It seems we need calamity to wake us from our daily slumbers, our catatonic but animated wanders. Otherwise we gently work around the frayed edges, careful not to ruffle them too much. But it’s the frayed edges and the ruffling that keep us human, keeps us sharp. I often find myself perpetually drawn into the two dimensional, the emotion-less and taking the easy way into and out of engagement. Killing my desire slowly with electron overload, simple textual connectivity, sensationalist politics — glued to the ephemeral, the happy idiot with my magic carpet in the palm of my hand wandering the global soup of the immaterial. Then Dec. 4, 2017 happened and shook things up a bit. I explored the news and recognition from Facebook, Twitter, Instagram from Denmark and I knew of the Thomas Fire within hours. I helped to spur the speedy evacuation of my parents from next to Wheeler Hot Springs from afar, knowing too well the epic fuel load that covered the local mountains. I finally entered the Ojai Valley again on Dec. 20 after more than three months away, to columns of dark smoke that instantly hammered my lungs and forced me to endure Prednisone. My car had burned and the family home had been evacuated, wings clipped physically and in the mobility sense. But through this, I would argue that there was also an awakening of sorts. I was offered a chance to be more present again, with a wanting, a needing to engage with others on a more direct and human level. I saw my landscape change almost overnight, recognized more acutely the other denizens of the land more intensely, suddenly helpless and with burned paws. This sense of stewardship revitalized. Many community members in Ojai were no longer silent. People were suddenly present. Stepping in where they saw need. There was a free flow of ideas, expertise, energy from volunteers, selflessly updating and visiting properties for those absent by those in the area, giving for the sake of giving, offering without expectation. In the Fall of 2017 I traveled through the Balkans, a largely forgotten part of Europe. I visited many areas and people that had lived through one of the darkest conflicts of the 20th century, barely two decades ago. These same individuals were now taking on big business and their governments — as
their backyards, their water supplies and rivers, their livelihoods tied to a healthy river and ecosystem — were and are in grave danger. This is being taken from them. I got to spend a rainy night with guardians on a bridge in the one small town in Bosnia, Krucisca — in a makeshift hut. In this little town I was told that nearly very household lost a family member in the 1993-94 conflict. Three months earlier some 40 women peacefully faced down special police forces to protect their river. Now, with other members of the town (and even some from further towns that suffered similarly the effect of losing their free-flowing
Vulnerability helps, but I would argue that having lived through extreme hardship fosters a strong sense of honor and duty to others in need. I think it shapes a different reality when things are violently taken from you. A favorite trail perhaps, a tree, a ridgeline trail now closed and blackened by fires, a car, a house, a pet, a loved one in subsequent mudslides. There has been a needed upsurge in community engagement that will be important to maintain. But the reality is that the need is always great to be engaged and fully human. There is always room to be larger than ourselves and to be a part of the larger community. Not all of us can or should be the
Rick Bisaccia works with a crew to make water bars to protect the Cozy Dell Trail from erosion and winter rains post-Thomas Fire for the Forest Service.
rivers) they held vigil at the site 24-7 to keep the heavy machinery away from the headwaters. It seemed that through this trauma and terror they had grown stronger, more resolved to protect and be the guardians of water, the local wildlife that had no voice to share. They knew what could be lost, what is really at stake. I had been lost in the Balkans too many times to count, crossing some 19 borders in my tiny rented VW. I suffered mechanical breakdowns and had to rely on the kindness and generosity of strangers. I was left with a sense of community I had not experienced anywhere else.
wounded Bosnian war hero that I met who rescued and carried his wounded friend through sniper fire through the hillsides above their hometown they protected on a suicide mission. With awareness and engagement, we can hope that it won’t ever come to this. This, of course, brings me to our next great calamity that is nipping at our collective heels, from the backyards here with the challenges of the federal government to fund the Forest Service and keep the local backcountry healthy, to the threats of the wider backyard of the American West with species and environmental stewardship.