As I write, the sounds of red-shouldered hawks and acorn woodpeckers are quiet; in the background, human birds—helicopters and planes—are at work. The deer have not been chowing on the cherry plums in the yard, perhaps sniffing the scent of fire in the air. I had hoped to share such moments as new California poppies, with their deep roots, blooming after the surprise rain.
Instead, like many of you, I have been sorting out the household papers and goods, packing a car, watching the winds and weather, and hoping. I know that poppies and many species will be rejuvenated by the fire, and that the layer of ash will recycle nutrients into the soil. California natives have survived and adapted to fire conditions, from early settlers using the blackened scars on redwood trees as goose-pens for livestock to the thousands of bishop pines that burst forth from cones after the Vision Fire. The green sprouts of coast chaparral plants and Douglas iris that I saw amidst the charred Coast Camp landscape and the acres of apricot monkey flowers on the old Estero Trail in the spring after the Vision Fire remain a powerful memory of hope.
Leaving home in the face of fire, blessed with family and friends to provide respite, I look forward to seeing many of you again and sharing stories of the new life and transformation of our beloved homeland.