As I write this, Bend Oregon is heading into its fifth consecutive day with a median AQI of over 400. That’s on beyond Unhealthy, Very Unhealthy, and solidly into the Hazardous zone. It looks hazardous, too. Particulate matter is so thick the trees across the street are cloaked in haze and Pilot Butte, normally visible from my front yard, is not. Afternoon temperatures, predicted to reach into the 80’s F, don’t get much above 70°, there’s so much sunlight being blocked out. Small mercies. I’ve brought Janet, my potted citron, indoors and under the grow light that sustains her in the winter. I learned this from the last time we had 400+ AQI days, around this time of year in 2017. Janet, who was already well north of her comfort zone when I lived in California, is very sensitive and will shed leaves at the slightest provocation. But we find ways to manage.
I have been managing by sealing up the house like it’s about to be submerged, changing the air filter, and staying inside as much as possible. When I do go out, it’s in a mask and safety glasses. The official word is that cloth masks do not protect you from the effects of wildfire smoke, and may even give you a false sense of security. But when I changed the filter on my Volante mask after working an aborted lifeguard shift on Friday, it was visibly dirty. Maybe it didn’t catch everything, but it got something. And it has allowed me to walk my dog and do other essential trips without getting a cough or stomach aches—my typical reaction to fire smoke. The safety glasses also help, astonishingly. Even though they do not seal against my skin, wearing them prevents the burning, watering eyes that develop otherwise.
Bike rides are out, though. So it’s been kettlebells in my living room, and then Heliopause work. This has been my salvation. I launched my first Kickstarter on Sunday, when I would have been on a bike ride normally, and it funded in 25 hours. I actually got to see the little green bar shoot past the funding goal because I was doing work on my computer instead of riding a bike. Whatever else comes, I think I made the most of my weekend.
Today is Tuesday, which should have meant opening the pool at 5 a.m. but I got a text from my supervisor last night: they are cancelling outdoor activities and delaying opening until 9, so I’m not needed until 8:30. So I’m sitting on my sofa, drinking tea and eating chocolate, while a cat colonizes the dip of lap between my chest and the pillow on which I’ve propped my iPad. After I finish this I will write a Kickstarter update, and then I will write some words for Driving Arcana 4.5. I find it helpful to my mental health to be writing new fiction, even when I have editing and publishing work to do. Writing—putting word after word on a blank page and building up a story—is a bit like biking in that it is so absorbing I cannot spare a thought to worry about anything else. And since biking isn’t going to be a thing until we quarter the AQI, I might as well get words written.
It is a strange feeling to be in a place not on fire, surrounded by fires. The smoke is terrible, yes, but it is infinitely preferable to actually being on fire. It is also loads better than what WoMo had to do this weekend: pack up the family pets and essentials and evacuate my childhood home, which is being threatened by the SQF complex, in eastern California. She is evacuating to San Jose, where my dad and brother already are, and which is not on fire owing to the fact that every fire fighting resource in the state went into containing the fires there—instead of the one burning in the back country. The one that is now threatening my old home. So I can be pretty thankful that my current home isn’t on fire, and (so far) isn’t threatened. It’s a long drive to San Jose from Bend.
That was another thing I did this weekend: prepared a go-bag. I’m pretty well stocked for shelter-in-place (thank you, pandemic?) but hadn’t made the adaptation for sudden flight. Fortunately I already have all the important stuff. Ideally I could add a bedroll and a filter pump, but my situation isn’t nearly as complex as those with livestock. Or even an aggressive parrot—as in the case of my mom.
At the same time, life goes on. I have a Kickstarter to run. Stories to write. The house is due for a cleaning and tomorrow I will need to buy groceries. Later today I will go over to the pool and do the work that needs doing.
On Saturday I made a deposit on a fat bike. This will serve as both a snow-ice commuter, and as a means of getting rides in through the winter. Because whatever catastrophes are racing each other across its surface, the earth still orbits the sun on a tilted axis. I don’t know what this winter will bring, but I intend to be as prepared as I possibly can.
I hope that, wherever and whenever you are, you are safe and your airway is clear and that you have water to drink and something soft to cuddle. I wish you all courage and strength.
