Personal Narrative: Growing Up In A Powerless Home

In the early morning hours of my twenty-second birthday, I awoke abruptly to my father’s voice commanding, ’Get up, quick! Fire is coming over the hills!’ Half dressed, moving through a powerless house, I stepped into the front yard. Like a picture captured into my memory, I witnessed the intensely bright ember glow of fire coming up and over the ridge lines, lighting up the sky and surroundings in a think orange haze. A flurry of sounds consumed my ears, exploding propane tanks, snapping tree trunks, and the desperate honking of neighbors trying to evacuate. Dad was spraying down the roof with a garden hose while I got hold of my cat and emergency grab bag; I was prepared to face the worst.
As an emergency service worker with the Santa Rosa