Wildfires Rage, a Howling Harbinger of What's to Come

By Matthew Albracht, guest writer

Aug 17, 2023

For those of us witnessing the devastating aftermath of the fires in Maui, it is heartbreaking to behold. For those that live there, and everywhere that is being ravaged by an explosion of these kinds of climate change catastrophes, it’s of course a whole other level of grief.

This new world we are emerging into can and will continue to be very difficult to navigate. It’s important that we take bold action to try and help mitigate as much as we can, but it’s also important that we take the time to grieve for what is already lost. It’s in that spirit I wrote this piece a couple of years ago about the years-long fires in Northern California (which have just started up again this year). It was a way for me to try and articulate the grief and pain of this new reality—and to help wake myself and others up to the enormity of this moment. Felt appropriate to share again now. (A shorter version was originally published on CNN.)

A few years ago, in my wildest imagination, I would never have guessed that my beloved Northern California would be a ground zero for the climate crises —especially not this soon. But here we are, and it very much is. We are not the only hard-hit place on the planet, for me though, it’s a very personal and painful strike.

There is so much to unpack right now for those of us that live here—so much lost and so much to figure out regarding how to move forward in an increasingly complicated landscape— with ramifications for all the citizens of this planet. But in this moment, I am primarily focused on allowing myself to mourn, to let myself experience the weight of what is happening here in California, and to feel into all that it entails. I won’t lie, it’s heavy.

As I write this, a couple of weeks into this year’s challenges, and having just learned that my most cherished nature spot on the planet, part of the Armstrong Woods State Natural Reserve, was wiped out, now left only to my memories—I’m finally at the stage of letting it all sink in emotionally. I’m giving myself space to digest and grieve the enormity of what is lost here in California, and deeply accept the hard truth of what is really happening. A climate crisis that is unyielding in its ferocity and has already irreparably injured my home state.

Some of the first and biggest tangible signs of a problem were the recent years’ long mega-drought, the longest in modern California history. Then the massive and historically intense fires started, returning year after exhausting year, wiping out so much in their paths, and leaving much carnage and confusion about what was happening and why. The once-in-a-generation dry thunder and lightening storms that ushered in this year’s fires offer a vivid warning for what this planet is facing— a howling harbinger of what’s to come.

Climate scientists warned us that all of this, in some related form, was likely to be our new normal, but many of us just couldn’t hold that and pushed it down, hoping and praying it was an anomaly and that our old, more comfortable and familiar norms would return. But this year, at least for me, the stark reality is finally settling in. This isn’t just going away.

So much about what I love about this magnificent area, both materially and psychologically, is either already gone or muted, with more disruptive changes still to come. There will still be much to love, and I can’t not have hope for the future here, but I cannot deny that what was will never be the same. Emotionally, this has all been very discombobulating to work through and very hard to accept.

For many, the loss might have manifest as the devastating death of a loved one or of a cherished home. It’s also the loss of so many magnificent creatures and the pristine land itself, millions of acres of trees. Some of the Redwoods that live on this land are over 1000 years old. It’s the loss of a way of life, and peace of mind for the carefree Fall season, for example, typically our best weather. It’s exactly the time we want to be outside, exploring, but is now beset with worry, contingency plans, readying evacuation kits and escape bags which litter hallways and fill the backs of cars for months at a time—never totally sure when there might be a new fire and a swift evacuation order. Most can probably imagine the chaos that ensues during evacuations.

Will we have to essentially write off one to three months a year, every year, to deal with the repercussions of these recurring fires?

It’s also the inability to go outside and simply breathe because of all the thick, toxic smoke which stains the skies, and our lungs. It can be hard to breathe inside as well, as a result of weeks of hot weather, closed but leaky windows, and mediocre HVAC systems that do their best against mounting challenges, but too often just aren’t up to this level of attack. Will we have to essentially write off one to three months a year, every year, to deal with the repercussions of these recurring fires? It’s a lot to hold. But we will have to figure out how to navigate these new climate change realities—and those unknown but yet to come.

These are the kinds of things those of us living in the parts of the world that are already being hard hit are grappling with. But it is really hard to accept the enormity of what is happening, and what the longer-term consequences will be. I have an undergrad degree in ecopsychology, a Masters degree with a focus on ecology, and I’ve long been an eco-activist, so it’s not like I was uninformed or tuned out. I guess though, that I thought the worst effects of global warming would either manifest when I was much older, or be left for other generations to deal with. Gulp… it’s here now though.

If I’ve been having a hard time accepting it, I know others are too. But we all have to accept it, allow the despair to move through us, rather than letting ourselves get stuck in denial—which can immobilize us. We have to remain awake right now if we are to do the work necessary to make change at the scale and speed needed to blunt the worst impacts of man-made climate change. There is a long road ahead for everyone on the planet and much to be done. There may be great peril if we don’t do what we need to rise up and face what is before us boldly and clear-eyed. These same dynamics seem true with the Covid pandemic we are confronting right now. Life is offering us a lot of opportunities to evolve.

That innocent, magical ease that used to be a part of life here for myself and many others feels gone, at least in this tender moment.

There will most certainly continue to be very much to love about Northern California. There is still a lot of beauty left, at least for now, and the wiped-out trees and wildlife will grow back in time—hopefully with better land management practices and less human sprawl which are also part of the problem here. But that innocent, magical ease that used to be a part of life here for myself and many others feels gone, at least in this tender moment. This area really is a national treasure, not just because of the ancient redwoods, giant oak trees and majestic natural beauty, but also the culture, the trailblazing thinking, and its long legacy as an incubator for social change. What will survive here as these challenging years roll on? I pray into that question frequently and have tempered hope.

Regardless, what’s happening to this extraordinary part of the planet offers a warning to America and the world about the dangers of global warming. It’s certainly not too late to forge forward far more sustainably. We are smart and inventive. We can build a cleaner, greener society and economy that will not only keep the worst at bay, but also create a much healthier and vibrant planet for ourselves and the many generations to come. Let’s please not continue sleeping through our overwhelm, pushing our pain and fear down and into complacency, but instead deeply feel into it, accept it and let it motivate us into productive action. We can do this. We must do this.

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