Not Built To Burn
Fires, Resilience, and Support
I remember, in 2020, driving out to Shell Beach the day after lightning storms hit Northern California, starting one of the most devastating wildfire years in recent history. I was feeling shitty at the time, for a lot of reasons, but they mostly stemmed from unknowingly breaking my foot and not being able to move, and so I decided a little dip and rest in the sun would do me good.
Shell beach, since the beginning of high school, has always been a place of quiet peace, a place of solace and whose beauty is something I find hard to comprehend in its simplicity. It’s a place of healing for me. By this I mean that I come here when I need to think, when I need comfort in a kind of nonjudgemental familiarity that is rare to find. It is my haven, something that I hold very closely and passionately in my heart, as many others do as well, specifically for its quiet and refreshing waters.
Though I was still afflicted by Shell’s peace, it was a shock to see two, then three, plumes of smoke from out across Tomales Bay to the East. Later I found out that they were in Napa and Sonoma, and that one was beginning to burn only a few miles from us down south in Point Reyes National Seashore.
As I watched the plumes of smoke, my brother and Jenny, his partner, came walking down the beach. They had just left my dad’s and I assumed were going home. But I guess they were seeking some calm too. We sat there, mostly quiet, and watched the fires with an ease that we all laughed at. We shouldn’t feel this ambivalent while watching such a violent and terrifying thing. I remember one of us saying “Well, I hope it doesn’t come here,” and then us stupidly laughing.
Eventually we decided to leave, they up to Chico and myself back to Fairfax. I wished them luck on the drive as they got in their car and I headed back to my dad’s. Just the start of another bad fire season, something already familiar to us.
As Californian’s, and my brother and Jenny being naturalists, we were fairly accustomed to the idea of fires. They are these massive beasts of storms that hold no regard for us, and yet are essential to the flourishing of healthy ecosystems across the North American West. Perhaps that’s why we didn’t panic seeing plumes closer than we had ever seen them to our family’s home. We knew already the land could heal from the scar. Or, maybe it was the tranquil effect of shell.
But that is not true for people in Maui. In Maui, as with all Hawaiian islands, there are arid regions and wet regions, yet the native flora and fauna is not used to wildfires, aside from being better handled in lava-heavy area. Because of this, along with Maui being an island with few places for people and other animals to flee, means that there is very little that people can do to escape or even protect their homes in the event of a fire, such as the ones we are currently seeing. They are devastating because the systems in place on the islands are not prepared for wildfires, a very unnatural event for the climates of Hawai’i.
In Maui, many were obviously caught off guard by this event. Lahaina, an economic hub of the island and a place I recently visited, is thoroughly burned with some saying the whole town is gone. Six people on the island have already died. This is unprecedented and holds no hope for the land itself, which is not used to this kind of heat. Tropical soils don’t respond in the same way the soils on North America do. When they are clear cut or burned it can take well over centuries to return to a normal state, if at all. You could say, like the people, the land itself is unprepared. We, through the climate that we have changed, have scarred this beautiful place once again. From the tourism industry that has hurt not only native communities but has made extinct dozens of bird species across the island, let alone plants and insects, these fires are just another testament to the damages we can accrue on beautiful spaces.
But we don’t need to sit here, clutching our little phones, hoping no one gets too hurt, because people already have. As of writing this, 36 people have died. Homes and businesses, livelihoods, have been lost. For such a small island community (that many industries and people exploit on the continent) this truly is devastating and I even fear what rebuilding will do to already extremely high housing prices for locals. But, for now, I urge anyone with even an extra dollar to their name to go ahead and donate to Hawai’i People;s Fund. They are a funding organization dedicated to receiving and distributing funds to native Hawaiian and other local communities. They are currently seeking to raise 100,000 dollars in “financial support to those directly impacted by the wildfires on Maui.”
The land of Maui is not resilient to fire the way California or Colorado is, so financial support in this case goes a long way. And what’s more, if you are thinking of vacationing there in the next year, possibly reconsider, or at the very least consider dedicating a good portion of that time to the local community that helps make yours and others stay so pleasant.
Their lands are not like the ones on the continent. The land and people on Maui and the Big Island don’t need our pity, but our help.
Thanks for the support!
Beautiful!