Toward the end of the recent, terrible firestorms, last month, I was able to pull up lists of the addresses of homes/structures that had been burned.
I knew that the fire had come very near some of the four different homes in the area that mom and her used-to-be husband, Ken, had lived in, and was curious to know if any of them had been affected. The first home they lived in, around the Fallbrook Golf Course (as they all were), was a lovely custom-built house (by the architect who lived there, originally) to which Ken had added his classic artistic touches (decks, river rock walls, etc.). It was nestled in the old oaks, with a creek running by. 
After that, they lived in two other beautiful houses, which Ken designed and built, himself, plus a condo near I-15, where they lived during the construction of one of them. We had memories associated with them all, of course.On the computer list of damaged homes, was the address of the first house they occupied, the one on Nuestra. I mentioned it to Mom, and she, of course, was quite interested to know if it was gone, or just slightly damaged. She still has friends in the area, but none could tell her. So, Terry and I thought we'd stop by to check it out.
We found very little of it left. We hoped that the occupants had been able to get all their pets and valuables out in time. But the house, itself, was well and truly burned to the ground. Beyond the concern for the current owners, we were, of course, trying to coax up memories of our own from that place, as we walked carefully through the ashes. Mom and Ken had lived there for several years in the eighties, and we'd spent many days with our young kids and extended family in that beautiful, tree-covered house and yard.
The house was unique: large, warm and rustic and contemporary. Big windows. Ken (never one to sit around) had built his huge, signature decks and benches all around the house. And beautiful river rock walls. There was spa set into the deck. And a pickle ball court lined out in the driveway (I forget how it's played, but I think it's like big ping-pong, with paddles and a rubber ball). It was there, once, that Terry could get a break from carrying tiny Lily (recently adopted from Korea), because Terry and I looked so much alike, that Lily couldn't always tell the difference.The stone fences are still there, along with the fireplace and a few walls of that long, 70s-style brick. And the pot-bellied stove in the guest wing. I thought of the current owners picking though the rubble for any possessions. We were picking through it for memories, trying to remember the rooms and activities. The huge, old oak that we all loved to look at and even climb, was unscathed. Many of the other trees were damaged, but, perhaps, still viable. Given the burn pattern we saw, it must have been the very last house in that area to go up in flames. The creek was running. I hope the owners can rebuild. It's still a lovely setting.
It was a sobering stop. Very quiet and ghostly. I took a few pics, Terry picked up a piece of flagstone from the fireplace, and we left. We didn't lose anything, there, of course. But there's something strange about walking around a place that once was filled with a piece of one's life and seeing it so utterly changed by sudden catastrophe. Happens every day, for someone.
We zoomed on our way, and had lunch at El Torito, near Magic Mountain. We decided that we needed to make some definite plans to ride all the roller coasters, there, together, sometime soon, while our bones will still hold together under the Gs. We talked our way back to Fresno, getting Terry home around 4 (saw Mom, H, Andrea, Lily, Corrie, Jeff, and their kids, Ella, Tabor, Quinn and Gigi), and I made it back to GV by 8. A quick, but memorable weekend!
