“Particularly Dangerous Situation” was a term I had never heard until last week. Now it is one I will never forget. 

It is used by the National Weather Service to warn of the most extreme conditions. And it is a warning that was issued to most of eastern Washington starting July 31, a first for the state. By the afternoon of Aug. 1, three major wildfires torched my home city of Spokane. It was, indeed, a particularly dangerous—and horrific—situation. 

Many outside of the Northwest may imagine this region as a uniformly wet, green, forested variation of Seattle. That was what I pictured until I moved here seven years ago; but our city has its own feel. Spokane’s landscape is also dramatic, though in a different way, with spindly Ponderosa pines and rugged basalt rock. It receives less than half the annual rainfall compared to western Washington, and our climate is significantly drier due to its location between the Cascade and Rocky Mountain ranges. Summers here can feel like a single, never-ending, sunny, hot, dry day that stretches from June until September. This is ideal for biking, kayaking, walking along the Spokane River and long lazy evenings in the yard. It is also ideal for wildfires, especially when the relative humidity drops and the wind rises. This is exactly what happened on the first of August.

•••

“Uh oh. That’s not good,” I pointed to the first plumes of smoke along the horizon. Unfortunately, this is not entirely unusual since my home has an unobstructed view to the west. I didn’t panic. Yet. The afternoon was a strange mix of crisis and normality.

Around noon, Watch Duty, a wildfire tracking app, reported a vegetation fire. We ate lunch.

Around 12:30, some nearby communities received emergency evacuation orders (Level 3: Go now). We met friends at a local movie theater for the free 2 p.m. showing of “Sing.” We sang and laughed while compulsively checking Watch Duty to monitor the growing Old Trails Fire. 

Buzz. Buzz. BEEP. Emergency alerts blared across the theater. 

At 2:16 p.m., a critical alert was issued as the fire crossed the Spokane River. Minutes later, it reached the northeast side of Spokane. The adults in our group looked at each other, offered tentative smiles and turned our eyes back to our phone screens, then the movie screen.

Additional emergency alerts were issued. My friend stands up, turns her phone toward me and says, “Are you seeing this?” The evacuation area has expanded south. Toward the theater. 

“Okay, kids. It is time to go. Now.”

Alongside other patrons, we stumble into the sunlight, smoke billowing to the north and west. “Let us know if you need anything. Or a place to stay,” we say as we go our separate ways. I buckle my youngest into her car seat. We turn the car to head south.

“I’m scared,” a voice rises from the backseat.

Me, too, I say, only to myself.

“Will the fire come this way?” another small voice asks.

“We are driving in a different direction from the fires. Dad and I will make choices so we can be as safe as we can.”

I cannot tell my children that everything will be O.K. Though our home is still outside of the evacuation zone, we have not had fires like this in the city. I am grateful that they are too small to turn and see out the back window. 

The fire quickly spreads across Spokane and Stevens counties. We text friends to check in. We find “Sing” on Netflix and finish it at home. I feel grateful, relieved, guilty that we are still outside of the evacuation area. So many are not. So many have had different conversations with their children today.

•••

In a metropolitan area of just over 600,000 people, 10 percent of the greater Spokane area was evacuated from their homes. Over 600 structures have burned.

In the last week, so many friends and family, even people we have not seen or heard from in years, have reached out. More than once, someone has sent me a photo of a statue of Mary, standing on what was once a lawn, untouched among the ashes. In my prayer I call her, “Our Lady of Spokane.”

She reminds me of another Mary statue, one I saw just a week before the fires. 

I was on a 10-day walking pilgrimage with nearly 30 Jesuit educators from the United States and Canada. Together, we hiked and prayed along the Camino Ignaciano as we visited important places in the life of St. Ignatius Loyola.

Along the way, my fellow pilgrims reflected on the prominence of Mary. In churches throughout Spain, Mary is the central figure behind the high altar. Like many medieval Christians, Ignatius had a particular devotion to Our Lady. We encountered so many versions of her along the way: Our Lady of Olatz, Santa Maria de los Reyes in Laguardia, Our Lady of Ascension in Navarette, and Our Lady of Montserrat. But it is Our Lady of Arantzazu that has stayed with me.

According to his memoirs, Ignatius kept a one-night vigil before Our Lady of Arantzazu during which he prayed for strength for his journey. This was a popular shrine during his time, established to honor the story of a late 1400s shepherd. Upon finding the statue in the wilderness, the shepherd exclaimed, “Arantzan zu?!” This Basque phrase roughly translates, “You, among the thorns?!”

As I look upon Our Lady of Spokane, a similar response wells up in me: “You, among the ashes?!”

For years, I have reassured myself that we are protected by our location in the city of Spokane. Wildfires are for wild, or at the very least, rural, places. This was a false sense of security. Our first-ever designation of a Particularly Dangerous Situation is unlikely to be our last.

We have wildfires. Elsewhere, there is record-breaking heat. Flash floods. Tornadoes. Earthquakes. Hurricanes. No place is free from the risk of extreme weather or climate disasters. It is no longer a question of if, but when the effects will impact a community. Despite our deepest longings and desperate prayers, we will not be spared from emergency, destruction, tragedy or suffering. Even so, among the ashes, Mary stands as a reminder that we are not alone. God is with us. And we are with each other.

Our Lady of Spokane, pray for us. 

Mary of the ashes, pray for us. 

Mother of those in particularly dangerous situations, pray for us.