A tale of my dawgie's ability to be a therapy assistant here in the Fire Country
of Lake County, California
So I have been going up to Moose Lodge in Clearlake Oaks to try and help the evacuees in any way that I can.
This lodge, a traditional Moose Lodge with meeting room and then bar, converted its empty lot into a place where evacuees of the rocky Ridge Fire (the fire that began on July 2nd and lasted till about September 7th) could come and stay.
More below the fold --
Many of the evacuees put up tents and stayed there. Not only that, but they could visit each other inside the meeting room, obtain clothing, tents, blankets, as much water as needed, food and drinks.
The inside of the meeting room and also the bar are fully air conditioned - an important aspect of life when the County you live in has temps as high as 105 in the summer.
So when the new fire, the Valley Fire, affected people, this became one of the top places tht people chose to stay.
The new fire affected many people from Cobb Mt who I call hangers on. These people make a marginal living, or have a marginal income.
Think disability of $ 600 a month, or a trust fund that gives them $ 700 a month. Rents in the county are something on the order of $ 800 a month for a two bedroom, (low end of rents) and $ 550 for a studio, so it is easy to see that type of income doesn't get a person very far. Or maybe they are window washers, or yard and vacant lot clearers, or help some farmer train horses. An eclectic bunch of folks.
The new fire hit the Cobb Mt area very hard. So people paying $ 200 a month to live with someone else in the granny unit or spare bedroom lost everything, while the home owner they lived with can at least wait it out for the fire /home insurance check to come through.
The fire started the afternoon of September 13th, a Saturday. It took out over 1900 homes and structures.
At first people are in shock and in a way it might have seemed like a bad dream or even an adventure. But ten days or so into the experience, people start acclimating to the ugly reality of it all, and then go into a new level of shock. Many of the evacuees face a very threatened position - they have lost everything, and now they are living in a tent, and what will happen when it gets cold and the temps are around 19 degrees at night?
Of course, I wanted to help, but how?
So last Friday, finally figuring out something I could do to help out, I drove out to Clearlake Oaks Moose Lodge with a sign in hand.
The sign read:
"If you need to get a ride somewhere, contact me. Excellent driving record, maximum insurance, and I will happily take you where you need to go." It included my name and hone number.
I brought Bella with me to the Lodge, thinking that I could take her to one of the local parks after I posted my flyer at the Moose Lodge entrance door bulletin board.
So I park the car, leaving the windows open and two teen aged volunteers in charge of keeping track of Bella while I hustle into the building, post the flyer and then leave. I make sure to thank these volunteers - it is very young people who are manning most of the positions inside the camp and helping everyone while also making sure of security issues, so people's tents don't get looted etc.
Since "the camp" is like a small city at this point, this is a lot of responsibility.
Back in the car, after saying hello to Bella, I drive over the rutted gravel road back up to the highway.
I start to angle into the left turn lane, but as I do that, my eyes glance across a woman setting up to hitch hike.
She had to have been in her late 30's or maybe early 40's. She reminded me of those pictures of Oklahoma dust bowl survivors - all dusty clothing, grit on her face, a very weary expression of hopelessness blanketing any light in her eyes.
I put the car at an angle so I can talk to her. She is in the position of being about to put her finger out for a ride, so I start the conversation with, "Where are you going? If it is not too far, I'd be glad to take you."
A look of relief comes across her face. "I'm just going over to Glen Haven."
I have no idea where that is - but she explains it is only two communities over from where we are. I also explain, as we continue talking through the open passenger window, that we have to acclimate Bella into the idea that she is Bella's friend. I quickly teach her the Bella friend song, which goes like this "Bella, Bella Bella you are the best of dogs and I am your friend."
I can never remember the original tune, so each time I sing it it has a different tune than the time before. The important part of the song is being very enthused that you know Bella and she knows you. Bella loves the song and then she is in a good mood and responds well to strangers which prior to my going to the evacuation camps every day, had not been one of her favorite things.
Anyway Bella starts wagging her tail and when C. gets into the car, Bella tries to push her way into the front seat, eager to put licks and kisses on C's face.
I instruct her verbally to stay in the back seat and she complies, but the dog welcomes this new friend's pats and pettings.
As we drive, I bite my tongue. I want to ask C. her story - how she ended up in this camp? What day had the fire destroyed her home? What were her plans for getting on with her life? Did she have somewhere decent to go, if the camp were to close? The desperation and poverty that seemed to be surrounding her suggested that none of her replies would have been happy ones.
But I knew better to ask any of that. I thought back to my days manning a suicide line - best to let the traumatized person tell their story, or not. And in this case, she was in a car, so as the minutes went by, maybe she would reveal her story.
The car flew over the terrain - hills and curves and a most gorgeous Indian Summer, day -- the likes of which bring hordes tourists from the Bay Area to Lake County in normal, non-fire Septembers.
"Where did you get Bella?" she finally ventured. "You haven't had her long, have you?" she added, having noticed that occasionally Bella cowered when C's hand went in the back of the car to pet her.
"She got adopted from the ASPCA June 9th. She is starting to really like people."
"But somebody mistreated her, didn't they?" The woman sighed. "Bella, you are so lucky to have someone to be your family while you deal with your traumas. So very lucky, aren't you Bella?"
We continued the drive, the woman now adding in details as to how much farther we would need to go before we came to her destination.
Then as we approached the cottages being rented out to fire survivors, (usually tourist dwellings, but not this year) the woman turned again to Bella and said, "Bella, Bella, Bella, you are so truly blessed to have a home. So many of us do not have homes! May you enjoy it and be happy with your owner."
She leaned over the back set and leaned over Bella and tears from her face fell onto the dog. During this entire time, Bella had maintained a look of compassion. The kind of soul searching, totally empathetic look that only dogs or other critters know how to give.
I handed C. a slip of paper with my phone number, and helped her across the highway with her four bags of clothing and personal things, while she carried her purse and the one big see-through plastic bag with a brand new comforter. (Probably given to her by the Moose Lodge staff.)
We shook hands on the other side, and then she trudged off to the cottage where she would be staying.
I turned back to the car, feeling like I needed a good cry.
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And this week, when I again go up to Moose Lodge, I imagine how Bella will continue to be of service to others who have been displaced.