Just run away
It’s day 47 of the Dixie Fire and, well, I don’t really know what to say about that except some things that aren’t fit for print.
The largest singlesource fire in the state’s history, Miss Dixie continues to ravage hungerly across the countryside sparing only what little the brave (and exhausted) firefighters and supporting personnel can valiantly protect. And the Dixie is just one of 16 fires, 12 of which are being fought by Cal Fire, burning in our Golden State but it feels, smells and sounds (if you listen to news) like the entire state is burning.
To try to get some perspective on how much of our beautiful state is going up in flames, I ran some numbers.
A look at Cal Fire incident information on the dozen active fires they ae battling shows total acreage burned sitting at a whopping 1,202,635 acres or 1,877.55 square miles. When I got as far as these numbers, the pit in my stomach grew exponentially and I decided a little Bailey’s Irish Cream in my coffee was warranted ‘cause that’s a whole lotta land.
Some additional perspective on that: the city of Oroville is 8,640 acres/13.85 square miles and Chico spans 20,038 acres/34.31 square miles.
Based on these numbers, further mad math showed the acreage burning is equal to 139 Orovilles and 60 Chicos. I wasn’t helping myself feel any better so I brewed another cup of java and added two shots of Bailey’s Irish Cream. And then, I did one more calculation.
California encompasses 104,765,165 acres or 16,395 square miles so, another test of my math skills, showed that just a little more than 1 percent of the state is actually on fire. That percentage sucks if it’s your commission rate but in terms of how much is burning it, well, still sucks. But I’d had enough Bailey’s at that point so I tossed the calculator into a drawer and group texted a couple friends and my daughter. I related the numbers I’d found and asked them if they’d like to run away, what their destination would be and how they’d get there.
The first answer came in: “Georgia on a Midnight Train.”
Second answer: “Anywhere, also on a midnight train.”
Third answer: “Clarksville, last train.”
I caught the theme and we were off:
“Heaven, stairway.” “Hell, highway”
“Kansas City, train, plane or walk”
“Scotland, high road or low road”
“Carolina, in your mind.”
“Paradise, with two tickets”
“The sea, fly like an eagle”
“Central station, high on cocaine”
“New York, state of mind”
“Africa, 12:30 flight” “Memphis, walking” “Gulf of Mexico, straight down the Mississippi” “Over the line, one toke” “Sea of Green, yellow submarine”
“Round the mountain, six white horses.”
“Honalee, boat with billowed sail”
“Oz, yellow brick road” “Wonderland, through the looking glass.”
“Neverland, second star to the right”
“Diagon Alley, third brick behind the dumpster.”
But in the end, though I was tempted by several of the destinations and methods of transport, I decided, after all, that there really is no place like home and slid into my ruby slippers.