The following is the speech Pepperwood's Development Director Julie Bartice gave at Pepperwood's Anniversary Sunset Celebration on October 3rd, 2015, explaining the evening's Fund-a-Need and sharing her own experience with the Valley Fire.
For me, the Valley Fire began with a text message.
That text read: "Don't worry, but there's a huge fire." It was sent
by my 16-year old niece who was visiting from Wisconsin with her parents. She
had stayed at our new home in Hidden Valley Lake while the adults spent the day
at the coast. We had just sat down for dinner at Lucas Wharf when the text
arrived. With her text, Charlotte included a picture that looked like, well, like
something from the gates of Hell. And it had been taken from our balcony.
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Photo taken from the balcony of Julie's home |
What I remember of that
evening - for lack of a better phrase - was organized chaos. My husband,
brother, sister-in-law and I rushed from the restaurant. Charlotte called the police.
We navigated numerous road closures while Charlotte kept us updated with
frequent text messages: She was in a police car. Fire was blazing on either
side of her. Sirens blared.
It was after midnight
when we reached Charlotte at a gas station in Lower Lake. That night we stayed
with friends who welcomed us evacuees with open arms.
One of the longest nights
of my life followed. But the next few days were even longer while we sat in
vain and wondered if our home was still there. On day three we were told
conclusively: our home had been destroyed.
I'm not proud to stand up
here and say that I struggled with that news. We had just moved from Sonoma
County to Hidden Valley Lake. After a year and a half of searching for that
right place to put down roots, we had found a beautiful home with sweeping
views of nature. We could see the magnificent Mt. St Helena from our kitchen,
dining room and bedroom windows. We had
amazing views of Cobb Mountain and rolling green hills dotted with Douglas Fir,
Madrone and Oak Trees. Deer wandered through our yard daily. Coyotes howled at
night. And living in our backyard was a fox who neighbors said had whelped nine
litters. It was a magical place filled with nature, beauty and serenity. As I
thought about our home, I looked down at my wedding ring and was glad that was
with me. I then looked at my husband, my brother and his family, and felt
tremendous gratitude that we were all safe.
That afternoon I received
a phone call. "Hi, it's Katherine Brown." My tired, emotionally-weary
brain tried in vain to remember who Katherine was. "Julie! It's your
neighbor Katherine. I want to tell you: Your house is fine."I responded
with impatience: " Katherine, it's..." She interrupted me.
"Julie, I'm standing in front of your house and I'm telling you, your
house is fine. I'll text you a picture." And she did. And the house was
indeed still standing.
For the next two days, my
husband and I volunteered with relief efforts. We worked with the Sheriff's
Department arranging short 15 minute visits for people to check on their homes,
their animals and grab necessary belongings. Most didn't know what
"home" would look like, if "home" would even be there, and if their pets were
dead or alive.
We were set up at Lower Lake
High School in a packed gymnasium of desperate yet hopeful people. And generous
and patient people. Many of these people came back after their visits to thank
us for our small role in getting them home for a brief time. I saw elated elderly
people, hugging cats on their laps. Kids smothering their dogs with love.
People with stories of homes that were untouched by fire. And I saw the
opposite. People who had lost everything. People whose homes and all worldly
possessions except the clothing their backs, had been reduced to rubble. Shell-shocked
children, quietly sitting next to parents not knowing what to do next and
parents who had yet to figure that out. I saw poor people who had been
evacuated three times this year alone, and this time they weren't so lucky. I
saw people without insurance, people who literally now had nothing and no
safety net who nonetheless said: "We'll be okay." And I saw many
people helping to make it okay.
I witnessed so much
generosity and it made me love Northern California even more.
The Valley Fire made me
realize how precarious good fortune is and how quickly it can turn. It also made
me realize that we are generous community, deeply in tune to those in immediate
need. When there is a crisis, people of our community respond. It also made me
realize that now is the time to focus our attention on working together to ensure
a catastrophe of this magnitude doesn't happen again. While we must pay
attention to the immediate, our generosity cannot be confined to the immediate.
It also needs to focus on the long-term. We need to invest in proactive measures
to help prevent these tragedies. And when they do happen, we need to help restore
our whole community, and our environment, so they can thrive together well into
the future.
I now look out my windows
and where I used to see rolling green hills and mature trees, I see black ash
and a charred landscape. Where I used to hear the birds singing, now I hear the
constant sound of chain saws cutting down dead trees. Last night, for the first
time since the fire, I heard coyotes howl again. It was the lonely sound of a
few, not the raucous yipping that used to wake me at night. I'm am starting to
see the deer return. In fact, just this morning, I saw a buck and doe creep
across our front yard. Maybe it's my imagination, but there isn't that spring
in their step I remember, and they certainly aren't around in plenitude like
they used to be. I haven't seen or heard the fox since the fire and I wonder if
she made it.
This year alone, 12.5
million trees have died in California fires. We all wonder, how do you rebuild
a community after a disaster like the Valley Fire, but how do you rebuild and
restore a healthy forest? Keep in mind, the tinder from these 12.5 million
trees is in the forest bed lying in wait to become fuel for fire in the
future. How can we be proactive and
mitigate the chances of catastrophic fires while we restore forest health?
Tonight you have that
opportunity. Tonight, I ask that you help Pepperwood capitalize on its new
partnership with the Federal Bureau of Land Management. and invest in our Fire Mitigation and Forest Health Prevention
Fund-a-Need.
By raising your paddle:
- You
will support the engagement of youth in fire response and fuel load reduction.
- You
will support work here at Pepperwood to demonstrate and test best practices for
fire mitigation.
- You
will support engaging our students, university researchers and citizen
scientists in the necessary monitoring critical to understanding the drivers of
fire risk, forest health, and wildlife response.
- And
you will support community outreach efforts to empower the many agencies we
partner with - agencies such as the Land Trust and the Open Space District, who
have representatives here tonight - to mitigate fire risks and other climate
hazards on their own properties. You will also support landowners - landowners
like many of you here tonight - to do the same.
Working at
Pepperwood has taught me that we can't prevent fire. Moreover, working here has
taught me that we shouldn't. Fire is necessary to forest health. But we can
mitigate the risks of catastrophic fires such as our recent Valley Fire.