am i new yet?

my yearly reflections on the anniversary of the campfire

After careful consideration and several discarded drafts, I think it is time to sit down and talk about the last seven years of life. Talking about tragedy is often uncomfortable, regardless if you are the speaker or listener. Writing about it is just the same. I have spun my narrative regarding the Campfire and the effects that it has had on me, my family, our friends, and the general community in various annual writing pieces, countless journal entries, and even a few speeches. I tell myself that it has gotten easier in time, but in all actuality it has become more rehearsed - almost clinical. After bouncing around all of the ideas, emotions, and the confusion that I still hold, I think that I can handle this conversation we are about have today.

The day, that day, started like any other for me I’m sure. It has been so long now that I hardly remember the actual day of, or truly anything before. My family was already going through a tough time, my mom had recently had a miscarriage and it was the first time any of us had really experienced a loss such as that. Even now I hardly comprehend the gravity of that situation, and what it meant for not only myself and siblings, but my mom. My mom is selfless, dedicating the first several years of my life pouring herself into our cups. Dinners, lunches, Girl Scouts, softball games, the PTO, breakfasts, laundry, and being a diligent partner to my dad. The ache of losing something you just found out you had, a life, I can feel the hole in my heart that grows for her. We barely had time to begin to process the grief as a whole when disaster struck. That pattern has repeated on loop since. Naturally time has changed us, weathered us, prepared us for the hat to drop any time there is comfort. Even now, sitting on my couch with the cats in the window behind me, in my first apartment that I share with my Dawson, I am always waiting for something to snatch this home away from me. This safety, this feeling of belonging that I am just now beginning to accept. I do remember the drive to school, down our road that follows along the lip of the Feather River Canyon, and seeing the strangest cloud I had ever seen. It didn’t take long to realize that the cloud was in-fact not a cloud, but a giant plume of smoke.

Aubrey (left), me (middle), Emma (right) watching the beginning of the Campfire.

At first it didn’t look like a smoke plume, we hadn’t yet come around the corner fully. I have since stood in that exact spot that I am crouched in and witnessed the sun come up on several birthdays, I have sat with the ache that I have carried since first witnessing the birth of this disaster while perched on the edge several times now too. The land to the right still charred with the ghosts of trees littering the canyon walls. I still remember my mom asking me to not go to school, but to go home at help her pack. We didn’t know that we wouldn’t be picking up my sisters. We didn’t know that we would be away from home for the next few weeks. We didn’t know that almost everyone we knew, and loved, and cherished were about to lose everything. I didn’t know that the fire would hold so many goodbyes. The goodbyes to friends, the moving vans, the businesses closing. Goodbye to childhood, innocence, and for quite a long time, hope and happiness. The ripple that one event can cause is vast.

While thinking about what to write about (ironic), and discussing ideas and emotions with Dawson, a reoccurring thought kept coming into view. Growing up there were conversations surrounding the belief that every seven years your body is new. Your cells have completely been replaced. Your brain has grown, tastebuds have changed, and now you are shiny. While scientists know that this isn’t true, this year it feels like maybe it holds some weight. This would be my third cycle of seven years, with the second one occurring the year of the fire (in September, actually). I have been holding on to this thought, hoping that if I run through it enough times there will be some sort of tangible piece to explain the disconnect I have from my past. I don’t know if recently I have been too caught up in making it through the days with work, homework, managing a household, caring for myself, being a human etc. etc. etc, or if enough time has gone by that I no longer wish to immerse in what I used to live in so often. Since studying history (third degree coming in December!!!), and following true crime so diligently, there are so many examples of horrors that exist constantly everyday. This has helped me understand that what I have gone through, many have too, and there is someone on the other side of “it” to talk, process, and embrace what has happened. The last six months or so have been spent breaking down past traumatic experiences, and working with those pieces to move forward in a way that actually works for me. It hasn’t been easy. Between moving out before I was ready, trying to find middle ground with my family where we don’t align, working at a job that made me miserable and question my abilities, car problems, being paycheck to fucking paycheck, still going to school even after having to give up pursuing my bachelors degree for the time being, and even more that I am forgetting now, this year has been challenging, but also the easiest that I have had in the last seven years.

Following the fire was the wildest series of events. My grandfather passed away the following February. We were still in shock collectively at this time because I don’t remember what happened. I know I spoke about root beer barrels at his service, and my friend asked me why I said he was with the angels if I didn’t believe in God. I got into some trouble the summer following the fire, and for a long time I blamed myself for things that were largely out of my control. At the time I didn’t need to move on, I needed help. Trying to pick up the pieces and move forward to find a new normal was only finding more pain. During this time I discovered that stuffing all of those feelings down into my core saved me from arguments with my folks, and thus began a new way of dealing with emotions. I was dealing with a spike in anxiety that would lead to throwing up because the nausea was so intense during the worry cycles. I began having night terrors, I think that this stemmed from the attempt to just block everything out. I was struggling with my identity, what the expectations of me were, and what I should even be doing. At this time we were running Lovelock for the first time (repurchased last year, 2024), and I was sexually assaulted in the dark doorway of a patron one night. I told myself that it wasn’t actually anything that bad because all he did was touch me. I didn’t tell my mom, or my friends, or anyone this for quite some time. It was embarrassing, I felt disgusting, and everyone had enough going on with recovery efforts and rebuilding community morale.

And then in November of 2019 we had to step away from the restaurant.

Following that everything was fuzzy until about COVID. I remember the shut down. I remember being upset that all of this routine that I had worked so hard to build was put on indefinite pause. I was mad that we had to still wake up at six in the morning to do nothing. I developed a poor relationship with my body, especially when it came to food. I lost an unhealthy amount of weight and found myself struggling with hair loss, fatigue, and dizzy spells. I started dating my first boyfriend, and went through experiences that you shouldn’t have to go through with a partner. Especially at such a young age. Being fifteen and convinced that you are in love is one of the biggest blinders that could be put on anyone, let alone someone struggling to put life together after it being torn apart again and again. It wasn’t until a few months after we broke up that I realized that most of our relationship was focused on what I could provide for him and his satisfaction and pleasure, and that it didn’t matter how much I tried to be the right fit. I couldn’t make myself small enough to fit in the box of serving only, and thankfully got out before the abuse got more severe. By that point we were four years past the fire, and yet it was still a tiny voice in the back of my brain. There were more events that added on to the already complex traumas, such as a car accident a few weeks before I walked in my highschool graduation, where my car was totaled, and I somehow miraculously walked away with a singular scratch. I had a profound experience while in a state between living and dead, and knew that if I did indeed die then that my mom would be devasted. It was my sisters thirteenth birthday, I happened to be driving home from her party before the rest of my family to go take a shower. At the time, I was working at the tax office and was miserable, I wanted nothing more than to go home and have the day be washed off of me. Coming back to reality dangling upside down over the steering wheel was the moment that I realized that life is far too short to spend it worrying over a dumb boyfriend, or the price of gas, or who said what, when, where, and why (although I do still dabble in a healthy dose of gossip here and there, naturally). When I look back on this as my Fifi lays in my lap while a fire engine blares its siren, it is all an ironic reminder.

Last night while working on a draft I came up with this, and I think it would be wrong not to share:

“I met Dawson in November of last year, just after the sixth anniversary of the fire. I wasn’t in a great place, but despite that Dawson decided to take a chance on me, and we now have the most beautiful life together. We officially moved in together in late July, although I had been living with him since probably February… not exactly the most ideal situation for either one of us, but we worked together to make it work. Now we have an apartment that lets us exist with each other, not on top of each other, and we have the cats! I am on the fence about whether or not I would tell my younger self any of this, because all of the choices I have made have led me to right here today, and knowing that this life is possible leads me to believe I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. And while things are the best they have ever been for me, there are new challenges. I miss my sisters, the laundry is overwhelming, figuring out what to eat three times a day is nearly impossible. Money is tight, really tight. I can’t afford to go to college, the Veteran’s office told me that I probably wouldn’t get my benefits even though my mom is a disabled Marine, and there is always a bill due. I work full time, I am still taking two classes, and somehow everything works out. Some days I still feel paralyzed, I wonder when the money will stop working, I wonder if I need a second job. There are days I want to give up on finishing college, when I do it feels like salt on an open wound. School is what kept me going after the fire, what motivated me to get out of bed. To be here now is a sour relief. Like I am stuck at halfway.

On top of leaving town, there is a lack of connection. Especially over politics, which to me isn’t politics, but basic humanity. After moving out, which happened not truly on my terms or readiness, I grew especially bitter with the way that many I knew were making decisions, or how the lens in how what I was doing was viewed. It is alienating to be the only family member that still believes in higher education, and views it as simply education — not indoctrination. My heart has been heavy over this for quite some time, and it is a very uncomfortable truth that I am trying to figure out still. I think at times if the fire did not happen, the collective view would likely be much, much different. I have made peace with the fact that time will pass, ideas will change, and I can’t be new if I don’t embrace what I believe.

Looking back on seven years of the worst sequence of events, I do find myself seeing both the bad and the good. There are silver linings to all of what has happened, but it is natural to wonder where I would be if it never burned in the first place. I wonder the same for my parents, my siblings, our friends, and other family in the area. I wonder if I would still be friends with the same group of girls I was friends with in middle school, I wonder if I would have dated the people I did, I wonder if I would have moved away for school. There are so many unanswered questions and sometimes it is hard to be okay with that.

Moving forward, I don’t know if I want to write focused pieces on the anniversary of a day that changed my life so profusely. I don’t think I want to hold the ache so closely, and make myself go through the emotions over, and over again. I don’t want to hold ties with a town that makes my heart ache, I find myself putting more and more distance between myself and that version of home. I don’t want to keep pretending that I am someone stuck in a version that is not sure on how to move forward by resisting the constant push to move forward. I had rushed healing, but regurgitating how horrific and impactful this event was just makes me feel bad all over. I have ran the 5k, I have attended the events, I have participated in community efforts. I have practiced being a decent human being, someone who is resilient, brave, dedicated. And I am tired.

I am happy now. Happier than I have been in a long time. I have started to understand how I need to approach the reminders of bad things. I am understanding the discoveries you have in early adulthood. I am figuring things out. I have a deeper understanding of love, patience, and commitment. I like to think that I am a better friend, better sister, and better daughter because of this.

I am now going to give you my unsolicited advice:

Get off your phone. Get off of Facebook. Quit sharing infographics explaining how people could afford houses because they worked hard and didn’t buy coffee out, while that is likely true, the rate of income to cost of literally everything has changed exponentially and even with doing all the right things and being frugal you aren’t really getting any further, and then life is just more miserable. Tylenol has not been proved to cause Autism, stop hating women and do more research. Be kind! I don’t give a flying fuck on whatever thought you had to anything I just had to say. If you are going to be mean, do it when someone cuts you off in traffic and do it privately, in the comfort of your car. Get outside, drink water, and establish a routine that makes you feel like a person. I hope you find time in your day to be thankful that you woke up. I hope you know that success doesn’t have to mean the same thing to you as it does to your neighbor, your parents, or anyone in your life. And this is directed to me personally: you are not failing because you are in a place other than where you thought you would be”

As you can see, even my own recent thoughts conflict with the ones I give to you now. In the past while writing these articles I have often reminisced on what a beautiful place Paradise was, but I find myself seeing that most of what I missed was really just who I had been. I used to be so scared of coming home to the lights off, to sit in silence with all of my wasted potential. I have questioned who and what I would be if this one event didn’t take place. I have questioned if I would have went away for school, if I would be further in life than where I am now - or if I would still feel stunted. There is no way of ever knowing, and I suppose that I have found relief in that. I now come home to my beautiful life, in an apartment that doesn’t hold the remains of self past, but creates an open space for the self now. Dawson has commented on my ability to sink into the past, and the future, but he hasn’t yet pointed out how I am in the present. My new goal is to be here now. I know that healing isn’t linear, and next year I will probably turn back to this state of mind and try to find some sense of it all. I know that there will always be an ache because it is natural to want what you can’t have. But as I look for a way to wrap this up, there is really nothing I can say that could fully encapsulate how grateful that through this all, I have remained as true to myself as humanly possible. I am less afraid to speak up about what is important to me, I am so much more intentional with who and what I love, and above all, I have spent so much time hearing stories of what matters to many others, and at the end of the day that is what pushes me forward. I am not always proud of where I came from, but I am proud to be.

It has been a long seven years, but they have also flown by. Tonight I will celebrate this version of New Years with a glass of wine, some maple ice cream, a book, and a home cooked dinner made by me. When Dawson gets home I will hold him to me and know that all is right in my world as long as we work together. I will kiss my kitties, and be so grateful that such creatures can love me as much as I love them. Tomorrow I will wake up and do it all over again. I am happy, I am sad, I am a million things all at once. But today I am a new person, and you should let yourself be new too.

Thank you for reading, please take care of yourself and know that it is okay to be not okay. It is also okay to be okay, even if it is foreign. Eventually we will figure this out.

With love,

Allison

Me and Libby, my first ever best friend. This photo was taken on November 7, 2018. This was the last normal day of my life. Libby passed away in early 2024, she was my last piece of the past. I have yet to sit down and truly mourn the significance of her loss. Behind us is my the car that we were in in a flash flood in late November of 2018 after the rain began. Following the fire it rained for days, this coupled with the lack of healthy forest systems led to flooding in the valley. After the fire the only way from Magalia/Paradise to surrounding towns was via dirt road that gave way to a paved road along the river, or an hour and a half drive up and around through the snow. On a supply run to town and to our schools, we got caught along the river with the water up to the windows of the car. My mom navigated us out and to safety, as she always has. When I look at this girl in the picture, in the shoes she got for Disneyland, mouth crooked from the braces a month before, and my first pair of glasses my heart hurts for all that she had to learn. I was so young.

Below are my previous pieces discussing this topic, if you are inclined to grow with me. Also, some photos to acknowledge all that has been, and all there will be. As I finish putting this all together I want nothing more than to be a kid with my dad walking through the door after being gone at work, for my mom to make one of her fabulous dinners, to argue and play with my siblings. I miss our animals we have lost, I miss the time that has gone by, and I know that these feelings will continue to grow as I do. Everything has changed far beyond my realm of understanding, but we are always as one within my heart.

Me and Fifi

Tattoo I got in St. Louis based on a painting my grandfather did. A daily reminder that I am at home within myself.

Delighted to be considered one of the characters of Lovelock, even if it a less often these days, and probably not as dramatic as this dated article makes it seem.

An armful of puppies from the summer that I spent with a large amount of time with the goats. A pivotal time for me in discovering what I am passionate about, and just how dirty I am willing to get.

:’).

One of the last pictures I have with Libby. I wish I would have held on to her for just a bit longer. It sounds so silly to say but I wish she could see me now, I could finally tell her that I made it!

They don’t know it yet, and maybe they never will, but even in the darkest hours the thought of my sisters gives me enough light to see a new day. I am so proud of them, and their defiance to everything and everyone (sometimes, it is contextual). I have no doubt that they will become the people that they need to be.

What I find myself missing the most these days.

This is from last year, this year I worked while they went to the pumpkin patch. This year I have missed almost every holiday with them because of work or school, and as we get closer to Christmas and Thanksgiving I find myself wondering how many more we will have together as our lives move towards different paths.

My Camille, in front of my long time favorite coffee shop where most of my writing has happened over the last few years. Camille and I have been friends for almost a decade, although we became close in 2019. She has known all the versions of me until now, and having someone so incredible to turn to has been an experience I won’t be taking for granted in this lifetime. Even as time moves on, and we change, there will always be a part of me that is solely for Camille.

When a “my bed”, became an “our” bed. Dawson has been nothing but open arms since the day that I met him. Words can not begin to touch on the amount of love and joy I hold for this partnership of ours. I wake up everyday excited to have more time to know him, to love him, to support him. He is my best friend, my family, my home.

Chloe in front of Lovelock in the snow! Lovelock will always be a place that reminds me of where I have been, and where I am going. Chloe is the world’s most intuitive dog, and I miss sharing a house with her.

my world