The North Shore Rebuilds

On November 30^th I drove along the North Shore heading to Old Perlican Library. This was my first drive through since the last devastating wildfires. There was a distinctive smell that might have been my imagination or remembering but stayed with me long after I left the area. It was quite humbling.

Blackened earth with white rocks beneath stark limbless sticks and washed by recent rains show the once bogs and marshes along the sides of the road. The rocks probably never saw daylight in hundreds of years. The swath of destruction that scarred to the right of one house and the opposite side of another across the road and left them standing and unharmed was remarkable. While numerous and unseen holes exist and are hidden in the wake that held homes and lives and stories.

The appliance cemeteries stood out. Full of mostly hot water heaters and fridges and are showing signs of rust. I hope they don’t winter and decay on the side of the road. Not because of the eye-soreness it will become, but because it will always be a stark and unbidden reminder of loss until it is gone.

We were silent in awe at the randomness, the bigness of it all. We are not familiar enough with the area to know how many were gone, how many remain. But gone was evident by the tidy piles of burnt debris, which I’m sure was messy and so much worse on the residents’ return.

The scraped earth where somebody plans to start over, the shells of those who’ve already begun to rebuild offer hope to the North Shore. This hope will take time.

I remember my own first look at destruction at fifteen. My own return to a blackened earth. My own hope that things would return to normal. My own having nothing, no clothes on my back. Our family’s loss was different, of course. Luckily nobody was killed on the North Shore. But that suffering is real and is not diminished just because it could have been worse. No, being grateful that it wasn’t worse may soften the edges, but the suffering is still great.

It was nice to see lights on in businesses. Open signs. On the return drive it was nearing dark and we saw a few Christmas lights in some of the communities. The ones who had a place to come back to seemed to be offering hope of normalcy to those not so lucky. It was beautiful, really. Like spring when green returns. Like time when it takes its time to pass.

We’ll move on as we did in the drive, but the residents will stay, rebuild, return, and revitalize. The North Shore is beautiful, resilient, and will rise again. Its spirit isn’t broken; it just needs a bit of polishing to make it shine once more. That polishing has started. Renewal comes with tears and sadness and fear, but it comes, and is coming.

I wouldn’t take pictures, not my place to do so. I am, however, glad I drove that route. I won’t pretend I know anything about what they are all going through except to know I went through something similar. Sometimes a bit of empathy and humbleness at it all is well warranted. I’m grateful for the grounding. I wish nothing but continued hope in rebuilding on the North Shore and what comes in time, brings smiles and fond memories from before. With the in-between time being something you got through with the help of others and with your own determination and a stronger you on this side of the disaster.