“I’ve never thought about this because you think you live in an unchanging environment, but this might shortly become a place in which it’s not good to live.” ~ Barry Lopez, Writer
In 2018, Barry spoke these words to a friend while observing the lack of precipitation in the Pacific Northwest temperate forest he had lived in for 50 years. In September 2020, a raging wildfire ignited in the dry grasses ten miles from his home. It swept through his property. He and his wife evacuated and, several days later, returned to their home, which had survived. Sadly, the wildfire destroyed a small building that housed over 50 years of his literary journals, notes, and memorabilia.
Four hours north, I live in the same temperate forest ecosystem on a five-acre homestead surrounded by towering conifers and Ponderosa pines. During my fifteen years here, I have lived with the increasing threat of wildfires. It seldom rains from June through September, and I watch carefully when I hear thunder and see lightning without rain. Lightning strikes start most PNW forest fires.
The day before I was to leave for a visit with my son, I was frantically rearranging my travel plans to avoid the predicted snowstorm for Houston. A new text message arrived: a notification that my homeowner’s insurance would not be renewed due to the high risk of wildfires. I wasn’t surprised: each year, neighbors report the same news. Last summer, I met with a local insurance broker who instinctively grimaced when I gave her my address. She explained that several insurance companies no longer covered our county, resulting in fewer choices each year.
I am already an anxious person, learning at a young age to worry about things I have little to no control over. Part of my motivation to move to a rural setting was to eliminate some of the stresses of urban living. The first time I visited my future home, I envisioned a calmer life, a sanctuary.
Not once did I think about wildfires.
A recent article in the NYT on the increasing insurance costs and the decline of property values associated with climate chaos was the final blow. Two maps in the article showed my county with the most significant risk for my state over the next 30 years. 1 FEMA’s National Risk Index for Natural Disasters confirmed that my county was at high risk for wildfire.2
Despite securing new insurance (at twice the cost), my anxiety levels remain high. I feel the hum of elevated adrenaline coursing through my body, my tinnitus is louder, my sleep is disrupted, my jaw is sore from grinding, and my attention is scattered. Daily exercise, yoga, and breathwork help, but the emotions remain overwhelming.
Moving had been on my mind for several years. Living in the mountains can be hard work at times, and living 30 minutes from everywhere is isolating. My first essay on Substack, A Place Called Home, was a recognition that staying here may not be the wisest choice as I age. In another essay, Revising A Dream, I created a list of the amenities I seek in my new location.
Finding a place to relocate was my first challenge, and I was dragging my feet. I didn’t want to start over. I have spent most of my life starting over.
My childhood was a blur of new houses, neighborhoods, schools, and, at age ten, a new family structure. As an adult, I sought safety, security, and stability. However, I also understood that relocating could contribute to personal growth, resilience, and new experiences, so I moved to five states to pursue my future. When I was younger, starting over felt exciting and hopeful.
The language of starting over is often positive: transformation, personal growth, freedom, renewal, liberation, and reinventing. But there is also loss and a sense of grief: starting over begins with the end of something. Letting go of a dream and lifestyle I had created is hard on my heart. I dedicated much energy and time to my homestead and community.
As I begin the journey of finding a safer place to live, the rollercoaster of emotions has settled in. This word cloud reflects the current state of my mind!
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Words of Wisdom? Your own experiences with starting over at an older age? Please share!
Sue, Bill and I went through this in 2022, with our dearly-loved NM log home and the Hermit Peak Fire. Our house (our retreat for 20+ years) was one of 3 spared on our mountain road, but we (like you) couldn't stay under continued threat. Luckily, we found a buyer who needed a home. Back here in Texas, we feel safer--but there's the heat. Our timeline is shorter (I'm 85, Bill is 79). If we were younger, we would relocate: north. This has required us to rethink our relationship to Place in significant ways. It's not easy, on top of all the other disruptions being forced on us now. Where are you looking?
Sue... have been thinking a bit since reading this. I'd like to suggest that Colorado is at least as fire prone as where you are, if not more so. I nearly lost my sister who was dispatched to a major multifatality fire in CO years ago - and fire conditions there are worse since then. (Also my bro survived a burnover with his crew years back, and I've worked on the fatality resources manual and more recently on Firewise and volunteering.) So I'm probably more immersed in fire risk and resources than a fair number of folks.
Happy to chat through the fire sitch if you want. Not trying to box you in, maybe more to offer than the choices can be easier with a bit more weirdo px. Best