Foxfire

It’s been 9 solid days since I’ve been alone. Really alone.

24 hours a day for the last 9 days, I’ve been responsible for an outreach team of staff. Wildfires continued to burn around us as we worked to provide emergency assistance to those who have already evacuated from the previous wildfires.

9 days attached to my phone; preparing my team for an emergency evacuation, if and when needed. Monitoring the status of almost 20 wildfires as I watched our “escape route” shrink by the hour. 9 days of frequent situation and status reports to head office, located over 5 hours away. Checking in with my team constantly to make sure they were ok, as they struggled during the quiet periods and the directives that seemed to change by the minute.

It’s been 9 solid days since I’ve been alone. Really alone. And I seriously need to recharge.

The situation has calmed down where we were stationed, and today, I was finally able to leave my team and start the journey back. One of my team members dropped me off at the bus terminal at 6:30am for my 7am departure to Edmonton. It was a tearless, yet very emotional, goodbye.

Relief washes over me as the bus pulls into the station and I prepare myself for the next 6 hours.

ALONE!

There are only about 10 of us on a large Greyhound, so I’m happy to know I will be able to somewhat isolate myself from the rest of them. I board the bus and head straight to the back.

These moments always make me think back to the first day of my Social Psychology 101 class, 17 years ago. My professor stood at the podium and said hello to everyone who walked in. He would make eye contact with each person, lower his head to write something, and repeated that until the class was full. I was the 3rd one in and I sat quietly, curiously watching what he was doing. When we were ready to start, he projected a seating chart onto the wall. Each desk had a number, no one knew at the time what it reflected. I recognized it immediately as our classroom and realized that he had been tracking our seat choices. He asked the class what we thought it was and I put up my hand. He was demonstrating the social behaviours of humans in unfamiliar territory. Each person left a “safe” space between themselves and the other people in the room, until it was no longer an option. Then they thought longer about the choice as they scanned the people next to the empty seats. 17 years later, I still watch people choose their seats at meetings, lectures, classes, and even busses. Today was no different.

I put my headphones on and my hood over my head. I turned to face the window and put on my best “do NOT talk to me” face.

Our first stop is only about an hour away. It’s at the bus terminal located in Valleyview, a small town where only days ago they set up an evacuation centre for one of the new wildfires. We only have 5 minutes at this stop and there is nothing around, so I just stay boarded. I need a coffee, but it’ll have to wait.

A young woman gets on and I watch as she walks slowly down the aisle. She’s carrying a small backpack and a cup of coffee, looking around at the various empty seats. She’s beautiful; with a fresh faced look of innocence straight from a magazine ad. I know exactly what she’s doing as she scans the bus for the right seat. More than half my life ago now, I was her.

She looks at me, a smile lights up her whole face. I smile back and she sits in the row next to me. Neither one of us says a word. I know she’s just found her safe place amongst strangers and I’m happy to be that for her.

I can only imagine where she is going but I’m not yet in the mood to talk.

It’s raining. I’ve never been more excited to see rain in my life. Heavy rains are exactly what’s needed to stop the wildfires from spreading. It’s not enough rain, but it’s a bit of a relief anyway.

I listen to music and reflect on my time here. On all my missions before this. I look over at the young girl next to me and think about how it felt to embark on this crazy adventure so many years ago. I was just a kid. Only two and a half years older than my oldest son is now and I was on my own. I reflect on my path, my journey. On everything I’ve been able to see and do in my 35 years. The laughter. The tears. The pleasure. The pain. I have no regrets.

We pull in to our next stop and coffee is no longer optional. I get up and I can see her watching me. I take my wallet and leave my bag, she does the same. We are all teachers, even when we aren’t trying to be. I tuck my bag in a bit, she tucks hers in. I smile at her, “are you coming out?” She smiles back “I’m new at this, is it really ok to just leave your bag?”

“It is today!”

She follows me off the bus and into the store. I grab my coffee, stretch my body a bit and head back in. She’s happy to see her bag exactly where she left it and tells me that she was secretly worried. I smile “that’s good! Be trusting but never get too comfortable in unfamiliar surroundings.” Most adults dismiss unsolicited advice. Most adults think they know everything there is to know. She takes it in and I can see her processing what I just told her.

This is the start of her journey. I don’t ask where she’s going; it doesn’t matter. I still couldn’t tell you where my journey will take me.

Next stop: Edmonton.