The Haze

Dearest Rachel –

I stepped outside yesterday morning to something that looked like fog, for all intents and purposes. Given how many hot, dry days we’d been dealing with this week, it wouldn’t be all that surprising that, as it was cooler yesterday than it had been up until then; cooler air crashing into hot air often forces the latter to shed what moisture it contained (since warmer air can hold more than cooler air can), and what is fog but a cloud that couldn’t make it all the way up to the sky?

But upon stepping outside, it was clear (well, no it wasn’t, by definition, but let’s set that inadvertent pun aside for the moment) that whatever this was, it wasn’t, in fact, fog. For one, while it was a bit cooler and more perceptibly humid than the past few days, it was still fairly dry. There wasn’t nearly enough moisture in the air for it to be fog.

On the contrary, it had an odor to it, that of smoke. Now, while you were the firebug of the family – and you would have appreciated the scent, to a certain extent – I get the appeal of the smell of a campfire, too. I just don’t what to make of it when it’s out of place and out of time. You might remember that one time when you tried to burn garbage in the fireplace in, I think it was, late June or early July. The neighbors thought the house was on fire, because who starts one in the middle of summer? And they called the fire department on us, as you told me. I think they must have just come out to investigate in your recounting, as I don’t recall you mentioning that they arrived in a hook-and-ladder with sirens blaring. You also told me that you managed to explain your way out of any citation, but you did get a warning about setting fires at such an odd time of the year.

Obviously, things haven’t changed since then; this is still a strange time for someone to be burning stuff, especially to this extent. And the fact that the particulates are obscuring trees some distance away suggest that it’s more than just the output of a single chimney. For that moment or two, I was afraid that a house or two – or more – were ablaze several blocks off, and there was a possibility that it might spread. Not that there was anything that could be done about it; a house is a fixed point, and it can’t be moved. One can escape one’s house, but one can’t make one’s house escape.

It wasn’t until I’d taken care of some business at my desk and dipped my toe into my news feed that I discovered what was going on. Evidently, this was the results of some forest fires in the Canadian wilderness, somewhere between western Ontario and Manitoba, covering so many square miles that the smoke and ash were sailing into the jet stream and clouding the air not just here – in fact, we were getting off lightly compared to other places – but most of the Northeastern United States, from Minnesota to New York.

Mom herself commented that Jenn and Bill had just managed to get out of town in time. With Jenn’s asthma, this sort of weather event would have done her no favors, but their condominium in Florida is far enough south (indeed, thus far, the smog has only wafted as far south as the Carolinas) that they would only know about all this from taking their own dips into their news feeds. And being on vacation as they are, I suspect they will remain blissfully ignorant of what all this is – assuming (and you know how dangerous that is) that it dissipates by the time they return.

Of course, up here, life goes on regardless. True, there were a lot fewer kids at VBS this last evening; I guess parents didn’t want to brave the smog for the extra trip (and it was mildly amusing to see the few that did at the end of the night, holed up in their cars for the bulk of the waiting time, rather than congregating outside the doors like they had been until then), but I would imagine that their respective bosses would hardly have taken that as an excuse to stay home from work. Meanwhile, ironically, I spent something like five straight hours in the haze; three or so walking with Lars the full distance that we do (although by the last mile or so, I think both of us were getting footsore; we’re definitely out of practice), and the following hour-plus at an outdoor cafe relaxing and chatting thereafter. To be fair, it didn’t seem to be as bad in the middle of the forest preserve; maybe the foliage was eagerly gobbling up all the carbon emissions.

In any event, it’s not like I haven’t been in worse places in terms of air quality – both Beijing and Mumbai had their moments – and while most of the blazes are a long way from being under control up north, at least we can point out that whatever we’re having to deal with isn’t our fault. Not that it makes it any more pleasant, but it’s preferable to having certain people scold about our lifestyle choices when that isn’t what’s causing the problem – although at the same time, it’s also annoying that there’s nothing we can do about it, either, but pray for a strong wind. It’s not purple, and getting kissed by this sky isn’t as far-out as Jimi Hendrix made it out to be.

Come to that, this might preclude you from keeping an eye on us, for all I know, if you can’t see us for the smoke. But if you can, honey, please try, and wish us well. We’re going to need it.