January, You're Canceled!
We're Moving On
I’ve never understood the point of “Dry January.” Or rather, I’ve never understood why anyone would want to be sober in January. With its post-holiday bills and impending tax season dread, political upheavals, weather disasters, and swirling viruses that make every gathering feel like a walking Petri dish, January is easily the longest month of the year, coming in at a whopping “Why is it still January?!” days long.
So far, January has managed to bring us relentless Santa Ana wind conditions (which have thankfully started to fuck off), unprecedented wildfires, and now for Dale and myself, Covid.
Yay?
But as January finally GTFOs, there are some things to ponder and reassess, as well as things to look forward to…
The Hughes Fire
Clothes, toiletries, emergency supplies, the dog and her go-bag. Important papers. Laptop. Should I try dismantling my desktop computer? Is there room for all the family photos? What about the little keepsakes?
I take the family recipe for scones, framed and hanging near the kitchen, because I know Dale would want to save it. I also grab the little figurines and Pop Vinyls from my desk. One, a recent Christmas gift. The others, memories of happy times and the pop culture touchstones that inspire me.
Between Dale and myself, there are other deliberations over pieces of art and books. How much room—and time—do we have to pack up all our sentimental belongings? Our lives?
On January 22, I wasn’t certain of room or time. I was working from home, monitoring updates on the Hughes Fire via the Watch Duty app. The fire had broken out near Castaic that morning, during a long week of Santa Ana conditions. The fire was a good 35+ miles away.
But then, the Palisades Fire had burned roughly that many square miles. The winds on January 22 were nowhere near as strong as they had been on January 7, but they were still strong enough to fan the smoke and ash south and west across most of Ventura County.
By 11:30 that morning, the sky had darkened, and I noticed heavy shadows looming over the house. I stepped outside to see what was going on. Toward the east, a dense column of smoke was slithering across the Santa Clara River Valley, riding the wind like a medieval dragon. I worried about ember cast, about more fires being sparked along the way.
I told my freelance client that I was bailing and told Dale to come home. I buckled our dog, Ruby, into the CR-V and began the process of packing up. Up and down the street, other neighbors looked to be following suit, getting out before an evacuation warning or order could be issued.
I kept telling myself, “It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.” The smoke had already burned my lungs. I dug an N95 mask out of the closet. Finally, I got myself buckled into the car. I realized I was talking aloud. “It’ll be okay,” I said. I looked at Ruby, who only studied me quizzically.
I got her to Dale’s mom’s place, where ash was raining down over the cars parked along the street. When Dale came home, we decided we had time to make another run to Santa Paula for more stuff. Evacuation warnings were being issued for areas west of Interstate 5, into Piru. Not a good sign. By Wednesday night, what had started as a 500-acre brush fire would explode to more than 10,000 acres.
When we arrived back in Santa Paula, the city had gone eerily quiet. No one out walking their dogs or doing power walks up and down the street. No signs of kids out on the play fields by the high school. Even the birds were silent. As we packed up our stuff, the house took on a sad, lonely feel, already abandoned. Anxiety got the better of me—I imagined the house being consumed, razed to its foundation. I thought about the residents of Altadena and the Palisades, what they must have gone through. Their anchors to time and place and memory erased. Their lives reduced to what they could fit in their cars—if that.
Dale and I paused in the kitchen for shots of whiskey. We toasted the house and our time in it. I admonished the house to stay good. And then we left.
We were, of course, lucky. The fire never made it into Ventura County. Firefighters had a steady supply of water courtesy Castaic Lake, and ground and air attacks continued throughout the night. Containment lines were already getting established by Wednesday evening. No structures were damaged or destroyed. Having started in the rolling hills around Castaic, the fire took only dry brush as its fuel.
Smaller brush fires broke out here and there around Ventura, and Dale and I rode out the Santa Anas as voluntary evacuees. On Friday, we moved back into the house in Santa Paula and breathed collective sighs of relief. If nothing else, the Hughes Fire had given us a chance to do a “dress rehearsal” for a real emergency. We talked about our packing list and rethought how we might go about the process. We slept hard that night, happy to be back in our own bed.
And then we caught Covid.
Parque 1055
This new restaurant, events center, and wine bar celebrated their grand opening in Downtown Santa Paula this last month. Featuring California cuisine, and wines representing the best of the Central Coast, Parque 1055 is already generating great buzz and looks to become a go-to watering hole for locals and visitors alike. It offers a lounge, and an outdoor patio with umbrellas and heaters. The event space may be reserved for weddings or other special occasions. Open seven days a week for lunch, dinner, and desserts. Happy Hour is Monday–Friday, 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM. Review to come.
1055 E Main Street
Santa Paula, CA 93060
Phone: (805) 619-1055
What’s That Falling From the Sky?
A bird? A plane? A SpaceX Falcon 9?
Nope. Rain!
This last weekend, Ventura County, and much of Southern California, saw its first real rain in months. Drops of actual water, wet and wonderful, spilling from the clouds.
While it was not enough to announce the official end of fire season, or to erase our rainfall deficit, it was a solid start. Ventura received just over an inch of rain in all. And there’s more on the way, possibly next week. In the meantime, humidity levels have risen and clouds have settled over the valley, making the future look bright.
Here’s to February!
