In the days following my neighbor’s house fire, I have discovered gems of protection and compassion from unexpected places.
The charred bamboo that protected my home from the heat and flames of my neighbor's house fire. That's my red roof in the background.
On Saturday, I blogged about my neighbor Dr. Tawn Keeny’s house burning down on Thursday. Since then, I’ve spent a lot of time processing what happened.
As I described in my post, while the tragic event unfolded before my eyes, several helpers and I were manning hoses on my fence line. We had a two-fold mission: keep the fire from encroaching my property on the ground where it was creeping along in the grass, and hose down my house itself as well as the foliage in my gardens that run along the fence line. I wrote about the tall bamboo that took most of the heat during the worst of the fire, even going up in flames at one point, which in turn incinerated the top of the 40-foot palm at right in the photo above.
That half hour of fighting the fire was definitely one of the more intense half hours of my life! Time got very contorted, although I believe only about 15-20 minutes went by before firefighters arrived and beat the flames back for good. I am extremely grateful for my helpers for all their hard work in protecting my home, and I’m also extremely grateful for the firefighters who brought the fire under control– they arrived just in time; I just don’t know how much more we could have done with our little hoses as the fire grew and grew.
Over the days following the fire, we watched as more of the bamboo leaves on the fence line turned brown and died. Our avocado tree is located a bit further up the fence line, above a wood pile that stubbornly burned long after the house fire was extinguished. That avo tree also showed more brown leaves each day. Here’s how it looks today looking up the hill toward the avocado tree:
Looking up the fence line with bamboo at right and my avocado tree at the far end.
The burned site in its totality is sobering, and it feels a bit like sacred ground. I took many photos this morning of the burned home itself, but I don’t feel comfortable publishing them since it’s not my property. The home is owned by my friend and family physician Dr. Tawn Keeney, and I know this tragedy has affected him deeply. I don’t want to add to that sorrow.
I am feeling very grateful for these beautiful bamboos. The fire inspector told us that he rarely sees adjacent homes catch fire when there is foliage between the houses. I can’t even describe to you how hot the fire was. The wood pile you see above spontaneously erupted in flames simply from the heat coming from the flames originating in the house. That entire space you see there above was a wall of fire at least 25 feet high and reaching all the way from the burning house at left to the hedge at right. Trees located much farther away from the fire up in the back were fried. So I know that were it not for this thick bamboo hedge, the gardens closest to my home would have been overwhelmed with heat, and who knows what would have happened to my house. There were two propane tanks against the house less than 30 feet from this hedge.
But look at the inside gardens on my side of the bamboos:
My secret garden would have been fried, and possibly my house, were it not for this magnificent bamboo and my helpers who kept everything wet during the fire.
We called the nursery where we bought the bamboo, Quindembo, to find out if they thought the fire damage was fatal. Quindembo owners Susan Ruskin and Peter Berg thought not and told us to look at the base to find the new shoots. Sure enough, there at the base are the new shoots already emerging– how’s that for timing? And we learned something else very interesting. Because bamboo stems are full of water, Susan and Peter said they don’t catch fire. So while the leaves of the tall blow pipe bamboo ignited in a roaring flame, the stems did not catch like a tree probably would have under that intense heat. Those bamboos shielded my gardens and my home from that wall of fire. They were the guardians of Susie’s Secret Garden.
In the days following the fire, I also have discovered gems of compassion from unexpected places. Because of my Multiple Chemical Sensitivity, I started to get sick from the fumes of the charred rubble from the burned house. It rained Saturday night and Sunday morning, but when the sun hit the rubble on Sunday afternoon, the evaporation released something from the ash that hit me like diesel fumes. It was as if a diesel truck was idling outside the window. I started feeling nauseous, dizzy, fatigued, and my eyes became irritated. When the good doctor found out, he contacted the demolition company that’s scheduled to raze and haul away the rubble, telling them that I have a medical condition and asking if they could move up the date of the job because I was getting ill from the fumes of the ash. The owner of the company said yes, he could rearrange their schedule and come sooner, starting tomorrow morning. How incredible is that?
I think this extraordinary act shows so much about who Dr. Keeney is. He’s my family physician as well as a friend and neighbor, and in his time of loss, he cared enough to pick up the phone to see if the date of demolition could be moved up because I was becoming ill. It also says a lot about the company owner, Louis Nobriga of D & D Trucking, who was flexible and responsive to a client’s request. It also shows the kind of magic that can happen when you live in a small, tight-knit community.
I’ll be vacating my home during the demolition and removal of debris. We know that dust control will be implemented, and we’ll take measures to seal up the house just in case some particulate matter becomes airborne.
Meanwhile, Dr. Keeney is already making plans for building a new home, a bit further up the hill where he will have a spectacular view of the ocean.
Susie's Secret Garden, my sanctuary.
©2010 The Canary Report
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