A Memoir of Ananda's 8/28/04 Fire

by Patricia Kirby

It's a lovely Saturday afternoon at Chandi House. I've bagged a lunch, about to leave. Julie races by, a somewhat worried look on her face. "Have you heard about the fires?" she asks.

Fires? Why, it's a clear day! Or so it seems . . . till I open the door and see smoke wafting up the hill. That explains why we've been hearing planes occasionally go by!

"There are several fires at the Expanding Light as well as on Oak Tree and up Tyler-Foote Road," Julie goes on. "We're to evacuate and go downtown."

Ananda's downtown is certainly a stretch of the word, but it refers to our market and community center. Here we are, then, facing what we knew could happen again to Ananda after the devastating fire of 1976. And this summer is the driest in years.

Our grassy meadows have long turned to straw.

I've thought of the likelihood of fire for weeks, hoping to be ready to let things go yet at the same time well enough prepared to save Midnight, my cat and, if possible, a few items of value. I line up what I want to take, including a few changes of clothes. Some of us scoot around the house to check that windows and doors are closed and blinds drawn. The community's electricity has been shut off for safety's sake and will remain so overnight. It's a little eerie to wonder if we'll be returning.

Out in the parking area, others are calmly but quickly packing up. Some wave. My bewildered cat doesn't understand why he's caged and unceremoniously plunked on the car seat. A similar scene repeats around Ananda amid yowls of protest.

By the time I arrive downtown, many community members have left to become makeshift firefighters at the Expanding Light, tools in hand and bandanas protecting their faces.

Smoke makes its way into the downtown parking lot.

Community members lounge on the grass as if it were any other nice summer day.

Time out between fire updates and AUMs. Note the bell in the foreground to "gather the troops" when there's news.

Soon the bell alerts us that we have an announcement. I head over to the circle assembling around Jyotish.

Jyotish, buried somewhere in the middle of the group, tells us a small cabin has burned down at the Expanding Light, but that the fire seems contained. We don't yet know much about the other fires down the road.

Everyone recognizes this news as a signal for more heavy-duty prayer work.

The pivotal stage of an oft-repeated cycle today: Pray, sit around and wait, get news, pray . . .

I spend much of the afternoon walking between the announcement area and my car to look in on Midnight. I've covered his cage with sun reflectors and left doors open for air. But he is not a happy camper. Maitri and her daughters have parked nearby with their cat, who's cringing and panting. They take her in her box into the Garden Mandir, where it's cooler and quieter.

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