Fire in the Hills

BCBG dress; Steve Madden shoes

My mom lives at the very edge of civilization.  It's a part of Northern California that still lingers in the memory of the Old West, complete with bones of dead animals, Pony Express stations from the 1800s, and rusting farm equipment long out of use.  The towns grow smaller as you head further north, up into the valley, and on a quiet day you can hear the echo of distant gunshots.  

The houses grow more and more infrequent as you draw in towards my mom's house.  The farms and pastures slope into wilderness, and fences are replaced by thistles and dead weeds.  There are wild rivers and narrow ravines up north, as well as needle sharp bends in the road.  After that, there's really...nothing at all.

When I was taking these photos, about a mile north of my mom's house, a firetruck came tearing up the road, heading to somewhere even further up north.  After that, a miniature caravan of antique fire engines, ambulances, and emergency responders came following suit.  In this weather, when an untended spark can mean the death of the whole valley, fires are not taken lightly.  It was odd to think of a fire somehow starting way up north, where civilization is almost non-existent, and I wondered who had tipped them off to the fact that a fire had even started.