I jumped into action, running straight to our daughter Ember’s room and swooping her into my arms. I ran into the living room where Lane was running around, frantically deciding what to take with us and asked him what I should grab.

Lane stopped briefly, looked at our one-year-old daughter in my arms and said, “You already got it. Go! I’ll be right behind you.”

I swept one last look around the living room and, feeling at a loss, grabbed a giant teddy bear Ember had just received for her birthday. Running out the door and into the smoke, I saw the flames getting closer; now the fire was at the property neighboring Uncle Don’s home. I buckled Ember up in her car seat and called for our dog, who was shaking violently and did not hesitate to load up into the car.

Thinking of our cat, I looked around briefly and called for her, but she was nowhere to be found and the smoke was too thick to keep searching; I could only hope she would find a safe place to take refuge. Looking out toward the horse pasture, I realized I had no way to get them to safety either; the horse trailer was ironically full of a fresh load of firewood. I ran back inside and tearfully told my husband if the flames kept coming closer, to open the gates and let the horses run free. 

After hugging Lane and shoving down the fear of whether we’d meet again, I ran back to the car and hopped in, closing the door as quickly as I could to keep the smoke out. With my daughter and our dog, I took off for the neighboring town where my parents lived. Pulling out my cell phone, I tapped on my mom’s contact.

She answered sleepily, “Hello?” It was only a little after 2:00 a.m. Thank goodness her phone woke her.

My response came tumbling out of my mouth, as though it was all one breath. “Mom, the valley is on fire. I think our house is going to burn down. Can we come stay with you for a while?” 

After a moment of shocked silence, she was wide awake now. “What!? Of course you can! Please drive safely!”

Upon hanging up the phone, I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw my baby girl blissfully unaware and fast asleep once again. With the adrenaline starting to wear off and the reality of the situation and what it meant beginning to kick in, I found myself stuck in a silent isolation of fear and mourning. I burst into uncontrollable sobs that began deep in my belly.

My headlights were on, but I could barely see in front of us due to the thick smoke. I turned off the car’s air system since it was only bringing in the stench of loss and heartache, a smell that still triggers me today. Other families were fleeing along with me, the road eerily lit by the flames. As we all sped toward safety, we performed a parade of honking horns to alert others who may not have yet known about the fire.

Twenty minutes later, I finally reached my parents’ home. After initial hugs and tears, I reverted back into a state of shock. I sat in silence on their couch, clutching my sleeping daughter safely in my arms and not wanting to let her out of my sight. 

I hadn’t heard anything from Lane. Cell phone service was sketchy, towers damaged in the fire. I didn’t know whether I should try to go back or wait for him and hope he was okay. After nearly an hour of agony, my husband made it to us at last.

We hugged tightly and I could feel my body break down, letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Every muscle ached from the stress of the situation, and my eyes burned from exhaustion. As we pulled apart, he shook his head.

“It doesn’t look good for our home. When I left, the fire was at our neighbor’s property.”

My eyes were as wide as they could be. “What about Uncle Don and Aunt Debbie’s house?” I asked, scared for the answer.

“It’s gone,” he said simply.

“What? No!” I began crying again.

“It was fully engulfed in the flames by the time I left.” 

Before leaving our home for the last time, Lane had grabbed our computer, bill folders, and almost all of our guns. This was something that, in the moment, made me angry with him. I yelled at him for risking his life for such menial things that could be replaced. It had been incredibly difficult for me to leave without him, and these things felt so small and trivial compared to his life.

After a moment, I asked, “What about the horses? Did you open the gate?”

He nodded. “I did, but when I was almost to the freeway, I saw Cole.” Cole was one of his cousins who, upon hearing of the fire, immediately came out to see how he could help. “By then, the sheriff wasn’t allowing anyone to go back in, so we had to go the long way around.” He paused, looking into my eyes. “Our redwoods were on fire when we got there.”

I gulped, my thoughts bouncing between our home and my horses.

“The horses were still there,” he said. “So we used a ramp to get Blue into the truck bed and Cole sat on the tailgate and held Kaylee’s lead rope.”

I pictured our miniature horse loaded in the back of the truck like a dog and Kaylee trotting along behind Lane’s work truck. There was no way they did that the entire fifteen miles to town; he wouldn’t have made it here this quickly with Kaylee being on hoof. I also knew with Cole’s help, Lane could have chosen to save his motorcycle that was sitting in the garage instead, but he knew how much those hooved beasties meant to me. His decision to save them demonstrated his deep love for me.

“Where are they now?” I asked.

“When we reached Road N, I saw Megan,” he said. She was a friend of mine who also had a horse and a two-horse trailer. “She had room for Kaylee, so we loaded her up and met them at the fairgrounds. I figured you’d want Blue and Kaylee together, so they’re sharing a stall.”

I nodded with teary relief. “Yes, and that frees up another stall for someone else too. Thank you for doing that.”

Knowing my horses were safe, I was torn between the urge to check that they had settled in okay among all the energy and chaos and being right where I was with my little girl who was thankfully sleeping peacefully and innocently in my arms. I decided I would stay with my baby for now and check on them first thing when the sun came up.

To be continued…