Toughing It Out in Paradise

Tuesday morning and the planes and helicopters are back, dumping water on the burn site. (Which is hopefully not right on my house.) I can't see them at all where I am, but I can hear them sometimes when they go to get more water. The sound is frightening and reassuring at the same time. Frightening because it sometimes sounds something like a war zone. And reassuring, of course, because you know it means they're taking care of business and maybe things will be under control soon and we'll be able to go home. Maybe even by the end of today.

I'm at the very north end of the island, waiting it out. Waiting it out is difficult because, on the one hand, we're not in danger and we had the chance to get the things most important to us out. On the other, well it's frightening in the oddest way. I mean, here I am at one of the most beautiful spots on earth, in a cottage that most people would happily unload two grand a week on, if they could find one available. (Which they couldn't this week because they're all either full of displaced persons or firefighters and they're not letting non-residents or non-essential personnel onto the island.) And I'm happy to be safe and all of that back there is just a house and just stuff and I know that. But still... so you feel a bit conflicted.

The news we get is conflicting, as well. The fire is under control but not contained. The fire is contained but not strictly under control. The fire covers 20 hectares. The fire covers 400 hectares. The fire covers sixty hectares. The fire covers an area the size of 21 football fields. (Though this particular newscaster didn't say if it was American or Canadian football fields, which would alter the outcome.) The most alarming thing I heard yesterday was that our friends in a different area had been put on watch for evacuation. Needless to say, that didn't ease my mind any.

More later.


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