Forgotten Heroes

I've been sending letters to a soldier in Iraq named David. Every month I send a packet of letters and every few months I send him a box of Rolling Stone Magazine. There's all these soldiers in Iraq, and to us they are faceless. I have no family members or loved ones over there fighting a war. But there are so many people who do. To them, these nameless soldiers are loved ones who are in dangerous situations 24/7. Just because we don't know who our heroes are doesn't mean we can't appreciate them. I can't go through a day without thinking about such trivial things as the guy I like or pair of jeans I want to buy. And I don't think that often of the men and women fighting in Iraq. They go on, unthanked, forgotten, fighting a war for a country that doesn't want them there, and then they come back to poor medical care and political messes.

If you'd like to help our soldiers in Iraq, let me know. Writing letters, saying thanks, and letting those men know they're appreciated can do so much. If you'd like to write a letter to David, please send it to

katyjoy_777@hotmail.com

Our soldiers are thousands of miles away from home, living in extreme conditions, trying to live through the days and nights. They deserve thank yous and support from us, and more. Help let a soldier know we support them and are praying for them.

The Dust Storm

Winds are still blowing at high speeds, and fires are still burning to the east and west of us. The wind picked up the loose dust and ash from the ground and swept it into town. If anyone saw the movie Hidalgo, you might remember the scene in which the cowboy runs away from a sand storm. Today's dust storm looked like that. Driving to drive through it was impossible, I couldn't even see the road, let alone other cars.
















The storm blows into town





















Ash, dust and dirt make a nasty combination
















Right before the storm actually hit.
















This was when the dust wasn't so thick. Everything but the taillights was pretty much invisible.

The Damage

This is a street near where I live. My house is behind that tree.














This is the sagebrush on the right side of the road.















This is the left side of the road.































The fire jumped street several times. We were unimaginably lucky that it didn't jump our street. If it had jumped from the left to the right side of the street (an ember blown by the high winds was all that it would have taken) our house would have gone up in flames.

Wildfires

I live in a high desert environment in northern Nevada. This means that sagebrush and other scrub bushes blanket the land for hundreds of miles in every direction. In the hot, dry summers, this brush turns to tinder, eager to be lit by the smallest ember. Our tiny town was the definition of a fire hazard. On Friday, a high wind began to blow, accompanying the thunderstorm that would begin the siege on Winnemucca.

Winnemucca lies between to parallel rows of mountains. The town has spread out; housing developments now dot the mountainsides. Thunderstorms bring lightning, and when lightning strikes the fire-hungry ground, blazes spring up. Friday evening, the mountains were dotted with fires, that were soon under control. Saturday morning dawned, bringing with it fresh winds, awakening the smoldering embers.

By Saturday afternoon, the devouring blazes were too large for Winnemucca's small fire-fighting force to control. A 12,000 acre fire was only two percent contained, and the blazes would soon begin to threaten houses. The call went out for backup from the surrounding areas. Being a resident of one of the many housing developments on the mountainsides, I was worried about the vast feast of sagebrush that was my backyard.

As the fires moved closer, evacuation procedures began. The drone of planes flying overhead could be heard, and the glow of fires was barely discernible through the thick, choking smoke that enveloped the town, blotting out the sun. Volunteers in pickup trucks and on foot told us to get out and get out fast. In order to save all of our cars, our family all drove separate cars. I took Mary with me and we headed for a friend's house, far away from danger. I sped away from the house and the fire, down the hill, smoke obscuring my vision, as my sister sobbed in fear of the flames closing in on us. I attempted to stay calm in order to drive straight, but I had to grip the steering wheel to stop my hands from shaking.

We watched our hill from afar for three hours as the cloud of smoke continued to thicken. The unbroken sirens were a constant reminder of the danger close at hand. As the time crawled by, I couldn't help remembering the things I'd left behind. My art, boxes of photos, letters, and other sentimental valuables that were irreplaceable. Rumors trickled down to us through a grapevine of sources until we were informed that we were allowed to return to our street. We drove cautiously back, prepared for the worst. It was nine-thirty at night, but the stars were veiled from sight by impenetrable clouds. Our house was all in one piece, although it was filled with noxious smoke. We aired out the house and lit scented candles to cover the pungent odor. From my front door I could still see huge tracts of land being consumed by flames, not too far from my house.

Sunday morning, the fire moved on to the east and west of us. Smoke can still be seen rising to meet its turbid brothers. So far the fire has burned around 250,000 acres. It is the middle of July in sunny Nevada, but clouds cover the sky. The scars of the blazes can be seen. While one side of the road is filled with sagebrush, the other looks like the surface of the moon. Charred telephone poles and the blackened remains of a shed are reminders of the destructive force of a fire.

I will never forget the fear I felt the night of July 7th, 2007. I will never forget the love of friends and family, who gathered with us and called us and prayed with us. I will never forget how it felt to not know if I would have a home in a few hours or not. If you prayed for me, or supported me during that time of fear, thank you so much.

Much love,

Katy



PS: Pictures will be coming soon.

Dear People of the World:

At this very moment, I am being asked to evacuate from my home. The fires aren't too close, but they are close enough that the neighborhood is shrouded in fog. Some people are leaving right away, others are staying around long enough to turn on their sprinklers on and wet down their timber-dry land. We have about half and acre of land behind our house that is pure tinder, just waiting for a spark. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared, a little freaked. But my adrenaline is going crazy. One of our neighbors, Tom, is staying behind. Apparently, he used to be a fire fighter and he has a fire hose in his garage. He plans to defend his block from any fires. He's pretty BA. I don't know how much land is on fire, but I know it's more than 10,000 acres. The planes are going by overhead. The police have set up a roadblock on our street. There are rumors of fires everywhere. The wind is blowing and who knows what might happen. Pray for me, for my friends, many of whom have already evacuated, and for my house. I love you guys.