While the Forest is Here, and Fire is Not
By Dr. David Wenzel, For The Sandy Standard
As of this week, Oregon is at 2.3 million acres burned, breaking the 2024 record of 2 million. Fire officials warn us that we are only half-way through the 2026 fire season. Dozens of large fires remain active. There is something unnerving about opening a wildfire map in August. You pinch the screen outward, expecting the little red fire symbols to thin out. Instead, more appear. Zoom out far enough and the Pacific Northwest can look as though it is on fire.
Smoke in the air. Checking the wind forecast. Looking at the evacuation map. Knowing which things you'd grab if ordered to evacuate. Wondering whether that column of smoke on the horizon was there yesterday.
What is the appropriate emotional response to a risk we can reduce but cannot eliminate? There are two tempting responses. One is denial: We've always had fires. It'll probably be fine.
The other is vigilance that gradually becomes anxiety: checking Watch Duty every twenty minutes, studying every new plume of smoke, imagining what could happen to the house, the forest, the community. Neither actually gives us much control.
There is a third possibility: preparedness followed by presence. Do the things that are ours to do. Clear defensible space. Know the evacuation route. Pack what matters. Keep the car fueled. Sign up for alerts. Know what Level 1, 2, and 3 mean. Oregon's emergency guidance explicitly emphasizes precisely those things.
And then - this is important - go live your life. Because after reasonable preparation, refreshing the fire map for the 47th time doesn't make the house safer. Perhaps loving a place has never meant being guaranteed that we get to keep it exactly as it is.
Forests themselves are lessons in impermanence. After being evacuated in 2020 Hollis and I attended several fire seminars. All three started with the same statement: It isn’t a matter of ‘if’ your property will burn, it is a matter of when. Trees fall. Fires burn. Rivers move. Meadows become forests and forests become openings, and eventually forests again. We understandably want to preserve the particular version of the landscape that we love right now. Nature makes no such promise.
And yet that doesn't mean shrugging our shoulders. We protect it. Thin trees. Reduce fuels. Prepare our homes. Support firefighters. Help neighbors. Evacuate when we're told.
Care deeply, prepare seriously, and relinquish the illusion of control. The longer I am alive, the more I come to grips with the idea that we live hoping to control things we cannot. We have the illusion of control in our lives, but the reality is life can be capricious. Looking at the map of fires in the PNW causes me to ponder if the fire gods are merely tossing flaming darts at a map.
The map on my phone tells me there are fires all around us. I need to know that. I need to be prepared for what may come next. But eventually I have to put the phone back in my pocket and look up.
The trees are still here. The chickadees are still moving through the branches. Your family, friends and neighbors all need to live their life. There is work to do today.
Maybe that is what fire season asks of us: not to pretend that we are safe, and not to live as though disaster has already arrived. Prepare for what might happen. Pay attention to what is happening. And then inhabit the place we love while it is here.
Dave Wenzel is a long-time Sandy Resident and a Licensed Professional Counselor who has spent more than 35 years as a professor and counselor, working with individuals, couples, and families. He and his wife, Hollis, operate River Ridge Counseling and Northwest Marriage Intensives located in the Sandy Business Center. In his column he shares practical insights about relationships, family life, and the human side of everyday struggles.