J.C. MacIsaac · for Canada 2017 · April 28
As I left my home, for what I thought was the last time, I could see a wall of inferno devouring the last trees in the forest before it breached into our neighbourhood and began its devastation of my community of Abasand, one of the hardest hit areas of the wildfire. Eventually the flames would claim 50 per cent of the homes in Abasand, many visible from my front door.

In my car I had clothes, a wedding album and a digital hard drive full of family photos. The only other personal items I made space for were my children's very favourite stuffed animals and a pair of high-heeled shoes my oldest daughter had received as a gift from my mother. She affectionately referred to these as her "clickity clacks" for the sound she made when she walked in them. Later when my wife and I explained our situation to Olivia, the fate of her clickity clacks was her very first question.
As a father, it felt like my only victory on a day of immense loss.
. . .
The community today is a city in transition. Many people are still in temporary accommodations while waiting to rebuild. Some have yet to return, and many more never will. It has fundamentally changed our community, but as we develop a new normal there seems to be hope and optimism in the air as houses are coming up from the ground this spring, almost as quickly as they disappeared the last.
Mine is but one story, a drop in the bucket. There are 90,000 others. 90,000 experiences that I imagine prove how good people really are. When people see people in need, they take notice, and our shared humanity is never more evident. I have no desire to relive my experience, but it humbled me in a way I am eternally grateful for. It exposed me to human kindness, compassion, and a selflessness I had previously believed the world to be lacking.