My kids... let me show them to you

Becky and I were not at home when the evacuation notice happened for our neighborhood. Our kids were staying at the house with their grandmother. We told them to grab the laptops and clothes, get the animals and go. These are the extra possessions they choose to grab.

A wooden ox that belonged to my grandfather Walker, a picture of Becky from high school, a ceramic owl I had just brought back from my parents house, our wedding picture, a pig candle we had given to my mother as a Christmas gift with a gold chain my grandfather Hinson had bought my grandmother in the 40's, a teddy bear that had been my fathers and then mine, one of my favorite self-portraits, my grandfather Hinson's dog-tags from WWII, and an stuffed rabbit from Beckys grandmothers antique shop. Good stuff.

Driving to the House

This is from Thursday when we were finally "officially" allowed back onto our property. Driving by all those empty shells doesn't get any easier, I just feel hollow like I'm being gutted. The place feels dead, no wind whispering through the pines.
Yesterday I took some pictures of the other houses on our street. No words.

The wooded areas are worse, before you could see about 25 feet into the undergrowth.

My Dad captures a visit back to the house

Bastrop Fires and Grandkids
These are a few pictures that my father captured when we took the kids to see the house for the first time on Saturday.

Looking at ashes.

I got out to the house today. Driving through the neighborhood to get out to our place was indescribable, I've never been in a war zone but that's what I imagine. So much destruction. People I know whose houses were just rubble. Houses where I didn't know the people but we always waved when passing by. The closer we got the more overwhelming it became. Forest where just a week ago you couldn't see 50 feet into was just ash and burnt black sticks. I still feel numb. This is what my lot looked like.

The mailbox. Our address, this was part of us. Defined the where of our family existence. HOME.

My Buell Firebolt 12R, Little Red, 4 years of commuting 42 miles each way, Rain or Shine, Blazing summer or sleet in the winter. Crazy 18 hour blast from Bastrop to Knoxville to make it to my brothers graduation and a couple runs through the Tail of the Dragon in N. Carolina. One of the largest speeding tickets I've every received. The first engine blowing at triple digit speeds underneath me. I'll miss her... Becky... not so much.

NEW BEGINNINGS