It was October 8th, 2017. It was ten P.M. I was on a late-night flight from Durango, Colorado to Santa Rosa, California. I was returning with my mom, who wanted to spend her birthday weekend with her friend from high school, who lived in Durango, and me. It was a ladies' weekend. I had the window seat on the flight back home so that I could look out and view the dim house lights. Despite the flight being the last one into my hometown of Santa Rosa that night, the plane was bustling with worry. The plane was shaking violently, to the point where people were getting motion sickness. The passengers were worried about crashing, or even worse, having to reroute to San Francisco. I remember joking with my mom that the pilot should go back to piloting school or is new because the tossing and turning was getting sickening real fast. On that plane, everyone's biggest worry was landing, but the more pressing anxiety was the fire in the distance that I could view from the window. I recall looking at the fire and asking for confirmation if the red streak was truly fire. It looked like someone had taken a black piece of paper, and then painted a single streak of fluorescent crimson paint across the darkness in the distance. My mom confirmed that it was a fire, but was confident that it was Napa county, which was neighboring our county of Sonoma County. Once we landed, I was positive everyone wanted to apologize to the pilot, as the wind was incredibly vicious. The wind tipped over trash cans and rolled suitcases into the pickup zone, and leaves from the trees gave you whiplash. We hopped into my Step-Dad's car and thought that would be the end of that.
It was October 9th, 2017. It was three A.M. My brother was yelling throughout the house, 'There is a fire!' I woke up in a panic, adrenaline kicking in, energy much more powerful than any number of expresso shots can give you. My brother, Chris, explained to me that his friends were being evacuated and that Fountaingrove was on fire. However, our Step-Dad looked up information online on his phone and heard that Oakmont was also being evacuated. We went outside, it was still early but you could still see some orange piercing through smoke and darkness. I quickly texted my online friends, who live in Europe, if they could research information for me as I tried to figure out what was going on - and they found nothing. That's when I asked Chris, did he call our dad? Our dad lived on the South-East side of Fountaingrove. Fountaingrove is a middle to upper-class housing development area, where most of our friends and classmates live. Of course, Chris hadn't.
It was October 9th, 2017. It was three fifteen A.M. I called my dad continuously until he woke up and picked up the phone, where I explained to him that Fountaingrove is on fire. I couldn't talk long with him, because when he opened the curtain to look outside to the master bedroom deck, there was a wall of fire. My dad told me he had to go, and he'd call me when he was safe. I wanted to be anxious and worried for my dad, but my biggest concern was figuring out what was going on. It was hard when no one knew what was going on. Information online was scarce, there seemed to be a fire in every direction. The news channels continued to repeat already known information - there is an enormous fire engulfing the county! No duh. Firetruck sirens are in the distance, and there is still no light except for the soft glow from the fire seemed to be in every direction. It was snowing ash, covering our cars and outdoor patios. There was no electricity or water. It was disorienting. In an attempt to grasp some control of the situation, I'd start to refresh the local newspaper webpage every few minutes for just any sort of information. Assuming I had a signal, that is. If you put on the radio, it was an alarm sound. There wasn't a reporter telling you what was happening because they, too, were running from the flames.
It was October 9th. It was four A.M. My mom's house was on a street intersecting the highway, and I was able to see police officers, through the haze, turn people down our street because they couldn't go any further down the highway. My mom went to ask the officers if they knew anything, and they didn't have any information for us. While we waited for any information, my family started to back our cars. The part I remember the most is throwing our outdoor furniture into the pool so that it wouldn't burn while wearing hats so that ash wouldn't get into our eyes. It was gross outside, like a thick murkiness that latched onto your body. Despite it being very early in the morning, it was incredibly warm and windy. The smoke had trapped the humidity and the ash was tearing our lungs apart.
