Starting August 1, 2026, a complex of fast-moving wildfires—including the Old Trails, Autumn Lane, and Fairview fires—devastated the edges of Spokane, Washington. The wind-driven blazes scorched over 10,500 acres, destroyed at least 900 homes and structures, and forced roughly 65,000 residents to evacuate in what officials termed a historic regional disaster.
We’ve been under a fire evacuation order at least four times in the last few years.
We live within walking distance of downtown Spokane, but our home sits on the edge of a beautiful forest that connects to a state park. We’re perched on a hill above the city, which gives us a spectacular- and sometimes terrifying- view from our balcony.
We’ve watched dozens of fires from that balcony over the past few years. One came within 100 feet and others a block away. Thankfully, that remains the closest they’ve gotten… so far.
Fire has become so commonplace that we no longer rush to the balcony when we smell smoke. There is simply too much of it and it happens too often. Smoke is no longer our warning sign.
Seeing flames is.
On Saturday, August 1, I could see flames.
We had been issued one of our first “Extreme Fire Danger” warnings the day before. Temperatures were expected to climb into the 90s. Everything was dry, and a high-wind warning had been issued. It was, in every possible way, the perfect recipe for trouble.
That morning, I went to our Frontrunners gay running and walking club as usual, although I felt uneasy. I brought my emergency “go bag” with me. Before I left, I spent an extra moment looking at our home, wondering if it might be the last time I would see it.
As I led the morning greeting, I remember ending by telling everyone I hoped they would stay safe and be careful that day.
I had no idea how prophetic those words would become.
I got home around 11 a.m. My dog and I grabbed another coffee and headed to the balcony. My husband was out of town at a swimming event.
I will never forget the next eight hours.
I had been on the balcony for only a few minutes when the first notification appeared on my phone: a fire west of us.
Minutes later, I could see wisps of smoke.
Five minutes after that, those wisps had become enormous quantities of smoke billowing in from the west.
About an hour later, flames appeared.
They were several miles north of us, but from our balcony they looked enormous even at that distance- glowing red and orange arms reaching up through the forest canopy and grasping at the sky.
Then another massive plume of smoke erupted on the east side of Spokane.
Another fire.
I had never seen fire move so quickly. It was as if the first fire had spotted the second and was racing toward it as fast as it could, desperate to make its acquaintance. Then I could see smoke from what appeared to be a third fire even farther north. Three towering mountains of smoke that had erupted in the middle of our beautiful city in no time at all.
From where I sat, it seemed as though all three fires were determined to meet, join forces and become something much larger and dangerous.
By then, my phone had erupted.
Texts came from friends who lived north of us, some desperately trying to join more than 60,000 other neighbors fleeing their homes. Watch Duty notifications tried to tell me where the fire was headed. Friends texted to ask whether we were safe.
This time, we were.
This time, I was a witness to the horror everyone else was experiencing.
My phone repeatedly made that ominous emergency-alert buzz as evacuation zones expanded with astonishing speed. I watched the fires turn the enormous blue Spokane sky into a ceiling of toxic, churning black clouds.
Planes and helicopters disappeared into the smoke and emerged again, dropping retardant and water in desperate attempts to slow the stampede of flames.
The sirens seemed endless.
Across northern Spokane, tiny flashing lights moved through the thick haze as emergency responders raced to help thousands of people evacuating their homes.
And I stood on my balcony and watched.
My husband eventually made it home that afternoon. The three of us- my husband, our dog and me- sat quietly together on the balcony, watching the fire and hoping it would stop.
Hoping our friends were safe.
Hoping our city would be okay.
Feeling powerless to do anything to help.
We knew this was different from any fire we had experienced before.
When we watched the flames leap effortlessly over the Spokane River and race up the hillside along the edge of Riverside State Park, we understood just how little stood between us and the destruction we were watching.
I wasn’t simply watching a fire.
I was watching a community run for its life.
And yet, even from that balcony, surrounded by smoke and fear, I could see something else, too.
I could see people helping one another.
First responders running toward the danger while everyone else was running away. Neighbors opening their homes. Friends checking on friends. Strangers offering shelter, food, transportation and anything else they could give.
The fires reminded us how quickly the things we take for granted can disappear.
But they also reminded me of something else: when everything familiar is burning, we become each other’s shelter.
This will not be the last time we see flames from our balcony.
I wish it were.
But I also know that when the next fire comes- and when the sky fills with smoke again- we won’t face it alone.
Because somewhere beyond that terrifying view from our balcony will be thousands of people doing what people have always done in moments of crisis:
Running toward one another.
Tips For Housing Evacuated Guests
Ryan and Robert have opened their home to fire evacuees on multiple occasions over the years. Drawing from those experiences, along with Ryan’s work at the Center for Trauma and Stress Education with communities impacted by natural disasters, they’ve put together the following tips Ryan teaches for those considering opening their homes to people displaced by an emergency.
If you have the space and capacity to help, opening your home can be one of the most meaningful ways to support someone during an incredibly difficult time.
Download these tips here:
Spokane Pride & nYne Bar & Bistro hosted multiple Wildfire Relief Fundraisers with proceeds going to the City of Spokane's H.O.M.E Starts Here Initiative, the Colville Wildfire Relief & Recovery Fund and Spokane Indian Reservations for those impacted by the wildfires. The Spectrum Center also established the Rainbow Relief Fund to address specific needs of the LGBTQ+ individuals and families impacted by these wildfires.
