November Writing Challenge Day 25

Smoke. 

Not an easy one to write about, as we’re nearing the one year mark for the Chimney Tops Fire, but I’ll do my best. 

Last year on this day there was smoke in the valley. There was smoke on the hills and hollers, both. There was smoke everywhere.

It’s a year later and nobody can believe it. Friends from out of town ask how things are…and I don’t remember until I’m reminded. Life has gone on, pretty much as scheduled, since summer and green once again took over the hillsides. For me, anyway. But I’m not in Gatlinburg every day. I’m not in Gatlinburg at all. 

I don’t see the devastation or the rebuilding in person. I’m not depending on the generosity of others to help me face another day as I struggle to have half as much as I used to. I was talking to one of my friends who works for dispatch the other day, and she brought up a new kind of post traumatic stress disorder that hadn’t even occurred to me. People who were right there in the smoke and the fire and the mayhem are having trouble being around it again. As you would. So here we are at the anniversary, and everybody’s memories are being jarred again and again by news agencies as they recount that horrible night that no one was prepared for. Even though it’s been wet and dreary much of this month, the law stays in effect about not burning without a permit. But people can easily call and obtain one. And so this man had, and it was controlled in his backyard, and his neighbor was losing her mind. She had been a victim. She had lost everything. And so it was understandable. And the fire marshall had to go speak with her and talk her down. 

These people need help on a psychological level, as well as a monetary level at this point. As you would. 

It still makes the front page of the paper almost daily, some something related to the wildfires, whether it be a change in leadership, or a new development, or Dolly has helped in some way again. 

So we put our Christmas tree up today and I keep remembering how last year’s sat here for over a week before I had the heart to decorate it. And when I did, I cried. 

This year I’m just lazy, and whining because my back aches. 

I’m glad the chair lift reopened, and I hope it’s never overshadowed by the next big attraction known as Anakeesta. I’m glad the Aquarium was saved, as well as the Candy Kitchen. The “distilleries” are a dime a dozen, but it’s probably a good thing they didn’t catch fire, too, for obvious reasons. And Lord knows Best Italian could never be replaced. 

I wonder if Charles the Pig is still living it up. I hear he got a book deal. I wonder if that smartass from Chalet Village is content with his five minutes of fame or if he’s still stirring the pot. I wonder how Michael Reed is coping. I wonder when and if the park service will reopen access to the Pinnacles. I wonder if Fish will choose to meet those people he prayed with and fought for in the elevator. I wonder if those young men who started the fires (this is not up for debate) can sleep at night again, or if they ever could. 

I wonder if Sevier County will ever again have a dividing moment, or if we will always say, “before the fires, it was like this, not like this.” Hopefully if there’s ever a next time, people have learned that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. And you better run like the devil’s on your tail. 

‘Cause he is.