Wildfire Up Close (or at least Close Enough!)

On Thursday afternoon (August 20), I was in my cooperative extension office in San Andreas, California, getting ready to meet with a colleague on Zoom - just a typical day. When my phone chirped at 1:18pm, I glanced at the Watch Duty alert I’d received and saw “Loma Fire - area of Loma Serena Road, Mountain Ranch.” Since I live on Loma Serena Road, I immediately opened the app - and saw that Watch Duty put the preliminary point of origin- for what was already a 3 acre fire - on my property! I grabbed my computer bag and my hat and headed for home.

The drive home typically takes me 22 minutes - I made it considerably faster this time. In between calling neighbors (who either didn’t answer or who were also not home but headed that way), a number of thoughts went through my head:

If this fire did start on my place, what caused it? Are my dogs, sheep, goats, mules, and chickens okay? Is the fuel reduction work I did this spring, with grazing, weed-whacking, and pile burning, enough to protect my home and outbuildings? Did the fire start on the abandoned and overgrown property next door? What do I do if CHP and the sheriff's office have already closed the road? Should I try to evacuate the animals or stay and protect them - and my house?

This was my first direct experience with a fire so close (or perhaps even on!) my property - but not my first direct experience with feeling a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline. As I drove through the town of Mountain Ranch and past Sheep Ranch Road, I began to see smoke in the direction of home. I realized that the fire camera photo I’d seen on Watch Duty showed white smoke, which gave me some comfort that at least early on, the fire wasn’t burning in brush or timber (or my house!). And when I came around the curve past the old Spur Market on Rail Road Flat Road, I could see that the fire was not burning near my house; rather, it was between Old Emigrant Trail East and Swiss Ranch Road. Whew!

I spent the next 90 minutes standing on a hilltop across the road from my house, watching the fire with my neighbors. We were within the mandatory evacuation zone (and a sheriff’s deputy did come by), but the direction of the wind and the location of the fire (in the Jesus Maria Creek drainage) made us feel as though we weren’t in imminent danger. As did the magnitude of the fire fighting effort. Eventually, two S-2 tankers, a C-130 tanker, and two helicopters were working the fire, along with numerous engines and water tenders (from CalFire and Central Calaveras Fire, and perhaps other agencies), and several hand crews. Shortly after I arrived, the fire made it into the timber above the creek, but several water and fire retardant drops seemed to knock it back. By 4pm, the fire was still smoldering but its activity was greatly diminished. Watch Duty reported that the fire was holding within retardant lines. I went home and checked on my critters and my property.

I was not living in Mountain Ranch when the Butte Fire burned through my neighborhood in 2025, but many of the neighbors I talked with were. Others had experienced several other large fires in the region stretching back 40 years or more. As I reflected on our conversations, all of us took this fire seriously, but we were calm about what was happening.

And even though I'm new to the community, I felt (again) the importance of understanding that the word "neighbor" is both a verb and a noun! As I stood on the hill above the fire, both of the young men who have fed my animals when I travel texted to offer help or a place to evacuate my livestock. Family and friends from Tuolumne and Calaveras County called to check on me and offer help. Others texted or reached out on social media. I met new neighbors, too - and while I was (and am!) grateful to the first responders who were fighting the fire, I had a sense that our own community self-reliance is critical.

Later that evening, as fire crews continued their mop up, I went down to the road where the fire had actually originated, and talked to a few neighbors who were more directly impacted. There appeared to be several small spot fires that had started in vegetation that had been mown or grazed, and which hadn’t been able to spread any further - which made me more confident in the work that my grazing animals have done around my house. We also all speculated about how the fire had started - as usual, I suspect, there were lots of rumors (and perhaps some truth).

Reflecting on Thursday afternoon, I'm realizing that my wildfire preparations aren't perfect. I need to work on several trees near my garage - either taking them out or pruning them back. I need to cut better fire breaks around my sawmill site. I need more water storage to ensure I'll still have water even if the power goes out.

But this morning, 36 hours later, I’m relieved that the fire wasn’t more dangerous - but I’m also aware that we’ve not yet reached the worst part of our fire season. I feel for the people in my community who lost outbuildings or other assets (I haven’t heard, yet, whether any homes were damaged or destroyed). I won’t rest easy (nor will my neighbors, I suspect) until the first significant rainfall this autumn.