The Bastrop Wildfires

During my recent trip to Texas, I took a sobering tour of the area around Bastrop State Park.  What should have been a peaceful drive through the interface where suburbia meets woodland was sadly jaw-dropping.  There was very little green, and the ground was desolate.  The wildlife was nowhere to be found, and everywhere you looked, you could see signs of the horror that had passed through the area just 4 months earlier.

Early in September 2011, the east central region of Texas was at the tail end of over 90 days with temperatures over 100 degrees, and precious little rainfall had fallen during that period.  The woodlands were tinder-dry and in dangerous jeopardy of a wild fire.  Restrictions were placed on all outdoor activities that included ignition sources including outdoor cooking and smoking.  Despite all the precautions, wildfires began to pepper the area. 

The winds from Tropical Storm Lee whipped across the rolling hills, turning reasonably small brushfires into some of the area’s most destructive fires in decades.  Over 34,000 acres were scorched to varying degrees, and over the course of the 5-day event, over 1500 homes were destroyed, and two people were killed.  This was just in the Bastrop Complex fire.  Several other large scale fires within a 30 mile radius burned out of control for several days, including areas Union Chapel and Steiner Ranch.  Families were evacuated; businesses and schools were shut down… survival became a priority. 

As I watched the footage on the internet and on the national news last fall, I tried to imaging the enormity of the incident.  Nothing I could imaging could come close to the reality that was unfolding in this little town, east of Austin.  I had the luxury of touring the area with clear skies, temperatures in the low 60s, and no fear for my life.  For the 700 firefighters that worked this incident in the 100 degree heat for days on end, with very little visibility, and constant fear of a wind shift that would cut them off from safety, my hat is forever tipped to you. 

I cruised the area and saw slab after slab of concrete that were once the foundations of people’s homes.  Driveways were still littered with the rusty shells of the automobiles that were left behind when the people fled the area.  Towering trees, some still capped with green foliage stood among thousands of blackened tree trunks, scorched free of their bark, that stood, awaiting their fate.  Address markers nailed to posts helped identify properties, many of which were posted for sale.  I imagine many will never return to live in this wooded paradise, or what is left of it.  Surprisingly, however, the area was also dotted with a few brand new homes, rebuilt by those who refuse to be scared off by fire’s fury.

We drove for miles, nothing changed… thousands of people who once inhabited this beautiful area were long gone. It is hard to imagine that the area will ever recover.  When it does, it will never be the same. 

It really made me think about the families I have seen displaced from a fire in a single home, or an apartment building.  Waking up one morning and realizing that everything you own is gone.  I have watched communities rally around and provide and support those who suffered the loss, and suspect that recovery eventually happens.  But what happens when everyone on your road, in your neighborhood, and in your town lost everything as well?

The smell of burnt wood still lingers in the air in Bastrop.  Fresh green growth fights to carpet the earth once again.  Many trees still stand tall, marked by logging companies that will likely salvage them for lumber before the effects of the fire damage take their toll.  But lakes are still woefully low, and creek beds are still dry, and the expectation of another summer of dry La Nina winds looms on the horizon.   

Oh, how I wish I could do a rain dance for them.