I went to visit my folks yesterday after hearing that the fire had restarted overnight. When mom and dad came around in the morning to begin sifting through wreckage, they found the street blocked by a handful of firetrucks that had been there since 3AM.
The house and barn are now little more than ash and memory.
I’m not sure if this is actually A Good Thing(tm) given that three-quarters of a burnt house is hardly any house at all. I do know they would have liked the option of getting everything out they could. Even to hold personal treasures destroyed by water and smoke in your hands one last time.
We spent the afternoon hauling Dad’s more expensive woodworking tools (luckily stored in a third, untouched building) to a more secure facility.
Facebook lit up like a Christmas tree, and already donations small and large are filtering in from everywhere. Many from people who I guess can ill afford their own generosity. I thank you, and my family thanks you.
Last night, I agreed to stay with them at their motel, but after three hours of tossing and turning, I left a note and drove home. In the car, my mind kept returning to the show I’d hoped to attend — one of my favorite bands, from the New Orleans second line tradition. Music as fitting perhaps for fire as for funeral. Despite trying not to think about it, I imagined myself dancing with wild abandon in the mesmerizing glint and glow of stage lights across a dozen brass horns.