When I bought my farm, I did not know what a bargain I had in the bluebirds, daffodils and thrushes; as little did I know what sublime mornings and sunsets I was buying.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
They took down their road blocks and let us back in today. We had heard that they had slurried all the houses so they were all still standing even though the fire had burned through to the other side of the street, this turned out not to be true, there was no evidence of anything burnt on our side of the road, much less the other side which is further away from the fire. Didn’t see any slurry either.
Everything was lush and green against the soft, smoky haze, so peaceful, so at ease you wouldn’t guess it had just been threatened so vehemently. Deep green corn shoots quietly growing in perfect rows, spotted cattle quietly grazing against the golden backdrop of the Bellevue dome, little houses, perhaps still empty, waiting quietly on small, sage hills, the soft sun setting behind smoke and silver lining.
Our dear friends on the other side of the dome let us climb up to survey the area and watch the sunset. From that lofty vantage point we could truly appreciate the splendor of the valley and be filled with gratitude for its preservation.
For those of you out there dying to know about Morning Fresh Dairy, that is it on the right hand side, if you can’t tell that dirt patch is filled with cows. Nothing is burnt, everything looks fine. I don’t know if they got evacuated but I would think that they did since everyone else on the road did…
Some people are being let back in while others have received pre evacuation notices so this is far from over. As of right now the fire is at 46,820 acres and only 10 percent contained with extreme growth potential. There is about 1,263 people working on this, including the national guard. Rumor has it that there isn’t anything we can do except try to keep it from spreading while waiting for it to burn itself out, this could take months.
There is no water in oxygen, no water in hydrogen: it comes bubbling fresh from the imagination of the living God, rushing from under the great white throne of the glacier. The very thought of it makes one gasp with an elemental joy no metaphysician can analyse. The water itself, that dances, and sings, and slakes the wonderful thirst–symbol and picture of that draught for which the woman of Samaria made her prayer to Jesus–this lovely thing itself, whose very wetness is a delight to every inch of the human body in its embrace–this live thing which, if I might, I would have running through my room, yea, babbling along my table–this water is its own self its own truth, and is therein a truth of God.
― George MacDonald