By Joanne Feenstra
On July 17, 2024, a huge thunderstorm rumbled down the narrow Slocan Lake Valley. Each side of the valley sustained multiple hits of lightning and countless wildfires sprung up. The residents of Slocan, a small, low income, waterfront community on the very south end of Slocan Lake struggled to see even the houses of their next door neighbours through the oppressive smoke that blanketed the town. After eight days of smoke, an evacuation alert was called. During the Alert, residents were too frightened to leave town because the sudden implementation of an actual evacuation Order could mean they would not be able to return home. The weather hovered around the upper 30’s, above normal for this time of the year, carrying with it a compounding risk of heat illness. Most individuals in this low income community don’t have air conditioning or air purifiers. If people opened their windows in the evenings to let in cool air, they were letting in thick smoke; otherwise, people lived indoors in hot and hotter conditions. Ten days after the fire started, the entire town and surrounding outlying areas were evacuated.
Just 25 kilometres to the north, residents of Silverton, also a small, low income waterfront community on Slocan Lake, experienced a more immediate threat. People living outside Silverton in rural areas were evacuated two days after the fires started. People living in Silverton experienced the sight of immense forest fires nearby and across the narrow lake, embers and ashes falling on yards and houses, and a sound that one person described as being at the Grand Prix as the forest fire devoured the nearby mountainsides.
The trauma of living through disaster
The one narrow mountain road that connects the two communities was closed July 18, one day after the thunderstorm. Slocan had only one other road providing egress – the possibility that the fire could close that one remaining road was a constant concern. As people left the Slocan Lake area behind for parts unknown, social connections became disconnected. Individuals lost mental health and community support. People connected through social media, writing and reading both positive and vituperative posts.
Experiences were as varied as the individuals. Some individuals with mobility needs were left to figure things out for themselves. Individuals reported being happy they had many offers of housing or of being flummoxed as they left on their own to do as best as they could with hotel rooms or campgrounds. People wrote that they had a great time on their mini-vacation or that they just wanted to come back, but when they got home, they were depressed and anxious. People wrote of the stress of having to do normal things, such as go to the hospital for surgery or chemo, while struggling to keep in touch with family or figure out who got to use the one family car all the while evacuating at the same time. People said they felt completely consumed by the decision of whether or not to pack the family photos, of making lists, of trying not to forget medications or the dog’s leash, of how much underwear to take. The immediate minutiae of packing became a larger emergency than the threat of the forest fire. Some individuals stated that the evacuation order itself felt like relief; someone else made the decision to leave the smoke. Participants wrote of feeling stupid, sad and unmotivated in the smoke and disaster.
In a study by Humphreys et al. (2022), participants identified eerily similar concerns to those observed at Slocan Lake. The study identified heightened anxiety, depression, isolation, and a lack of motivation as a result of wildfires. Income levels, people’s age, health conditions, housing status, and social isolation made some residents more vulnerable to mental health and wellbeing challenges than others.
Another group of researchers, To et al. (2021), reviewed sixty studies to determine the result of wildfires on mental health. The results showed an increased rate of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), depression, and generalized anxiety for years after and new issues arising as a result of environmental disasters; ecological grief, solastalgia (when devastation causes the deprivation of comfort), and eco-anxiety.
The word “solastalgia” combines the Latin word sōlācium (solace or comfort) and the Greek root algia (pain, suffering, grief). The term describes the feelings a person has in response to the perception of negative environmental change caused by climate change, volcanic eruptions, drought or destructive mining. Solastalgia can lead people to seek comfort collectively. When emotions are processed collectively, reflective functions are increased, leading to resilience and growth (Warsini et al, 2014). “Eco-anxiety” refers to concerns about what might happen in the future.
Nostalgia is the homesickness you have when you’re away from home and wish to return. Solastalgia is the homesickness you have when you’re at home, and your home is leaving you.
Glenn Albrecht, who coined the term in 2003 (Amsen, 2023)
On August 12, 2024, after the firefighters rolled up their hoses, about 1,000 people came home. We survived. While the physical structures of our towns remain intact, for people like myself, the social-emotional impacts still smoulder.
Expressive writing as an intervention
After a stressful event, people are often expected to push forward without processing their past experience. To allow space to process the Slocan Lake Complex Wildfire experience, two expressive writing workshops were held, one in each community. The workshops consisted of personal introductions, followed by a discussion of group norms, which touched on physical and emotional safety, trust and transparency, peer support, the ideas of collaboration, empowerment and choice and identity (Lab, 2024). After the introductions, individuals participated in two sessions of ten-minute periods of silent journaling on their own experiences during the wildfire. Not all participants were evacuated. Some individuals lived on the fringe of the evacuation zone and experienced the smoke and threats of being evacuated, but did not have the actual evacuation experience. The writing was followed by reading aloud or sharing, if desired, followed by 1:1 facilitated, supportive group discussion. A short break was held between the two rounds of journaling.
The format of the workshops were drop-in; if you had missed day one, you could still attend day two or three. Verbal feedback was carefully monitored to be supportive: “I like what you said” or “I’m sorry you experienced that,” or “I never thought about that.” Grammar, sentence structure and enunciation were never mentioned.
Feelings words list generated by participants; image credit: Rachel Bone, reproduced with permission
Participants were directed to write about thoughts and feelings they had during their experiences. They were instructed to not write only about “I wish I took the picture my grandson drew” or “my neighbour left their sprinkler on” but to focus on “I felt, I thought” during the different phases of the entire forest fire and evacuation experience.
While I lack a way to empirically assess the long-term impact of these writing workshops, it is clear that they were well attended and people cried and laughed and hugged. One person who attended the sessions said they were “a great opportunity for healing a trauma event.” Another said, “Being able to share my experience with others and listen to the variety of stories was powerful and healing.” I was told, more than once, that the workshop “changed my life.” People left the workshop with a sense of purpose, of moving ahead and also of acceptance.
Break time at the expressive writing workshop; image credit: Rachel Bone
Just as people are now searching out air conditioners and air purifiers, one small future best practice towards mental health and resilience in the aftermath of wildfires or other disasters might include providing the opportunity for those affected to process the events creatively through expressive writing workshops. This might enable a few more people to become resilient by confronting the emotional experience of living through a wildfire. By processing feelings such as anxiety, depression, and even PTSD, individuals can work towards promoting greater individual and community resilience.
Bio
Joanne Feenstra enjoyed a brief stint as Emergency Measures Coordinator in Haines Junction, Yukon. She then worked as a facilitator and educator for 25 years. At the age of 65, she completed her Master’s Degree in Integrated Studies and was diagnosed with ADHD. She currently facilitates writing workshops in Slocan.
References
Humphreys, A., Walker, E.G., Bratman, G.N. and Errett, N.A. (2022). What can we do when the smoke rolls in? An exploratory qualitative analysis of the impacts of rural wildfire smoke on mental health and wellbeing, and opportunities for adaptation. BMC Public Health, 22(1). doi:https://doi.org/10.1186/s12889-021-12411-2.
Lab, N.L. (2024). Trauma Informed Facilitation: The Power of Reflection in Training, Workshops and Experiences. [online] nonprofitlearninglab. Available at: https://www.nonprofitlearninglab.org/post-1/trauma-informed-facilitation-the-power-of-reflection-in-training-workshops-and-experiences.
To, P., Eboreime, E. and Agyapong, V.I.O. (2021). The Impact of Wildfires on Mental Health: A Scoping Review. Behavioral Sciences, [online] 11(9), p.126. doi:https://doi.org/10.3390/bs11090126.
