Fathers Day fire in Westwater

Father’s Day 2025: “You seeing this?”
A photo of smoke and flames shooting up from Westwater accompanied Terri Winder’s terse message.
I hurried onto our balcony where I could see the flames, dense smoke, fire trucks, and law enforcement vehicles in Westwater. The fire had apparently started in the canyon west of Center Street, a little north of where Kenidee and I walk every day.
As I turned to go back into the house, a friend pulled into our driveway. Her house sits low in the canyon, several miles north of the raging flames, but I didn’t feel worried as I traipsed downstairs to let her in.
“I don’t think my home’s in any danger,” she said as I gestured toward the couch. We chatted for 15 minutes before she said, “You know, for the last few weeks I’ve been feeling like I need a plan in case of fire. I’m going to head home now and put a few things in my car just to be safe.”
“I’ll go with you,” I offered. The faintest anxiety began to flutter in my stomach as I followed her to the car.
On the way to her house, her cell phone rang, the call coming over her car’s system. Her neighbor, a police officer, said, “Everyone in our neighborhood needs to prepare to evacuate. The wind is pushing the fire up the canyon fast.”
After she hung up, the threat struck me full bore. I didn’t know then that two beloved families west of Ted’s and my home had already been told to evacuate, or that people in our neighborhood were spraying down their roofs and yards in case an errant spark jumped the canyon.
Once we arrived at my friend’s house, we could see the fire and billowing black smoke down canyon, the flames leaping 60 to 70 feet high.
“I feel surprisingly calm,” my friend said as we entered her house. I didn’t say anything, but I was feeling anything but calm.
She paused, told me what to load in the car from the front room, and then climbed the stairs to her bedroom, bringing more things down and depositing them by the door for me to carry out.
They included six huge scrapbooks, laptop, cell phone, chargers, framed photos of her family, two of her original paintings, a suitcase full of clothes, scriptures, temple clothes, purse, shoes, and beautiful dresses for an upcoming event with her children.
In between loads, I checked on the fire. Soon airplanes flew over, dropping fire retardant on the flames. Helicopters also hovered above the blaze, dumping buckets of water from the Fourth Reservoir.
The smoke was so black we guessed buildings were on fire. Later, we found out that our neighbor’s sheds, tires, shrubs, willow thickets, juniper and pinion trees burned along with the southern part of some alfalfa fields and a watering system.
“Let’s say a prayer,” I suggested.
“Good idea.”
We knelt and offered a prayer for the safety of all who lived along the canyon and then finished loading the car.
By that time, the flames were no longer leaping in the air. “I think the worst is over,” I said.
My friend peered down the canyon. “You’re right. It looks like they’ve got it under control. Thank goodness! Let’s get you home before Ted starts worrying.”
We squeezed into the car amidst her essential belongings and chugged up her long driveway. As we crested the hill, her neighbor, the police officer, rode toward us on his motorcycle.
“The evacuation standby’s been rescinded,” he said, pulling up beside us. He told us that earlier he and his little boy had “booked it” along the canyon’s edge to watch the fire, and they, too, had prayed for the protection of all.
“But if it hadn’t been for the firefighters and air support, it would’ve been a whole different story.”
We drove up the street where another friend was standing outside with her big liver-colored dog and four children.
“Our vehicles are stuffed,” she said, “but my precious things are these,” and she gestured toward the children and dog.
The street was lined with cars and people with binoculars, so it took quite a while to get home. Law officials had blocked the road going to Westwater as well as Center Street and my street.
Finally, they opened most of the blockades, and my friend pulled into our driveway. Before I levered myself out of the car, I said, “I’ll help you unload when you’re ready.”
“Tomorrow,” my friend said. “I’m exhausted.”
I understood.
As I opened our door, I could smell smoke, and fine ash drifted down through the swamp cooler. Since our home is on the east side of 600 North, we weren’t in any danger, and the smell inside our house dispersed by the following morning.
However, the canyon remained smoky for days, so smoky I had to persuade Kenidee to walk on our usual trails. The fire continued to smolder for at least another week with fire crews monitoring it carefully.
Our communities on both sides of the canyon were blessed. Despite the fact that some of our friends suffered significant property losses and clean-up would take a long time and hard work, no one died, no houses burned, and no livestock perished.
In the book, Bliss Brain, Dawson Church reflected on the 2017 California fire in which his home “had been reduced to ash within five minutes. . ..”
“While material things may come and go,” he wrote two months later, “the important things—love, connection, compassion, awareness, faith—cannot be destroyed.”