Professional Documents
Culture Documents
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PROLOGU E: T H E G OL DI LOC K S 10
ZON E 11
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When heat comes, it’s invisible. It doesn’t bend tree branches 17
or blow hair across your face to let you know it’s arrived. The 18
ground doesn’t shake. It just surrounds you and works on you 19
in ways that you can’t anticipate or control. You sweat. Your 20
heart races. You’re thirsty. Your vision blurs. The sun feels 21
like the barrel of a gun pointed at you. Plants look like they’re 22
crying. Birds vanish from the sky and take refuge in deep 23
shade. Cars are untouchable. Colors fade. The air smells 24
burned. You can imagine fire even before you see it. 25
In the summer of 2021, weathercasters in the Pacific 26
Northwest warned people that a heat wave was on the way. 27
Workers in Washington’s Yakima Valley were summoned to 28
cherry orchards at 1 a.m. so the ripe fruit could be picked 29
before it turned to mush. Air-conditioning contractors were 30
deluged with calls. Electric fans sold out at Home Depot and S31
Lowe’s. The Red Cross activated its heat alert network, N32
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T H E H E AT W I L L K I L L Y O U F I R S T
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predatory event, one that culls out the most vulnerable peo‑ 01
ple. But that will change. As heat waves become more intense 02
and more common, they will become more democratic. 03
Even before this heat wave hit the Pacific Northwest, the 04
forests were burning, dried to tinder by years of rising heat 05
and declining rainfall. But in British Columbia, the heat 06
brought something like spontaneous combustion to Lytton, 07
an old mining camp (pop. 250) at the confluence of the Fra‑ 08
ser and Thompson Rivers where First Nations people have 09
lived for thousands of years. In the 1970s, the town was 10
reborn as a whitewater rafting mecca due to its proximity to 11
the spectacular flow of water through the black granite walls 12
of Thompson Canyon. On the third day of the heat wave, 13
temperatures in Lytton reached an unholy 121 degrees. 14
Lorna Fandrich remembers looking out the window at the 15
Chinese history museum in town — an institution she and 16
her husband founded to commemorate and honor the Chi‑ 17
nese workers who built the railroad and worked in the min‑ 18
ing camps — and seeing leaves dropping off a tree, as if it 19
were an autumn day, though it was only June. “I thought, 20
How strange,” she said later. Then wind kicked up and a spark 21
jumped out from the steel wheel of a passing freight train. 22
Within minutes, the town was aflame. Mayor Jan Polderman 23
raced his Honda minivan through the village, begging skep‑ 24
tical residents to flee. He picked up one of the last stragglers, 25
a man running down a road with his cat in a cage. 26
Jeff Chapman, who lived with his parents outside of town, 27
was just starting to cook dinner when he saw the smoke and 28
fire approaching. “Ten minutes later, our house was fully 29
engulfed,” he said. “There was nothing we could do. We had 30
nowhere to go.” As the blaze swallowed the house and the S31
trees around it, Chapman rushed his parents, who were both N32
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01 in their sixties, into a trench that had been dug a few days
02 earlier to repair a septic system. It wasn’t big enough for all
03 three of them, so he grabbed a sheet of metal roofing nearby
04 and laid it over them. Then he took refuge on some nearby
05 railroad tracks, hoping the fire would pass.
06 That’s when the power line crashed down across the
07 trench where his parents were sheltering. “I knew my parents
08 were in that hole and I’m watching the house burn and I’m
09 thinking, Oh my God.” Chapman survived the inferno. His
10 parents did not.
11 A few days later, as if by some miracle, it was blue skies
12 and cool weather again in Lytton. The entire town was smol‑
13 dering, burned to the ground. A few pieces of porcelain pot‑
14 tery survived in the ashes of the Chinese history museum.
15 Douglas fir trees on the edge of town looked like black
16 spears. There were grief and horror about what had hap‑
17 pened, and vows to rebuild. Meanwhile, out on the coast,
18 limp starfish and the shells of mussels and clams washed
19 ashore by the millions. Chris Harley, a zoologist at the Uni‑
20 versity of British Columbia, estimated that the three-day heat
21 wave killed more than a billion sea creatures.
22 But as June came and went and summer turned to fall,
23 life went back to normal, and the memory of the heat wave
24 faded, as memories of heat waves always do, until they
25 become like the fleeting images of a nightmare you’re not
26 quite sure you had. Or a future you don’t want to imagine.
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28 You probably think of heat on a temperature scale, either
29 Fahrenheit or Celsius. You think of it as a gradual, linear
30 thing, a quality of the air around you that moves up and
31S down in increments, or that can be controlled by a thermo‑
32N stat. Seventy degrees is a little hotter than 68 degrees, which
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