowing around in the storm. 

“Why is it so windy, Maya?” my brother asked as I was driving. 

“Cuz it’s spring.” I replied. 

“But why does it get so windy in the spring?”

“I don’t know…” I lied, “Listen. I gotta pay attention to driving so a tree branch doesn’t go through our windshield.”

“Wait… what?” V asked, wide eyed. 

I didn’t say anything. I just kept my eyes forward and drove ahead, this time into the wind. And holy hell, could I feel it rushing around the Xterra! 

But, once again, after another ten anxious minutes of driving, we arrived at home safe and sound, and in one piece. Since the driveway was free (Mom parked her 4Runner in the garage), I parked in the driveway where it was mostly sheltered from the wind and falling branches, and headed back inside my house. 

“That fire is closer than I thought it was…” Mom trailed off. 

“Yeah? That’s why I sent that article to you. It’s close.” I replied, slightly annoyed. 

“Should we start getting some stuff together?” Mom asked. 

“That’s what I’m gonna do right now.” I answered. 

While I headed down into my bedroom to gather some essentials, family heirlooms, pictures, and whatever else I deemed too valuable to lose, Mom did the same for herself and my brother. By then, a couple of pre-evacuation orders had been issued for Morrison and a neighborhood adjacent to it, which were one hogback away from northern Ken Caryl Valley. With the winds blowing so hard from the fire towards our way, I wasn’t gonna wait for the fire to be in my backyard to pack up and get ready to go. I didn’t want to leave and go driving in that ferocious wind again. But, if I had to, I would, and Mom and I agreed to rendezvous at my grandparents’ if things got to that point. 

I prayed incessantly that it never would. 

After I packed up two hampers full of essentials and valuables, I went around the house filming all of our possessions for insurance purposes. Just last week, Mom bought fire insurance that covers 100% of our house and everything in it (something, something, what a coincidence…). Call us paranoid. But, I’d rather be ridiculously overprepared than tragically underprepared.

After I finished filming our house, I went back online to see if there were any updates on the fire, where I read a headline that read something like, “Hogback fire is 10 acres and growing, moving southeast…”

“Shit…” I growled, “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all…”

Even though I was in my basement bedroom, I could hear the wind roaring outside, blowing south-southeast at 40-60 miles an hour. If that hogback fire was going with that wind, and growing larger as it consumed the dried brush in its path, the threat of it jumping over the hogback, over the highway, and into Morrison, Lakewood, and Ken Caryl was also growing. I seriously began to wonder if this fire would be Marshall 2.0. I mean… as far as I knew, it was getting to be very bad, and shaping up to be much like the Marshall fire in a lot of ways. A lot of very scary ways. 

To me, the scariest thing about the hogback fire was the fact that there was not a whole lot anyone could do, except get ready to run if needed. It was way too windy for aircraft to fly over the fire. There was more than enough dry, lightweight fuel for the fire to turn into sparks. The firefighters were struggling to get ahead of the flames, due to the winds being so fast and hard for firefighters to stand in. They were trying their hardest, but at the end of the day, not even Colorado firefighters could do much to contain the flames till the winds died down. And those winds showed no signs of slowing down. 

Since I had no control over the weather, I controlled only what I could. In this case, all I could really do was prepare for the worst, but pray for the best. 

Thankfully, my prayers were answered. As the sun was setting behind the western foothills, the winds died down significantly, and firefighters were able to catch up to the fire and keep it completely contained. Not a single structure was burned by the Hogback fire, and it was quickly determined that downed power lines were what started the fire. 

All’s well that ends well… I guess. 

Except, this isn’t gonna be the last fire to threaten the Front Range. Thanks to climate change and human expansion, these winter fires are gonna get more common, and likely more destructive. I think it’s miraculous that the Hogback fire didn’t become a massive disaster. I mean, the ingredients were right there. The winds were blowing towards the southeast at 50-90 miles per hour, so aircraft couldn’t fly over it. It began burning in a relatively undeveloped area, so there wasn’t much water infrastructure for firefighters to use against it. The fire wasn’t even a mile away from civilization in any direction, and it had plenty of fuel to get it across the highway and/or into the suburbs. 

But, someway, somehow, the fire basically turned out to be no big deal. Ok, it canceled a concert at Red Rocks. And there was some relatively minor wind damage around town. But, nobody died or got seriously injured, and that's all that really matters. 

I’m so glad I got to stay home and unpack, rather than have had to drive alone through wind and flames to escape, never to see my home again. 

Did I feel a little silly/overreactive as I unpacked my stuff? Well... yes and no. I certainly overprepared for what turned out to be no big deal. But, I didn't feel silly about it. I'd seen the damage caused by the Marshall fire (and the Troublesome fire, too) first hand. Mom and I drove through the Glenwood Canyon wildfire on our way back from Utah during the summer of 2020. Not on purpose, I'll add. But, it was too late to turn around once we realized what we were driving into, and we had to press on through heavy smoke and lingering flames. 

Thank God we were driving my Xterra, and not my mom's shitty little Rav4 at the time. 

I've also experienced and seen the damage caused by other natural disasters, too, each of them permanently branding themselves in my mind. Because of this, I'm not ashamed of being so skittish and "overprepared" when it comes to acts of nature. Sure, I definitely have an anxiety disorder of some sort. But, that's not really why I react to natural disasters like I do. I do it because, in my mind, I've made it too far to roast to death, or get crushed by a widowmaker, or drown in a flood, or get struck by lightning, or get sucked up by a tornado. 

So, I will do everything I can to avoid those things, even if I look a little "silly" to other people.

In other words, I will gladly prepare for the worst, but pray for the best.

 Note: This piece can technically end on the page above, but I've decided to add to this piece since my mind is on it, and I don't know how much time I'll get to write the rest of this week. 

Case in point, I still vividly remember my 2018 trip to my grandpa's childhood farm in North Dakota. That was a particularly stormy year, and I was not at all okay with sleeping in my great aunt's trailer house, even if I had a bed, AC, and wifi in it. Instead, I spent over half of the nights sleeping on a couch in the old farmhouse, because of the evening and nightly storms that came through. 

One in particular was worse than the others. The meteorologist on the news kept saying that night's storm would be particularly nasty, but nobody except for me believed him. In fact, my entire family rolled their eyes at me when I decided to make my bed in the farmhouse for the third night in a row. 

"I've lived in this house for five years..." my great aunt told me, "I feel much better in here than I did in the farmhouse. This place's anchored down, y'know. There are eight huge spikes, eight feet long, shot twenty feet down into the ground at an angle to secure this place. That ol' farmhouse, on the other hand. It's got some pretty bad foundation issues-"

"But the farmhouse has a basement." I replied, "And I would like to have a basement to go to just in case."

"Well, Okay then. If you change your mind, I'll keep the doors unlocked for ya. We get 'bad storms' all the time, and they're never nearly as bad as they say. A little thunder, lightning, and rain's all we've got." my great aunt smirked. 

In the old farmhouse, my grandpa came into the living room (where I'd set up for the night), and tried to convince me that I'd be much more comfortable in my great aunt's house, but I staunchly refused. 

"Somethin' big's comin'." I scowled, "I can feel it in my bones."

"Hah! Is that so?" Grandpa Lyle laughed. 

"Yeah..." I nodded, seriously concerned. 

Indeed, I could literally feel the change in air pressure in my body as the storm approached. My knees throbbed a little bit, and my neck was a little stiff. Plus, the weatherman said that the storm was gonna be a particularly nasty one. So, I wasn't gonna take my chances regardless of if I could feel the storm in my bones or not. 

I don't remember exactly when the power went out. But, I don't remember being shocked when it did. However, the lightning was downright impressive. I didn't need a flashlight to find my way around the house, because the lightning flashed like a strobe light, illuminating the world in a blue-white glow at least once every two seconds, followed by rolling thunder. 

The winds outside put Colorado's "murder winds" to shame, and were not just breaking branches and bouncing lawn furniture across the ground. Whole trees that were decades old were splitting in two and/or falling over, and pieces of metal and heavy lawn furniture were literally flying through the air at 90+ miles an hour. A couple miles east of us was the Garrison Dam, which recorded several wind gusts in excess of 120 miles per hour. A few miles south of us, a tornado destroyed a house with the family in it, and the only reason they survived was because the dad of the house shot the basement door with a shotgun to get it to open. Oh, and a family friend decided to go camping on the lake that weekend, and died when his camper was flipped over and blown into the lake. 

The only reason I didn't hit the basement that evening, was because my grandpa told me not to. At first, he told me he didn't want me to breathe in the basement air for too long. So, I spent the night on the living room couch wearing my dirtbike helmet and boots with the doors locked, windows closed, curtains drawn, and a heavy comforter thrown over me. But, when we woke up alive the next morning, he admitted over breakfast that he didn't want to scare my little brother by bringing us into the basement. 

I can understand not wanting to traumatize a little kid. But, in hindsight, we really should've spent the night in the basement, even if it made my little brother cry. After all, the basement was way safer than the rest of the house (especially because the mold in the basement had been dealt with well before my visit to the farm).