When Water, Wind, and Fire Rage Out of Control
Yes, we can do something. Addressing the climate crisis calls on us to think locally
It’s definitely winter in the Virginia Piedmont. Over the past week, we’ve experienced snow, freezing rain, sleet, just plain rain, and then more snow. Not a common occurrence in this part of the world. In fact, we’ve lived in this house for five years, and we can only remember one other snow that was more than a dusting.
As a result, my wife had an entire week added on to her winter break from school. The region has had power outages galore, downed trees and branches everywhere, and on top of that, the City of Richmond and parts of the surrounding counties had a contaminated water system to deal with. Residents had no water—or at least potable water—all last week. Fortunately, we didn’t have to deal with that. A few hours of no power, while a minor inconvenience, was enough for us.
My wife and I do pretty well roughing it—we have an indoor propane heater, a Jackery portable power station, several external phone batteries, eighteen gallons of bottled water, a propane camp stove, and several solar-powered Luci lights. We could survive an extended utility outage if we had to, but, I say without hesitation, that we certainly prefer the comforts that electricity and city water provide.
As troublesome as it was, Richmond’s weather was nothing compared to the damage Hurricane Helene caused this past fall. Residents of Asheville, North Carolina were out of potable water for a couple of months. A friend of mine who lives in Asheville told me how happy he was when he no longer had to go to the gym to shower. At least he had a house to return to. So many North Carolinians and those in surrounding states lost their homes due to the catastrophic flooding that ripped through their communities. Entire mountainsides were reformed, rivers redirected, and towns washed away. And now, just a couple of months later, we turn our attention to the other coast and another climate disaster.
My wife and I visited my lifelong friend, Sharon, her husband, and three teenage boys this summer on our trip to California. I’ve known Sharon since she was born in the 1960s. In fact, I suspect that she was probably the first baby I ever held in my arms. My parents were Sharon’s godparents, and her mother was my mom’s best friend, so I always felt a deep connection to her. Although we haven’t been in touch much over the years, that bond stayed alive.
When the opportunity arose for Wendy to attend the American Library Association Conference in San Diego this past summer, we jumped on it. I reached out to Sharon, who’s lived in Pacific Palisades for years and told her we’d be coming up to LA for a couple of days, and that we’d love to see her. She invited us to dinner.
Unfortunately, I tested positive for COVID-19 that morning. Despite my diagnosis, Sharon insisted we come anyway. “We’ll have dinner on the deck,” she told me. “We can socially distance and enjoy the beautiful view at the same time.”
And so, we did, but not without first stopping at an urgent care clinic in Pacific Palisades. The clinic, located on Via de La Paz, provided me with excellent and efficient services. I was relieved to learn that my chest and heart were in good shape and was happy to get a prescription for Paxlovid, which I promptly filled at the pharmacy next door. We spent less than thirty minutes there in total before Sharon’s husband picked us up to drive the short distance to their house.
When we arrived, we immediately moved to the deck. And, just as Sharon had led us to believe, the view was incredible. Overlooking the trees and a collection of rooftops protecting Mediterranean and other California-style homes, we could see all the way to the ocean.
All that is gone now. Houses, businesses, jobs, cars, photo albums, family heirlooms, and all the things that make a house a home, probably even the baking pan that Sharon used to bake an apple bar, a family recipe from my mom that her family aways enjoyed. She made one for Thanksgiving this year and made sure I knew about it. I salivated just remembering the mouth-watering aroma of baked apple and cinnamon topping wafting through our house on holiday mornings.
I’m certain that the clinic that treated me so well and the adjacent pharmacy are also gone. At least 150,000 other people in her community have lost everything, and as of today, the Palisades fire is only 13% contained with high winds forecasted for tomorrow threatening whatever there is left to burn.
I’ve texted briefly with Sharon a couple of times since they evacuated. She told me that they had a place to stay last week but were still looking for something for this week. I don’t yet know if they found anything. I pray they did.
Ironically, when Helene devastated my Asheville friend’s city this past fall, he was in Pacific Palisades visiting his family. All three of his family members had to evacuate this week, and I haven’t heard whether their houses survived.
I don’t know how to help
Other than sending money to relief organizations, checking in with Sharon now and then, and praying, there’s probably nothing I can do from across the country. And yet, feeling helpless is not a good feeling. It defies everything I wrote last month about hope in my Thirty Days of Hope series.
Or does it?
I want to do something, fix something, change something that will provide relief to those in need—for my friend Sharon and her family and the thousands of others who are suffering. As I reflected on this this morning, I came to accept the fact that maybe I can’t do much to address their immediate needs, but I can still do something.
I’m reminded especially of what I published on Day 4, Hope Requires Action. There I wrote that in order to have hope, we have to act. If I’m listening to myself (not something I’m always great at!), then I need to figure out what I can do to become more involved in addressing climate change. One thing that’s right up my ally, for example, is supporting the planting of native trees. I read yesterday that many of the Coast Live Oaks (Quercus agrifolia) might survive the fires in Southern California because they’re especially fire resistance, while many, if not all, of the imported species are not. If we want trees that can adapt to the environments that they’re in, they have to be native to that particular ecosystem. Read more about planting native trees here:
Although in Virginia, we don’t (at least as of yet) have the fire threat that routinely exists in California, we have other threats like high heat, excessive humidity, poor soils, etc., that trees native to Virginia thrive in, while supporting native insects, birds, and other wildlife. By planting native trees on my property and advocating for the planting of native trees throughout the metropolitan area in which I live, I’m impacting climate change and helping to offset its growing effects. It might not seem like much, but it’s a significant something!
What can you do in your community, with your skills, and your interests? Below are some ideas that you might connect with.
10 ways you can help fight the climate crisis
I probably can’t help Sharon a whole lot, except for offering moral support, but I can do something that might mean that, in the future, others will not have their lives ripped away by water, wind, and fire. That’s something.
What will you do to help?
Donating to Relief Efforts
If you’re interested in donating to help with relief efforts, here’s a list of places accepting donations.
How to Help or Donate to Victims of the California Wildfires
As in any natural disaster, the most effective donation is money. As tempting as it might be, unless you live near the affected region and can help process it, do not donate clothes or household goods, at least at this point. The evacuees have no place to store them, and relief agencies are required to assign precious staff and volunteers to sorting, evaluating, and distributing the worthy items, and destroying the rest. If you give money instead, organizations can easily hand out gift cards that allow the affected people to purchase what they need.
Yours in hope,
Annette
Thank you for sharing your personal connection. Putting a real face on disaster helps make it heart felt. Your suggestions were helpful. Climate change must be dealt with personally and nationally….Charlotte
Very helpful column, Annette. This type of devastation is surreal. Another sad thing is that so many home insurance companies have pulled out of the state. So sorry about your friend’s loss. Just devastating.
My nephew and his wife had purchased a home in Asheville. They had barely gotten settled in when he realized the need to be closer to home due to health problems with his parents (my sister). They sold the home and moved to Hattiesburg a short while before Helene swept in. We are thankful for this but filled with sorrow for the people who lost everything. Your writing also reminded me that Charity Navigator has also posted a nice list of places one can donate to with confidence. I haven’t looked at your list, so it may be the same. There are several animal shelters listed. I saw a touching video of a firefighter walking around with a dog in his arms as though consoling him/her. They are true heroes. Glad you and your wife are okay.