MA house in Altadena was destroyed in a wildfire Wednesday. Everything happened quickly. Around 7pm on Tuesday, my wife and daughters went to the hotel as a precaution. When the mandatory evacuation order was issued around 3 a.m., I took my dogs and left the house. To put it in chronological order as best I can, my house burned down at about the same time the sun rose, and I was able to drive to the scene around 2pm to see the damage.
Neighbors who went in afterward said it looked like a “war zone.” Thankfully I’ve never been to a combat zone, but I didn’t think so. There was no violence or chaos. No one stopped me from driving in. There were no sirens either. I was standing alone in front of the house, which at the time had only a fireplace and chimney – no one around. The house across the street was almost completely burnt down, and the house behind us was just beginning to burn.
There was no attempt to fight it, and I didn’t see any fire engines. It was quiet and everything was very final. I don’t mean to trivialize the devastation and loss that so many experienced by describing it as peaceful, but it was a moment that left a mark on me, not because of the extent of the destruction, but because of the peace I felt. did. I felt and experienced it in the middle.
My house was one of the many burned down. I find that everyone is dealing with this problem in very different ways and at very different paces. I have no special or unique perspective to share. The main reason is that the experience of the past 24 hours is not unique or special. These events are often far more devastating in terms of loss of life than this one, and they are occurring everywhere and with increasing frequency over the years. As a climate scientist watching these events from afar, your response might be to nod your head and say: “Yes, this is what we expect to see unfold and what our science shows us.” Of course it is. For me, this event destroyed the boundaries between work and the rest of my life, family and friends. It makes me think about whether the words we often use when talking about climate change match what I want to hear right now. I haven’t had much time to sit down and stop, but I would like to share one impression.
Recently at work, I collaborated with others to develop an important guidance document for NASA written in 2017 titled “Thriving on a Changing Planet: A 10-Year Strategy for Earth Observation from Space.” We are considering updating. It doesn’t really matter what the document looks like now, but there has been discussion about how the framework should change in the next few years. I think it’s safe to say that we are not thriving on a changing planet. And we cannot thrive on a changing planet for decades to come. However, I am not filled with despair or fatigue, nor am I willing to give up on helping.
Protecting what matters most to us, supporting vulnerable communities around the world, and ensuring a decent life for our children, even if thriving is impossible (and I think it is impossible) It’s possible and worth the effort. I will do the best I can. We can be realistic and hope to find positive solutions, perhaps not all, but enough.
My kids now had their kindergarten flooded in a hurricane and their elementary school home destroyed in a wildfire (well, maybe I’m a bad parent and a bad climatologist…). Although we hope they are not so directly affected, the occurrence of these events will be a reality for their generation for some time to come. But maybe when they get to my age, we’ll at least see solutions introduced and a greater belief that we can protect what’s important to us.
Many of the people reading this are my colleagues working towards similar goals. Thank you for all your work. It’s important and important. I say that not only in a professional capacity, but also as a regular person who is currently dealing with something difficult.
