Forest of my childhood
braved,
blazed,
razed,
consumed
by the night.
Stands solemn now
in winter.
Fights fire
with ice.
My dad and I drove up to Sierra at Tahoe, the closest ski resort to us, this past Monday. I learned to ski and snowboard at Sierra and know the mountain by heart. Or, at least I used to.
In August 2021, the Caldor Fire destroyed 1,600 (2.5 sq. miles or 6.5 sq. kilometers) of Sierra's 2,000 acres and destroyed a machine shop that contained snow and ski equipment and heavy machinery. It also killed more than 14,000 trees, which had to be removed from the mountain.
I drove past Sierra at Tahoe last winter, but this was the first time I'd skied it since the fire. It was heart-wrenching. Even snow-covered, the runs were wastelands. I had no idea where I was half of the time.
It's been storming a good deal since I've been home-not-home, which is good because California needs it. But California needs consistent rain to prevent the droughts and fires that seem to continually plague it.
And so, this is one time I'm not afraid to say:
Come, storm. Come.
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