‘Nothing was left’
Couple lose everything in Oregon wildfire, return to NW Indiana to start from scratch
It took a week until Sally Buttshaw realized she no longer owned a comb.
“I was combing my hair with my fingers,” the 77-year-old Northwest Indiana native said. “I guess I was just that overwhelmed by what happened.”
On Sept. 8, her home was completely destroyed by the Almeda Drive Fire, a human-caused wildfire that torched a wide swath of property in southern Oregon. Buttshaw’s senior living community, Bear Lake Estates mobile home park, was completely incinerated, all 210 homes, in just a few hours.
“It was so shocking. Just one day earlier, we were relaxing in our swimming pool with friends in 98-degree temperatures. And then … ” she recalled, her voice trailing off.
And then the wildfire spread to their quiet neighborhood, fueled by 40-mph winds and random wreckage. Nearly 3,000 structures were lost in its gusty path. Thousands of residents were displaced, most fleeing their homes with nothing but prayers and anything they could grab in the panic.
“You don’t realize what you own in life until you no longer own it,” Buttshaw said.
In our region of the country, we’ve watched a nonstop newsreel of the ongoing wildfires in the West. It’s difficult for us to grasp the enormity of the devastation. Not only of the torched barren landscape, but how these wildfires have scorched human lives, leaving nothing but ashes and heartache.
When Buttshaw and her longtime domestic partner, Ron Sherman, eventually were allowed to return to their mobile home park, they found only smoldering memories of their former life.
“Our whole mobile home park just … melted,” Buttshaw said. “Nothing was left of our home.”
To get a more visceral sense of what the couple returned home to see, view an aerial video of the haunting scene, recorded by The Oregonian newspaper.
“Everything was just … gone,” Buttshaw said.
The couple were forced to live in a hotel near their home, then an Airbnb to help ease their concerns of contracting COVID-19 in a public place. The wildfire destroyed a nearby bank branch but missed a marijuana store where Buttshaw frequented for health reasons. She suffered a stroke seven years ago, and struggles from hip and leg problems.
“The fire skipped around. It was surreal,” Buttshaw said.
The canopy over their home melted like candle wax in the 3,000-degree flames.
The couple owned a fireproof filing cabinet to protect all their legal documents, wills and other important paperwork. Nothing inside survived the heat. Everything was obliterated.
“The whole inside was just black,” Buttshaw said.
Somehow, one neighbor’s outdoor gazing-ball decoration survived the fire and heat.
“We have no idea how,” Buttshaw said.
Somehow, another neighbor found Sherman’s military dog tags in the ruins.
“It’s something,” Buttshaw said.
The couple lost some of
their digital passwords which were automatically saved on their home computer. They lost things they never considered losing.
“It’s just been one thing after another,” Buttshaw said.
The couple have kept in touch with only a couple of former neighbors. One of them is living in Portland with a sister and mother, who also lost her home in a wildfire.
“I’m a tough old broad, but I’m so tired from the whole ordeal. We never could have prepared for all this,” Buttshaw said.
She and Sherman, who’s 82, met in Las Vegas in 1997. A decade later, they relocated to the small city of Phoenix, Oregon, population 4,500 before the wildfire.
“I guess we should have stayed in Vegas,” Buttshaw said with a nervous chuckle. “It’s all hindsight now, isn’t it?”
Sherman is from Los Angles. Buttshaw was born and raised in Michigan City, where her two younger sisters still live. Earlier this month, Sherman and Buttshaw left Oregon to start their new life in Michigan City, a sort of homecoming she never wanted.
For their air flight, they had only one checked luggage and one carry-on bag.
“That was all their possessions,” Buttshaw’s sister, Sue Webster, said.
The couple had to purchase everything new for their unfurnished apartment: two recliners, a bed, table and chairs, bedsheets, kitchen utensils, bathroom toiletries, the basic necessities. Their homeowner’s insurance will be pending for an undetermined amount of time, with no timetable for policy payments due to the enormity of the damage out West.
Buttshaw’s sister launched an online fundraiser to help the couple restart their lives from scratch. Only two-thirds of its $15,000 goal has been raised.
The webpage states: “Sally and Ron are safe and unharmed, which matters most and for which we are very grateful! But now the enormous challenge of starting over from scratch is upon them, and we are hoping to help give them a start with our own support and support from caring friends as well.”
Across the parking lot from the couple’s modest new apartment, Buttshaw noticed trees turning scenic colors in the Midwestern autumn season. She instinctively turned to find her trusty binoculars to get a better view.
“Oh, I don’t own binoculars anymore,” she told herself.
“People don’t understand the devastation of these wildfires,” she told me afterward. “They take everything, just everything. It’s so overwhelming.”