Some Words Just Change Meaning

I've noticed in my lifetime that some words lose their meaning, while others change their meaning. Some words (and names) are retired forever. Hashtag -- you mean number? Hitler -- retired forever.

Campfire is another such word. I set out this evening to watch a movie. It was by Campfire Productions, a television production company founded in 2014. At the beginning of the movie an arrow crosses the screen, the word "campfire" is seen just above the arrow and a small campfire graphic displays just left of the word. The only noise is that of which a small campfire would make.

Having decided to donate all of my birthday and holiday money to the Camp Fire this year, I went to Paradise in late November. What I saw took my breath away. When I read the words across my screen "campfire" I was right back there, in Paradise. The sound of the campfire coming through my computer's speaker literally stopped me.

I realized that the word, campfire, has taken an entirely new meaning. And I didn't live in Paradise. I have a house, all my belongings, my dog, my car. But nonetheless, that word moved me. And the noise of a crackling campfire stopped me.

I met several people while in Paradise. The first person I met was an insurance adjuster. She was kind. She asked if I was an adjuster. I told her that I wasn't. I told her I was there to find out how and where to donate money to the victims of the fire.

I watched as crews began the arduous task of restoring utilities, removing trees, and cleaning up in the wake of the fire.

The trees were marked. One by one the marked trees were felled to the ground and cut into rounds. The rounds left behind, often the only thing on the property other than very large piles of rubble where once a house stood.

The burned houses were ghostly. I knew that many people lost their lives inside their homes. My mom told me she heard on the news that every vehicle with an "x" meant that the vehicle had been searched for missing persons. That only added to the sinking feeling in my gut.

Life once was in each of those houses. Birthday parties, white elephant gift exchanges. The rooms were decorated. Photographs hung on the walls. Secrets stored away in the closet. Friendships made. Lovers met.

The insurance adjuster said she had never seen anything like this before in her career. She said that no one could comprehend this without actually seeing it in person. I believe her.

I found what I was looking for and far more than I wanted. An emergency animal shelter was constructed from tents that are set up for weddings and large events. But, instead of parties, the tents had kennels with animals lost in the fire. Hundreds. One volunteer estimated 500 animals were lost in the fire, including dogs, cats, hamsters, bunnies, horses, and other farm animals.

I dropped off Theodore's old crate. I asked where to donate money and how to do that. I left.

My final stop was to drop off donations I'd gathered in Truckee, water bottles, sleeping bags, jackets, rain suits. I found the Oroville Hope Center's warehouse. The Hope Center rented two additional warehouses -- one for donations and one for victims of the fire to pick up boxes of supplies.

The warehouse was about half the size of a Costco and completely full. Tables stretched in rows from one end to the other with sorted clothing and supplies. Boxes were put together for families to pick up (at the other warehouse).

It was mechanical in nature. I drove up. Volunteers emptied my car. I drove away. The next car drove up. Meanwhile, inside, volunteers sorted the wares placing them on appropriately categorized tables. Oddly, the warehouse was so clean. It was a stark contrast from where I had just been.

After dropping off my donation I stopped to buy a bag of oranges. It seemed odd to buy oranges. I later juiced them and drank fresh squeezed orange juice for a week.

I would think of the Camp Fire every now and again as I heard from friends that lived in Paradise and the surrounding area.

But if I was being completely honest, the Camp Fire has shifted space from the front of my mind to occupy another part of my brain where I don't think about it. And then something like a production company will bring me back.

I know that people are still reeling in the aftermath of the largest, most destructive, and deadliest fires in our history. But for the rest of us that are not right there, it has begun to take a backseat. It's not something we hear about on the news anymore or read about in the paper. But it happened.

And what happened was a shift in the meaning of the word campfire. Things are a certain way and then, they're not.