Mary Jane Stevens continues Miracle at Soda Canyon, her harrowing tale of uncertainty and terror on the night the Atlas fire started.
…continued from March 14th—
Later, Bob would tell me his incredible tale of his experiences that night.

mercurynews.com
Bob said he felt a little better that he knew they had been located, but they were still very much in danger. The wind was loud, the sky dark and the smoke was suffocating. In the wee hours of the morning the wind buffeted his bare face, ears and hands when he got out of his truck. He was anxious to get off the mountain. When would help return? Would help come in time? Everything he saw proved his situation was grim. The black velvet sky was now clouded with smoke and sparkling with glowing embers, some very large, swirling in the howling wind. He prayed those embers would not land on a roof starting a fire that would create a chain reaction taking all the homes down. Ghostly clumps of smoldering scrub dotted the nightscape in the distant periphery, surrounding him like threatening wild animals ready to pounce and devour everything in their path. An ominous orange glow at the horizon was the most terrifying sight of all. Would the wind shift again and send the fire over the homes and directly toward Bob?

tablascreek.typepad.com
Of the entire group of vehicles only three joined the convoy. Bob wondered why there were only three. A week later we found out at a party for fire survivors. Before he reached the evacuation area helicopters had evacuated all the people from the parked vehicles. They weren’t able to return to rescue the others because the high winds and smoke made it too dangerous to fly. Only Bob and the occupants of the three other vehicles had been left behind.

sodacanyon.org
Bob joined the end of the convoy. He wanted to get off the mountain, out of harm’s way. That involved driving through the edge of the fire. Slowly, they worked their way down, swerving around the glowing detritus in the road while trying to steer clear of burning branches at the shoulder. Embers were flying through the air around the convoy. He said it was a bone-chilling sight when at the steepest part of the road Bob looked out over the canyon and there was fire as far as he could see. Below him, and on either side of the road, the inferno burned everything in its path. It looked as if no structures remained standing. He could see only blackened trees silhouetted against the orange of the hissing, spitting, undulating fire following the road.
Everything was on fire or already burned. Then he saw one structure still standing: the Soda Canyon Store, a beacon at the bottom of the road on the corner at Silverado Trail.
THE WHOLE WORLD IS A TELEPHONE BOOTH
This week, poet, Dominic “Nick” Triglia, shares his unique experience of the October firestorm.
Nick says this about himself:
I was born a “blue baby” in 1950 at the old hospital on Spring St. in Calistoga. The owners of the hospital always told me I was the last baby born there. When I found out they were wrong, I changed it to: I was the last good lookin baby born in the hospital.
I wore the blue uniform of the Postal Service for 34 years. I love blue skies, the deep blue sea, blue movies, listening to the blues, and drinking red wine.
Nick is also a producer of poetry events in the Upper Napa Valley
atlasobscura.com
The Whole World Is a Telephone Booth
15 items or less
express lane
in heavy traffic
woman shares
answers to questions
near the
National Enquirer rack
“We packed the RV
then unpacked
got another advisory
my brother in the urn
put back in the house”
Mom takes him back
to the RV
can’t decide
to take him or not
Dad said to leave him
“he’s only ashes anyway”
Mom said, “yeah
but that’s all I’ve got
of him, he’s goin.”
khan.com
Message Machine
She left his message
of not being home
“to leave a message”
on the phone
seven years
since his passing
his voice lets you know
that he and she
are not at home.
Evacuated
she calls their number
hears his voice
calls five times a day
said “if he answers
I know our home
is safe from the fire”
Each time she listens
to his recorded voice
she kisses the receiver.
greifhealingblog.com
Smoke over the Napa Valley October 2017. Marina Torres
M
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Filed under Commentary, Fire Season, Poetry, Students
Tagged as fire stories, Poetry, telephone booths