Residents share stories of survival
Lily Hirsch
It is easy to sink into a state of deep anxiety and fear these days — the news cycle is dominated by natural disasters, mass shootings and ugly Twitter-fueled political fights. But there are everyday heroes among us. People of courage and resilience. People of strength.
My parents lived in the same house for 31 years. For a living, my dad built houses for other people. But, on the weekends, he built that house, his dream house, in the forest off Mark West Springs Road in Santa Rosa. My mom, an avid gardener, started planting immediately, and an unruly tangle of wisteria and roses quickly grew in her wake. Outside the house’s back windows, the garden sprawled into brush, down the hillside and up the next one. The view from my childhood bedroom framed a massive pink rose bush that had climbed up a tree, a merging hybrid of flower and oak.
Late last Sunday, my parents were evacuated from their home, the smell of smoke heavy in the air. They didn’t want to disturb my brother so late, with their grandchildren asleep at his house in Rincon Valley. Instead, they headed to the Hilton Hotel next to the Fountaingrove Parkway. After checking in, my dad decided to try to return home to gather more items, but the road already was blocked. Back at the hotel, the flames were suddenly visible. My parents were evacuated again, forced to navigate road closures and fire in the dead of night as they made their way to my brother’s house.
Tuesday, they received the news: Their house was gone. In a photograph, they saw nothing. The house was reduced to its concrete foundation. I called my dad, hoping to offer whatever support I could, realizing I was powerless to really do anything. But, rather than giving comfort, I found comfort myself.
My dad observed, “At least moving will be easy.” There was nothing to move. He was clearly emotional but still defiant. My can-do dad was making plans. My mom, too, had her own surprising takeaway: “My garden was out of control,” she said. “This is a do-over.”
All over Sonoma County people like my parents are doing all they can to remain strong. Some have lost homes and pets while others are still standing up to the ongoing fires. And there is a tremendous web of support — among neighbors, friends, even strangers. With that force, Northern California will get through this tragedy. And, in the process, everyday heroes have emerged — and will continue to so — and with them, maybe, hope for us all.
Lily Hirsch of Bakersfield grew up in Santa Rosa in a house that just burned to the ground.
Jennifer Wilcox
My husband, my 6-year-old daughter and I ran for our lives on Sunday night. We live in the Fairways condominium complex on the north side of the Silverado golf course. I smelled smoke late that night and woke my husband and daughter. There were high, hot winds and within minutes, there were large embers falling to the ground. Bushes and trees began to burn. We grabbed a few things, put on hats and hoodies so we wouldn’t catch fire, and put a leash on our dog.
As soon as we opened the door, we became frantic. We made a run for it through all the flying embers to our cars. The car next to me was on fire. My husband got in his car but then realized we didn’t have our dog, Jaxie. He thought I had him, and I thought he had him.
My husband went back in and looked for him everywhere while fire alarms were going off and hot debris was falling. We had to leave him.
We cried all the way to Sonoma, where my parents live. Once we arrived, I logged on to the website Nextdoor and saw a woman had just posted that she found a male dog that matched his description. We went back to Napa to pick him up from the couple who found him. We just cried from relief.
Paul and Christine Merreck, the people who saved him, were so kind and lived quite far from where we do. We have no idea how he got so far away, but he was covered in ash and tree twigs so surely he was scared and running for his life.
We want to thank the people who found our dog and posted to social media, and we owe a huge thank-you to Nextdoor! Without this neighborly social media outlet, we wouldn’t have our dog.
Jennifer Wilcox lives in Napa.
Gail Richards
An elderly couple who live in Golden Rule Mobile Home Park near Willits said two nights ago they were awakened by a pounding on their front door, “GET OUT! GET OUT NOW!” and they had to evacuate in their nightclothes.
After being permitted to return to their home, the fire averted, this morning they were stunned to see PG&E crews arrive with material and equipment to remove the old burned poles and install new ones!
Gail Richards lives in Willits (Mendocino County).
Hiya Swanhuyser
I grew up in Occidental and attended Analy High School, which today is an evacuation center. My high school classmates are volunteers there in the past few days, and my former Sonoma County neighbors are pressing money into my hands so I can buy supplies to help fill the many independent trucks being run back and forth on dangerous roads; I’ve heard it called the California Cajun Navy.
Tomorrow, my mother will drive her large van to San Francisco — she needs a hug from me, and vice versa — then she’ll drive back with the van full.
I hope she’ll be able to help our longtime friends, an undocumented family who lost everything, and who had to run for their lives that first night, like so many others. One of their daughters is a “Dreamer,” and they’ve all worked incredibly hard to make a home and contribute in their new home, Northern California.
All this is to remind you that Northern California is made up of people, not a single industry. When you name
these fires “Wine Country,” you cause a lot of pain in the hearts of those of us who are already hurting. How would calling San Francisco “Techtown” go over? To put it another way, where are the winery gates flung open to host displaced Northern Californians — the ones who pick their grapes, for example? I’m not seeing them. I know the industry is gutted by the fires, too, and wine is a rightfully celebrated and often delightful part of Northern California. But please, don’t reduce our home to a sales pitch catchphrase.
Hiya Swanhuyser lives in Bernal Heights of San Francisco.
Cindy Williams
I have countless friends who got out with only the clothes on their back. I was wondering from the beginning of watching Nixel alerts why there was never a wireless alert that we often get in testing. The excuse is that it would have had to go to everybody. But they can tailor the message; I know because when I get alerts, it often says a missing child in Los Angeles County, be on the lookout, etc.
I don’t buy it that they could not have put a message in what areas need to be prepared. I worked for the county of Sonoma for 26 years, spent hundreds of hours working on emergency action plans and emergency operating plans. I did not see one of those put into place. I am appalled by our county leaders.
Cindy Williams lives in Sonoma County.
Robert Bruce
We moved to a hillside home outside Ukiah, the county seat of Mendocino County, in 2001, 10 years after we lost our Oakland hills home in that fire, and five years after we moved into our rebuilt home near Broadway Terrace. There were several reasons we moved, but we did not escape the memories as we watched Lake County burn last year and Santa Rosa this year.
Local media has generally done a good job of covering these fires, but unfamiliarity causes error.
The media seems intent on labeling this year’s fires, regardless of location, as “Wine Country” fires. We understand that the wine industry and the tourism it brings is important for Napa and Sonoma (and Mendocino) counties, but we don’t think of it all the time. My wife, Bonnie, and I live in the North Bay, just as we lived in the East Bay at one time.
Although our rural home is in a fire-prone area, we have so far escaped devastating fire, which to Northern Californians means your time will come.
In August, we saw our Russian River Valley fill with smoke from fires farther north, but this past week has been terrible. The smoke has been nearly impenetrable all day long. The smell is reminiscent of burning rooftops and walls and shingles and furniture. It doesn’t go away.
We look down on the Ukiah Airport, home to three Cal Fire retardant bombers (up to six with help from the south), planes that constantly go in and out during daylight hours.
The planes have a short distance to their targets, the “Redwood Valley, Potter Valley, Lake Mendocino Complex,” as the three merged fires are now designated.
Bay Area residents may not even know there are fires outside Sonoma and Napa counties. We would appreciate that San Jose TV weatherman showing a fire map that didn’t stop at the Sonoma-Mendocino county line. After all, we grow wine grapes up here, too.
Robert Bruce published a newspaper, the Phoenix Journal, for survivors of the 1991 Oakland Hills fire. He worked on fire prevention in the East Bay hills and, later, on the Mendocino County Fire Safe Council.
Bill Wrightson
Sunday started off as a fairly normal day in Oakmont, the retirement community in Santa Rosa. I followed my typical routine, watched football until 4 p.m., and then started packing a suitcase for my trip to Seattle the next day. I was planning to meet my wife, Stephanie, who had left on Wednesday to babysit our grandchildren.
About 9:30 p.m., strong winds hit the house and gusted outside. The power went out about 10:30, and I went to bed. Monday, I woke up at 7 a.m. and the power was still off. I went outside to get the newspaper. But no paper. Strange.
Then, after driving over to the pickleball courts, I heard a squawk from a loudspeaker mounted on a police car traveling along Oakmont Drive.
“Emergency. This is a mandatory evacuation. You must leave. Right now.”
It took me a moment to process this new information. Then I looked to the northwest. What I had assumed was normal morning fog was really a dark cloud of smoke coming from northeast Santa Rosa.
I raced home, parked in my driveway and went across the street to the home of two neighbors in their 80s.
“Are you guys OK?” I asked when their daughter answered the door.
“Yes, we’re fine. But my father is still in bed. He says he doesn’t want to leave the house.”
Her father had recently been forced to use a wheelchair by an illness. Everyone else on our street had already left.
“Did you know some people left at 3 a.m. to go to the shelter at the veterans building?” “No. I slept right through the night.” The large cloud of smoke looked larger. To the southwest, there was another large cloud of smoke rising from Annadel State Park.
I decided it was time to leave. After loading the car, I prepared to lock — and say goodbye to — the house. When I opened our front door to go to my neighbors’ house, there was a police officer in their driveway. I heard him say, “This is serious. Do you understand? It’s a mandatory evacuation. The fires are getting closer. You must leave. Right now.”
My neighbor was still in bed, his daughter close to tears.
I walked into the bedroom and said, “How you doing?” ”Good. How are you?” “I’m fine. You know, a policeman was just here. He said that we need to go.” “OK. I guess we should.” We jumped into our respective cars and started our mini-caravan down Route 12 toward Santa Rosa. I looked to the right and couldn’t believe my eyes. On the hillside a mile or so away, there were flames and heavy smoke coming from numerous houses in Fountaingrove — one of the most elite neighborhoods in Santa Rosa.
I had abandoned the plan to fly to Seattle. I stopped at the Doubletree Hotel: no vacancy. I went to the Indian casino and hotel. At the registration desk, I inquired about a room.
“I’m sorry. We’re totally booked, but I can put you on our waiting list at #25.” “How much does a room cost?” “Tonight, $495. I think our rates might go up tomorrow — if you want to stay more than one night.” “Thanks anyway.” I decided to return to Santa Rosa and go to an emergency shelter across from the Sonoma County Fairgrounds. I was not asked for any type of identification. Everyone I encountered was friendly and very professional.
On each side of the large hall were smaller rooms that were filled with cots and elderly persons who looked very frail. Many were sleeping. I was surprised by the number of nurses and medical personnel who were attending to these residents.
Four computers were set up and surrounded by a group of about 20 persons who were in line to use the computers. Everyone was concerned. Information was limited. Rumors were rampant.
Bottled water and food were available continuously.
All in all, I could not have been more impressed by the overall organization and the services provided. Anyone with a car was being asked to sleep in the car because of the limited space for the 1,000 or so persons at the shelter.
I received a blanket and a pillow and headed for my car. It was cramped, and I woke up about 4 a.m. because I was cold. I went inside and saw a computer was free, so I sat down and checked my email. I assured everyone that, although I wasn’t sure about the status of our home, I was safe at the emergency shelter. I went back to the car and slept until the sun came up. Thus ended my first 24 hours of the 2017 North Bay Firestorm.