Relief, regret as residents of Paradise return home after fire

Evacuations lifted, shelters closed and residents of fire-ravaged parts of Paradise were allowed to return to their neighborhoods Saturday.

Some found their homes intact. Others met with devastation. Overall, a sense of relief settled across the quaint and quiet foothills community east of Chico, where shifting winds and deep, dry canyons fed the Humboldt wildfire for more than three days.

By nightfall Saturday, the fire was 45 percent contained, with fire officials predicting full control by Monday.

"We've turned the corner, and it's a sigh of relief," said Steve Maiero, a battalion chief with the Contra Costa County Fire Department. "But we still have a lot of cleaning up to do."

The fire destroyed 23,000 acres and 74 homes – most outside of Paradise city limits in unincorporated and less populated areas. Twenty more were damaged, said Kevin Colburn, spokesman for the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection. At the peak of the fire, 9,200 people were evacuated. As of Saturday evening, all evacuations were lifted and no homes were threatened.

For some evacuees, Saturday marked a painful homecoming.

Having lost his home of 20 years, Tim Davis experienced many emotions Saturday.

He cried at the site of his two-story, wood-framed home on Amber Oaks Court, which had been reduced to little more than its foundation.

He vented about the improbability of it all: "Don't ask me how this placed burned," the retired nurse snapped, casting a disappointed eye toward the 50-foot clearing around his home that failed to do its job.

He found wonder in a fig tree that somehow survived, and humor in a neighbor's bull that ran free through the neighborhood during the blaze. "He used to be brown; now he's black," Davis quipped.

And he found comfort as his wife, Ruth, assured things would be all right: "We've got the Lord," she said to her husband. "And each other."

That calm sense of security is a hallmark of Paradise.

The small town of 27,000 sits high on a ridge with magnificent views and a welcome sign that advises, "You are now ascending to Paradise." Over the years, the pine-studded community has drawn artists with independent spirits, retirees in large numbers and families who favor a slower pace and small-town joys such as Friday night football games and mom-and-pop diners.

During the wildfires, individuals and businesses came together quickly to shelter, feed and care for evacuees and fire crews, said Scott Gruendl, planning and intelligence chief for the Butte County Emergency Operations Center. At the peak, nine shelters took in about 1,700 people, he said. Others opened the doors of their homes and businesses.

"Businesses were very generous," he said. "Everyone pitched in."

By Saturday afternoon, just three shelters were still open, with few people remaining.

At the fire's height, evacuations reached to the center of town, Gruendl said. In a strategic move to save Paradise, firefighters bulldozed a firebreak at the southwestern edge of town and stationed a firetruck at every home – about 40 in all – along the 2.5-mile stretch.

"Every structure was defended individually," Gruendl said. The dramatic effort lasted from Thursday night through Friday. If firefighters hadn't taken the house-by-house stand, much of Paradise might have burned, he said.

Nearly 3,000 firefighters from as far away as Utah battled the fires. Nine suffered injuries.

By 1 p.m. Saturday, with winds much lower than on prior days, one of the last active fire areas near Butte Creek Canyon had no remaining pockets of flames. About 100 firefighters were using the reprieve to clear brush in case the winds picked up again.

Michael M. Shorrock, a Cal Fire battalion chief, shared in the optimism that characterized Saturday's efforts. He predicted firefighters would meet Monday's expected full containment of the blaze.

A firefighter in Butte County for 30 years, Shorrock said this blaze was the largest in the county since a series of lightning storms in 1999 sparked several wildfires. It was difficult, he said, fighting a fire in his hometown and seeing his neighbors lose their homes.

"When the smoke and ash clears, we're still here," he said.

As the smoky haze began to lift Saturday, Paradise residents turned toward the grueling tasks that lay ahead: Figuring out insurance paperwork. Deciding whether to rebuild. Finding a place to stay in the meantime.

For the family of Sherry Griggs, moving from Paradise is out of the question. Three generations of her family live on an 18-acre spread along Red Sky Drive, which Griggs herself named for the brilliant sunsets she loves. The property now resembles a blackened moonscape, topped with three heaps of ash – one each for her home, her son's home and her daughter's.

Yet Griggs said she is grateful. When the fire approached, a family she didn't even know offered a place to stay. One neighbor stored their tractors. Another took in her prized antique cars – two Model T's and a Model A.

"We couldn't have gotten outta here without help from neighbors," Griggs said. "They just showed up."

Down the road, Mike Sandquist sifted through the remains of his ceramics business, which he built alongside an artistic retreat atop a forested ridge. Since 1995, the site had been home to Paradise Pictures, which turns photos into ceramics that can be embedded in cemetery headstones. Using kilns that fired up to 1,500 degrees, the company churned out some 700 pieces a month, selling them to customers from Israel to Fiji.

"It's all gonzo now," said Sandquist, digging through a pile of singed ceramic images: A Mariachi strumming chords. A Japanese couple holding hands. He vowed to rebuild his business, though most likely in a traditional office space in town.

"We're going to come back bigger and stronger and smarter," he said.

As the winds and fires died down, Paradise regained some normalcy Saturday. A foursome took to the Tuscan Ridge Golf Club to play nine holes. Traffic flowed freely along The Skyway, the town's main street. And kids swayed on a swing tied to a sturdy, though singed, bay tree.

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