This is the hardest part of the trip review, discussing the evacuee camp and how it made me feel. I promised, and I owe it to all involved to follow through, so ready or not, here are the pictures from the final day and a half of the trip.
The Camp:
This was right after we met our man for the first time. He was pretty quiet at first, assumably because he was overwhelmed. He had been through a lot in the five weeks leading up to this moment. He and his boys had 20 minutes' notice to escape the burning town. Navigating the retreat was beyond difficult. Exit routes were jammed, and not everyone they saw got out alive. Someone had offered them a different RV within a day or two of their escape, but he wasn't in the right head space to accept at that moment. They were all in shock, and had to process and settle before they could move to that step. I'm glad that by the time we were ready to donate our RV, he was there to receive it. He's such a good man, and I felt honored to be able to help him in every way we could.
Washed out picture. There were multiple copies of this sign. It reads: "Red Cross services at this location are intended for those who have lost their homes in the Camp Fire." I took this seriously, and took as little as possible of the resources offered. It wasn't just the gluten that made me refuse when the vans went around with meals. I didn't want to deprive anyone else of food by taking it. I didn't use their showers, and only at the very end did I use a port-a potty. I felt conspicuous just taking up 30 feet of parking lot space in the staging area. I know that part of this warning is aimed at the chronically homeless who showed up at first, who were soon kicked out of camp. I have mixed feelings about that. Maybe someday I'll pick it apart in a blog post.
The Mr always called the RV "Beastie." It was a beast, alright. Maybe it was pretty once upon a time, in 1989 when it rolled off the production line.
Just on the other side of that fence was the "permanent" section. There were RVs and tents, and everyone on this side was waiting for a slot to open up in there. They had electricity and water hookups in there. Once I saw a forklift with a set up tent on the blades, getting moved around. I never passed through the gate. I don't know more than what it looked like from a distance.
Maybe it was shift change, but late in the afternoon on Thursday, half a dozen cop cars parked next to us. We weren't doing anything wrong. Quite the opposite. But I had a lot of anxiety about why they were there in such numbers, right next to my door. I never found out what was happening.
I was glad that we had our own private place to bathe. I don't think I could handle showering in a truck like this. I'm not generally a germaphobe, but this makes me feel like one.
We took a Lyft to dinner Thursday night, and on the way to the entrance to the fairgrounds, I took this picture. It gave me a weird feeling. It felt like "fresh arrival from a disaster scene," even though this was for the volunteers, not the refugees.
Friday morning, we had packed up all of our stuff (red suitcase) by the time our man showed up after work. Mr S-P and he unloaded his car into the RV. It was the first time he'd had a place he could access it all, that he could lock, since the escape.
We started seeing how many organizations and companies had donated. The blankets I made are in the stack next to the window shade. There were plenty of others.
They were given shoes, clothes, dishes, pots and pans, bedding, toiletries, and so much more. I think he actually bought the tarps, and I don't remember what he said he would use them for. Maybe where the sunshade was missing off the RV frame? Dunno.
Every group you could imagine was involved in the volunteer and donation effort. These labels are from the Bay Area Muslim Community and the Taiwan Buddhist Tzu Chi Foundation. Non profits, corporations, individuals... Help came from all directions.
Before we left, we were invited into a restricted area (we had wristbands that allowed access), to tour the dormitories and services. I learned a lot and left feeling even more humbled.
The big trailer Verizon set up had computers, a wall of every charger imaginable, and a shaded courtyard outside with televisions.
When I finally got the nerve to try a port-a-potty, I found them far cleaner than I feared. This was on the inside of the door. I was told that illnesses had been traveling around camp, and they had done a whole lot to tamp down the spread of viruses and to keep conditions sanitary. They had extra large port-a-potties that were reserved for people who were throwing up.
I've lived a sheltered life, I guess. I never thought about how many people would try to bring needles and syringes into a place like this. Some may be diabetics, yes, but there were also drug addicts wanting to shoot up heroin or other IV drugs. Security was a big issue (see the cops cars above). This is part of why they shooed the chronically homeless away, I understand. One man had showed up the week we were there who had a trench coat with a big knife in one inner pocket and a collection of needles and syringes in the other.
More health care volunteers. Just behind me in this picture was a big trailer that had hot water on tap for hand washing. I had used the cold water in a different station to wash after using the toilet, not knowing that the other was there. The things that become luxuries or comfort items--I wouldn't have thought of it.
Creepy mechanical Christmas decorations right outside the family dorm. (No, I'm referring to the hugging bear, not the man it's hugging.)
How difficult it must be to keep clothes clean in a refugee camp. But it would be so necessary to feel normal and positive.
I didn't go inside. Men only in this dorm. But he described what it was like on the cots. Most people sleep with headphones on so the sound of other people doesn't interfere with the ability to sleep. One night, our man left his headphones off, and heard a guy nearby having a seizure. He held his head to keep him from swallowing his tongue while someone else called 911 and when the paramedics arrived, they said that he most likely saved his life.
I saw a school bus once, but I never saw children playing, not a single one. I saw someone pushing a stroller but it was full of stuff, not a baby. The lack of children, and the lack of play, bothered me deeply.
Friday afternoon, we flew home. This dancing rabbit was near the entrance to the Sacramento airport. By this time I was exhausted and so ready to be home with my fur babies, in my own bed, having used my own shower. I was so glad I had a home to go to. I am grateful and I am humbled.
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