I fell asleep at some point, because I woke up at dawn to the faint smell of smoke. Needless to say, that woke me up real fast! I was almost panicked when I emerged from my basement and rushed to the sliding glass door to check on my backyard. 

It was a bright, calm morning; the only sign of fire was the scent of smoke in the house. When I stepped outside, the scent of smoke stung my eyes and the haze in the air was thick. It was as though I was standing on the leeside of a raging bonfire. Still, I saw no signs of fire. It was a normal, quiet morning, minus the campfire smell. 

To get a better look of the foothills to the west, I left my backyard and stood on a small knoll in the open space directly behind my house. On that knoll, away from the trees and houses, I could see white smoke rising up from behind the Deer Creek hogback. It didn’t look as bad as I was expecting it to look, but that was largely because the air was still cool, keeping the smoke close to the ground (and in my lungs). 

As I stared west, a slight breeze kicked up into my face, bringing with it a deep sense of dread. 

“No, no, no…” I thought to myself, “Don’t let the wind pick up, Lord.”

I knew that the forecast didn’t really call for wind, but it did predict that the whole week would be very hot and very dry. In those conditions, it wouldn’t take much to push the fire up and over the hogback. Hell, the fire had more than enough of its own energy to propel itself eastward. If it could go eastward, it would burn all of Deer Creek and the Valley to the hogback. If it could jump the hogback, it could jump C-40. And if it could jump C-470, all of the neighborhoods along that corridor would be in serious danger. If it mere got gusty ahead of a change in weather, I could have a Marshall fire 2.0 on my doorstep, and that was an awful, awful thought. 

But before I could step off the knoll and fester in my fear and dread, a very important question came to mind: What can you do about the fire?

After just running through a very short mental list of all the things I could and couldn’t do in response to the fire, I realized that there wasn’t anything I could do that I hadn’t already done. 

Were my bags packed and ready to go in case we had to evacuate? Yes. Was I signed up for text alerts and phone calls in case my neighborhood was put in a pre-evacuation or mandatory evacuation zone? Yes. Did I know where to go in case we got evacuated? Yes. Was I keeping an eye on the news and press conferences regarding the fire, which was renamed the Quarry Fire that very morning? Yes. Was my house insured? Yes. 

But, could I fight the fire myself? No. Could I control where the fire went in any way, shape, or form? No. Could I control the weather? No. Could I do anything at all to influence the fire? No, no, and no. 

In other words, the only thing I could control was how I reacted to the fire. And pacing around my house like a caged tiger for days or weeks (depending on how long the fire lasted) wasn’t a healthy way to react to the fire. Being aware and prepared was good. Being panicked and wracked with anxiety, however, was not.