Everyone I meet believes this year has flown by. True, we lost weeks immersed in a fire storm. But, even that doesn’t explain why the months seem shorter. Before the fires, the winter had morphed into summer and summer into what? Thanksgiving.
This time of tradition and family gathering will be a challenge for those who lost their homes and, in some cases, friends and family. The rest of us, with homes and families intact, are grateful. However, that doesn’t prevent us from feeling the pain of things great and small that have descended upon others with whom we are in contact every day.
I am so grateful for the farmers’ markets where connections are made throughout the seasons. Some of the customers’ names I know, others I don’t — but I am aware of their well being or lack thereof. That’s how markets are. You actually see and hear the folks who are sharing the walking space. Time is spent asking “How are you?” and actually listening to their response.
At the LBC market, a lady named Laurie was studying the different arrays of produce at the few remaining farm stands last rainy Wednesday. She said, “I don’t have anything left of the summer produce I put up.”
“You’ve already eaten it all?” I stupidly inquired.
“No, I had to throw it all out. We had no electricity for weeks.”
A fervent market attendee named Janae was one of the Coffey Park residents whose home was burned to the ground. She is a particularly thoughtful collector of different items and loves gifting them to others. She didn’t even have time to grab her purse.
At the Windsor Farmers’ Market we have a blank space next to me where Joey Smith’s Let’s Go Farm stand used to be. The farm is gone. The land is still there, at the confluence of Riebli and Wallace roads. Joey visits the market and puzzles over subjects like, “Is the earth under the ash toxic? How has burned plastic pipe and hoop house coverings affected the soil?”
In fairly trouble-free Healdsburg, our market manager and board kept the Saturday market open, even during that first week of the fire. Manager Janet issued open invitations to vendors who usually attend the LBC Saturday market, giving them spaces while the LBC was smoldering.
To meet these brave and thoughtful people, remembering that they are in our lives, living examples of courage and kindness, provides a sensible balance for our thoughts and concerns. We are bombarded with negative images of violence, stories of immoral behavior and lives lived in selfish attainment of excess wealth and power. Watching the media — and it seems to be all of it now — the whole world seems busy racing to personal and public destruction.
No. When we come out of the suffocating darkness of our television and iPhone caves the light is shining on our neighbors and fellow occupiers of this part of the planet, going about their usual day, sharing a story and making us laugh or grieve in real time.
As we sit together at our family table I am remembering all the faces, the effort and energy expended by so many and I am filled with gratitude.
To the owners of our Healdsburg Tribune and other local community papers: Rollie Atkinson and Sarah Bradbury, your energy is a gift to Sonoma County. You are a lifeline of intelligence and strength.
To all the families and friends who recreate the traditions taught them by relatives and friends gone from their lives; the miracle of food rekindling memories and meals shared together once more. Papa’s turkey stuffing and Mom’s mince pie fill that role here.
To new families and young generations who introduce different foods and cultural traditions, breathing new energy and beginning new memories.
And lastly, not to be forgotten, the peace-loving, stabilizing animals in our lives whose incredible wits we were made aware of during the fire storm — the cat hiding in the storm drain at Fountaingrove, or the chickens that returned to their metal roost after their coop was burned to the ground, or the steady unperturbed Shetland sheep in my backyard, smelling smoke and occasionally glancing up at the ridge CalFire named the Pocket Fire.
For all of these, thank you.
Renee Kiff weeds and writes at her family farm in Alexander Valley.
