If you’ve visited this blog before, you probably know we were evacuated from our home in 2020 because of wildfires. We also abandoned our vacation in 2021 because of converging wildfires in central Oregon, and were nearly evacuated this past summer because of a wildfire at a state park my partner has been visiting since she was a child.

Wildfires are unique in their devastation because they result in damage that is irreparable in a human lifetime. Many natural disasters, including the one that came on the heels of our evacuation, can be cleaned up, repaired, or otherwise rebuilt in human lifetime. Not so with wildfires. The trauma is accompanied by what is—by the standards of a human lifespan—permanent destruction.

It turns out when fires engulf a significant portion of where you live, you’re bound to lose many of the places you love, and the reasons why you live there to begin with.

Map showing the Riverside and Beachie creek fires extent in red, running south to north, taking up a significatn portion of the map, with the towns of Molalla and Silverton, and the beachie creek fire coming near Silver Falls State Park

From The Statesman Journal

I’ve ventured out, when permitted, to find most of my favorite places are near wastelands, at least for now.

These are places I’ve visited for almost two decades, nearly every weekend.

Burnt tress in the background with a sign that says a careless match destroys and help

Background of burnt trees with a guardrail and road in the foreground

Burnt trees with a closed gate and a sign that reads mount hood national forest campground fish creek

I was especially worried about a fire lookout I last visited in 2019, before all hell broke lose. It’s a special place, as designated by its wilderness status.

My last visit resulted in this photo (also the current photo on my homepage) when I was temporarily lost in the fog.

Trees ascending to the sky, wrapped in fog, with shrubs and moss surrounding

There’s a historic fire lookout up there I last visited in 2019, and a special landmark I’ve been worried about for over two years.

I’m not on social media anymore, but via my partner’s social media, I’ve been informed this past week that it still stands. Thanksgiving indeed.

Social media screenshot with a fire lookout, made of snow, blanketed in snow

On Thanksgiving weekend, and every weekend, and every day, we should cherish what we have and what we love. Especially that which survives against all odds.