Levels of irony

At Stony Run, we are no strangers to wildfire. I fought fires in the early eighties, and one of those got up close and personal. We've seen fires occur near here, such as those around Oakridge in the nineties and more recently, and especially the Clark Fire on Fall Creek, five thousand acres, which brewed up a very nuclear looking smoke and steam cloud some twelve miles from here.

2015 is a major fire year in the Northwest, but oddly enough, though we are as dry as a desert nothing of note has (knock on wood) happened in our area.

Well, almost. What has happened is a major smoke event. We spent a little over two days hosting what was once Washington and eastern Oregon's forests and grasslands, in the form of tiny particulates at a density of AQI 230. We sheltered in place with the house buttoned up.

View across the garden to the far hills, a visibility of about 1.5 miles.

View to the south with no sign of the hills in that direction, visibility of about .5 mile!

Jasper Mountain, one mile, fading away at about three in the afternoon.

Sun at ten o'clock the next morning.

On the third day, the smoke began rolling away to the east, giving me a chance to run a few errands.

Not that the mask was much help, but the carbon-belching car was. Talk about nested levels of irony.