Jessica Miller, news editor

Horrifying sobs echoed from my television screen in my second year of high school when it felt like the entire state was on fire. 

I’ve lived in Tehama County my whole life and have experienced far too many wildfires, but none have been as devastating to our community as the Camp Fire. Looking back makes me emotional even with six years having gone by. 

Just a few months before the Camp Fire started, the Carr Fire struck the Whiskeytown-Redding area in July, near where my charter high school resided. I started my sophomore year wearing N95s because the smoke was so heavy and my asthma couldn’t handle the walk to my classroom from the car. The Carr Fire burned 229,651 acres before reaching 100% containment on Aug. 30, 2018.

I remember taking a sigh of relief, foolishly thinking I could soon attend class without worry that my school was at risk of burning down; that I could wake up to a sky that didn’t appear to be drenched in flames. I was hopeful that the news would be better soon and that our days of watching the fire map were over.

Six days later on Sept. 9, 2018, the Delta Fire proceeded to burn 63,611 acres of Shasta and Trinity Counties and later merged with the Hirz Fire which widened the spread. Delta wouldn’t be contained until Jan. 4, 2019.

The sky didn’t clear and we stopped going outside. 

Smoke was the biggest marker of my sophomore experience as my friends and I got used to doing everything inside. My twice-a-week commute from Tehama County to my charter school in Redding had apocalyptic views often leaving me to wonder when things would get better. 

It didn’t get better. On Nov. 8, 2018 the Camp Fire began.

It was awful. Thinking about it puts a sense of dread in my gut that only a California wildfire can bring. It makes me want to turn off all of my devices to avoid news broadcasts that are no longer on. 

But that doesn’t really matter, because I can still hear the reports. I can still remember the sound of the death toll rising and the names of the 85 people who didn’t make it. 

I can hear the witness testimonies of running through walls of fire, worried they would burn alive or that their family wouldn’t make it out. 

I didn’t live in Butte County, but it seemed that all of Northern California was on the edge of their seat, doing everything we could to help.

The next semester at school, a routine fire drill made several students’ hands shake with tremors and being offered counseling in the office after it was over. 

The Camp Fire forever changed me and many others. Some may forget, but I will always remember. 

Jessica Miller can be reached at [email protected].

Ariana Powell, editor-in-chief

It all started with a question: “Dad, what is that?” as he drove me to school the morning of Nov. 8, 2018.

I was pointing to the orange ombre tones and the plume of smoke rising from Paradise laid.

I had no idea what was going on until I stepped into study hall, and the air was thick with worry, stress and tears. Not long after the first bell rang, the teacher asked that anyone who lived in Paradise or on the ridge to head to main campus to either wait for their parents or learn more about the Camp Fire.

Like many others in the room, I was confused as to what the “Camp Fire” was, but it would soon be a name that no one will ever forget.

The rest of the day was like a blur. I don’t remember going to any other classes that day, I only remember finally being told to go home as the gray ash fell from the brown, suffocating sky.

I remember calling my parents to come pick me up; they were at home watching the local wall-to-wall coverage of the Camp Fire. Just like everyone else, they were worried too.

Everyone at school had no idea what to do. Despite the unbreathable conditions outdoors, most students decided to wait outside for their parents. That’s where everything broke down.

Those who lived on the Ridge or knew someone who lived there knew full well what this meant. And it was truly hell for the students who couldn’t get in touch with their families who were trying to evacuate by driving through the wall of flames.

A couple of my friends lived on the Ridge and lost their homes. It was devastating to them, but it was worse knowing they had lost everything even though it hadn’t been confirmed.

When I got home, I watched through the window as ash fell like snow. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew my friends needed something.

After reaching out to a couple of teachers, I started “Jeans 4 Inspired Teens,” a clothing drive meant for the teens at my school suffering due to the fire.

The drive lasted about two weeks and quickly expanded from just clothing, to monetary donations, toys, food and other items. Volunteers from my high school, Chico State and even those impacted by the Camp Fire gathered to distribute what was needed.

In the years since the Camp Fire, it’s been heartwarming to see families who lost everything return to the Ridge, or to find a new home in cities nearby.

There’s still a long way to go, but I hope people can continue to heal and make new memories in their new homes and grow closer to their loved ones.

Ariana Powell can be reached at [email protected] or [email protected].