A Sonoma West staffer remembers when the Kincade Fire swept through her farm
I was looking through photos yesterday, looking for something to use for a story and I came across the photos I took in and around the Kincade Fire.
On Oct. 23, 2019, I have photos and a video snip of flames visible in the distance, after a Nixle and SoCo Emergency alert had rocketed me out of bed at 10 p.m. A quick maps search showed the fire being discussed was closer than I would have liked, so I stayed awake documenting the flames.
Twelve hours later, around 10 a.m. on Oct. 24, I have pictures of the wall of smoke to the north of my house. What strikes me looking at these photos now is how beautifully clear the rest of the sky is and how it looks like a truly gorgeous day. I have no memory of the kind of day it was, but the pictures say it was lovely.
I may not remember the sky, but I do remember the smell.
At 3 p.m. I saved a screenshot of an email from my son’s school saying they were planning on holding school the next day, but that all absences would be excused. I had already decided by then to take my son to my parent’s and send them out of the area to safety, and the screen shot was to remind me to let them know.
At 6:30 p.m. I have photos of the same wall of smoke, this time at sunset. It’s quite pretty, if you don’t think of all the people’s lives and livelihoods it contains. It doesn’t look much closer, honestly, than it did in the morning photos.
At 7:30 p.m. I have a saved screenshot from my internet service provider informing us that their equipment was damaged but not destroyed and they would be attempting repairs as soon as possible. They also mention, somewhat casually, that their own home took significant damage.
A series of photos taken between 5 and 7 p.m. on Oct. 25, 2019 show the smoke curtain and plume has moved locations considerably. I don’t think I took in yet that it was aligning itself in a such a way that we would be at the end of the gun barrel when the wind pulled the trigger. At 6 p.m. I capture a blurry image of a spot fire directly east of my house. By 7 p.m. the sun has set enough for me to get some truly eerie “flames in the darkness photos” both of the large fire and the spot fire that seemed to be taking aim at us.
At 11:08 p.m. I have a screenshot of the first set of evacuation orders, in the Ida Clayton Road area.
At 11:45 a.m. on Oct. 26, 2019 I have photos of our evacuation. The first sets of photos are of trailers lined up and down my driveway, there to help us removed the 20-some horses, 20-some goats, 20-some chickens, one donkey, four dogs and one barn cat we had on the property. I see my husband using a tractor to load up hay and feed, friends and clients catching and loading animals.
When I think of that evacuation, I think of how both chaotic and perfect it was. We got the vast majority of the animals out in less than 90 minutes. I played traffic cop, determining which animals could ship together, in which vehicles, giving guidance as to how to handle different individuals. In my memory, it feels like I just stood in the middle of this tornado of activity, spinning and calling out directions and somewhat hyperventilating. But since everybody got moved so quickly and smoothly, it must have been less chaotic than my memory makes it feel.
The is the part where I express the tremendous gratitude to everyone who came to help. Love you guys.
The next set of photos, starting at 1:45 p.m. are taken after I was alone. Everyone was gone, and I stayed behind for two reasons: to pack my car with as many of our irreplaceable items as possible, and to see if a bit of quiet would allow me to collect the last few roosters and the barn cat who had skedaddled due to the commotion of the mass evacuation.
I took photos of everything. The inside of the house and every room. Everything outside of the house too. The interior of the barns, tack rooms, chicken coops and sheds, overviews of the property. Our tractor, ATV and jumps. It’s a catalog of our lives.
In a humorous side note, months later, I would be struck by how cluttered the house photos looked an undertook a weekend-long purge/cleaning.
The outside photos show that the smoke has worsened, but also that it’s still a relatively pretty day. I have photos from me driving out and down the driveway, in case it was the last time.
I evacuated to my parents’ house, which they had just purchased, after deciding to not rebuild the house they lost in the Tubbs Fire. On Oct. 27, 2019 I took some photos in a parking of a shopping center near their house, where almost every tree had been blown over. Shortly after that I went and sat with my goats at their evacuation home. I have photos of them snuggling and generally looking unfussed and I remember trying very hard to embody their Zen and let their chill factor seep into my very tired and stressed bones.
The next photo is in a way the hardest to look at. It’s a screen shot of a Sonoma County map showing fire hotspots, showing one directly on my house, and many more surrounding it. I remember telling my husband that we should prepare ourselves that everything was gone.
What I have saved next is a photo I can’t share, because it’s copyrighted, but I took a screenshot of a fire truck parked alongside my at the time still intact barn from the night before. My sister found it on Twitter and sent it to me at 11 p.m. and I cried to think maybe it wasn’t all gone.
The next few were taken by a friend who was there in an official capacity and was able to sneak me a few pics showing that while we had damage, our two major structures appeared to have survived. Cue the tears again.
Finally, we have the photos I took on the afternoon of Oct. 28, 2019, when we were able to get back in with an escort from Sonoma County Animal Services to check on the roosters and barn cat I hadn’t been able to grab.
(Most of them were fine, we did lose one rooster to an encounter with a fire truck, but it was hard to be upset when so much else was saved.)
There are photos and videos of the still smoldering landscape as we drove down our road to our home, and then photos of our property. The big ticket items, the house and main barn, has been saved, though scorch marks showed how close of a call it was. I also have pictures of the melted well tank, the incinerated well head, the ashes that used to be chicken coops, the matchsticks that used to be sheds and the burn marks that used to be fencing.
We couldn’t stay long that day, so the next set of photos is from Nov. 2, when we brought my son home to see, and did a more in-depth exploration of damage. I took a now well-known photo of a fireman’s boot print melted into a pacing stone as he held the fire at bay feet away from my house.
When looking at these photos, it’s strange, because I think I remember everything about that horrible time, but I realize don’t. Some details have remained blazoned on my mind in perfect details, while others are blurred and unclear. Such is the nature of trauma, I’ve come to learn.
Happy anniversary to my fellow survivors. I hope your return and/or recovery has been smooth. Our has been rocky, but the light at the end of the tunnel no longer looks like an oncoming train.
