What the word "Evacuation" means to me.

   So....eight years ago there was a fire on Green Mountain. Summer time. Clear skies. Molly Burnett had just started her gig on Days of Our Lives and I had the TV on to watch her.
   When I smelled smoke, the girls set out on their bikes to investigate. They rode down to Will and Katie's to see if they wanted to ride up a block or two to investigate. Will and Katie declined. So the girls rode back, and we walked up to open space. We could see the top of the fire from the top of our street. I wondered briefly if we were in danger. I figured someone would tell us. A West Metro Fire truck headed up our street as the smoke thickened. They stopped at the entrance to open space, pondered the fire plug, discovered their truck couldn't make it up the trail in open space...and drove off.
    More smoke. I returned to the TV, where there was now full coverage of the fire in my backyard and Days of Our Lives in a tiny box in screen. As the girls and I sat down to watch, we closed our windows to keep the smoke out and I wondered if the smell was enough to get in the furniture. The news said they'd do a reverse 911 if we were to be evacuated.
   Shall I recap: There is smoke outside my door and I can see the fire from my house. Nobody has called me.
  We leave again to walk the other direction to the east entrance to open space, and see the people who live right on the edge watering down their decks and roofs. I wonder if we should water our house.
   The smoke is too thick to be outside, so we retire to the house and watch the fire on TV. The phone doesn't ring. We drink every juice and soda in the house. We're particularly parched, you know: smoke outside. We decide when Jim gets home at 5---the mountain has been on fire all day and we've heard engines trying every entrance but clearly they've never had to do this before because they have no idea how to get up there--at 5 the girls and I load up the car to go to King Soopers for sodas. When we return ten minutes later, there is a police officer, lights blaring, blocking the entrance to our street.
   The following scene ensued: Kryssi drives up alongside the officer. She shows him her driver's license, assuming the issue is that he's trying to keep out lookie loos.
   "Sorry, ma'am, there's an evacuation. You can't go home."
   "Bullshit. I've been home all day, that's why we had to go get soda, it's a bit smokey up there."
   "Sorry, there's an evacuation."
   "Says who? Nobody called."
   "The neighborhood is on mandatory evacuation."
   "Cool, then why don't you drive to my house and get my husband, cats and dog, who do not know there is a mandatory evacuation because nobody called."
   "Ma'am...."
   "Mandatory, Shmandatory, make him come  down here or let me go up. I can name four other neighbors who have not left.  Get them while you're at it Officer Mandatory."
   At this point the girls have begun to panic and cry.  "Are we leaving daddy? We can't leave daddy!"
   I stare at the officer. "You get me, sir? Go save their father."
   He turns to walk away from me and I try to turn up my street. He wheels back and knocks his fist on my window."
   "Ma'am."
   "Fuck you, I live here."
   We are in a standoff. Which is silly, because I'm in a car, I would win.
   Genoa and Harper are now in full hysterical mode"MOM!!!! We can't leave dad! Just do what he says!" They are clearly hysterical as they are giving me conflicting instructions.
   I look at the girls, eyes soaked with tears, and say "Fine. We'll call daddy from Grammy's house. OK?"
   As I turn around I consider, briefly, that I have a good shot at running over the officer.
   I do not.
   The fire burned 300 acres in August of 2008, and singed the porches of two of my neighbors. Jim never left the house. He was never told to leave: the phone never rang. And no officers ventured into the neighborhood, they just posted themselves at the street entrances to turn people away. If you were home, you didn't know you were under mandatory evacuation.We spent about an hour at my mom's before the evacuation was lifted. This is the evacuation they implemented after the fire had been burning for six hours.

   This Monday there was a fire. November 2016. A Fire big enough to be seen from Denver. Hayden Park, part of Green Mountain, and to our south, had erupted in a brush fire about 4 pm.
   It could be seen from Aurora.
   We had no idea until Jim texted from Aurora as he was driving home, asking if we were on fire.
   Nope, is there a fire? I stick my nose outside, I don't smell anything. We've had a few smaller fires in open space in the last month. Jim and I hiked up to find the burn marks. It's been a little dry lately.

   I yell at Harp "Hey, is there anything on social media about a fire on Green Mountain?"
   She gets on West Metro Fire and Rescue and starts following their twitter. I turn on the news.
   Damn, that's a big fire. 100 acres. But it's a brush fire, so it's burning out once it burns what's in its path. No houses in danger, it's way up there on the mountain.
   A West Metro Fire Truck comes up the street. Pauses at the entrance of open space. Turns back around.
   After the fire in 2008 we know they ran drills up there, we watched them. Clearly they knew they were underprepared. Also, the Army is stomping around up there detonating WWII artillery, and GM Water is up to something, they've cleared a path and schlepped giant water pipes up to the water tank.    Those trucks can get up there.
   Harp announces that they've started evacuations, the map is all wonky. Clearly the fire is on the west side of the mountain, all the houses are on the east side, yet they're evacuating the streets behind us.
   We walk up to the street behind us, because that's who we are.
   On the way we note our neighbors hosing down their roof. They are on the roof in 20 degree weather, hosing it down. They're going to die.We smile and wave.
   The police officer tells us we can't walk into open space. I almost laugh at her. I'm that dumb, Immmma take my family and dog on a nice freezing walk in 20 degree weather straight into a brush fire. She says they're evacuating and we are all on stand by. As we no longer have a landline, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to get this information other than to hike up the hill to the flashing red and blue bubbles and ask the young lady in the safety vest.
   We are now able to smell it. The dog is freaking out.
   Harp starts getting jumpy, reading the tweets out loud every time a street is put on evac.
   I stand and look at her. "We have four cats and a dog and a guinea pig. Really?"
   Jim, beer in hand, walks through our tableau "We're fine. I'm not leaving. It's fine."
   Harp packs a bag and her dog. We are able to stuff a cat into a carrier. As Jim watches her wrestle the agitated ball of fur into the carrier he says "That is more dangerous than staying here."
   So we send Harp, a cat and her dog to my mom's so she can relax and read the West Metro Tweets out loud at my mom's house.
   Jim has begun to gather his guns downstairs. I don't ask.
   We wander outside, there are neighbors in the street.
   "Did you get a call?"
   "Ya, are you leaving?"
   "Well, I'm going to a hockey game, but I think Allison is going to leave."
   "We did not leave the last time, but I think I will send the wife and kids down."
   I look at this neighbor, then to my husband and say "You boys should play together more often."
   My mom texts "We need a cat box...."
   Didn't harp take it?
   But she left the cat box behind.....because she took her bug and pretty much only she and Marty fit in it. There was an entire Commedia performance as we tried to get the  guinea pig cage into her trunk.
   It did not fit.
   So I wrangle another cat into a box, and schlep the feline and the cat box down to mom's. I tell Jim "If they show up to run you off, the guinea pig goes in the shoe box by its cage and you'll have to catch the other two cats."
   He shrugs, stacking ammo on guns.  "I'll let them out. They'll be fine."
   I married a Texan, in case you were wondering.
   On the drive out, a young man, standing astride his patrol car, bubbles blazing, stops me.
   "You headed out?"
   I look at him. The cat has escaped from the box and is now on the dashboard. Does he need an answer, really? I say "No, " and he nods.
   As I trundle down the hill, the cat slides off of the dashboard. Incensed, she begins a low, angry growl from somewhere near the passenger seat. I hear claws, and a minute later she's on top of the litter  box in the back seat. But only after she has opened the back window. I neglected to engage the child locks.
   I get to mom's and text from outside her house "Free range cat. Help."
   The cats decide they are going to huddle together under an end table, facing one another, unmoving.    Harp declares they are having face time.
   Marty doesn't understand why my mom's dog doesn't want to be his friend.
   Harp monitors West Metro as I watch Lost Boys and have a glass of wine.
   About the time Lost Boys is over, Harp declares the evac is lifted.
   Of course it is.
   The fire burned 500 acres. It came nowhere near our house. Jim never left the house. We spent about an hour at my mom's house before the evacuation was lifted. An evacuation they implemented for a fire that was on the opposite side of the mountain from my house.


In 1988 there was either a tropical storm or a hurricane in Houston....