September 27
I continue to hear heartbreaking stories, some so vulnerable I cannot share. There are so many compounding factors when a devastation like this happens to an already marginalized community. When I was 18, I emancipated from foster care which is a nice way of saying ‘became homeless.’ (Unlike many, I had a scholarship, so I was only homeless on breaks and summer) Before this, having moved over 20 different times in and out of various families, I had little to call my own. Suffice to say, as an ‘orphan of the living’ and daughter of an immigrant, I know what it means to start from scratch and work hard to claim the basics.
So my heart breaks with understanding when families tell me about the flooring they had just put in, or the appliances or furniture they were proud of, the payments they made to pay off these things and their trailer finally. All which required a tremendous amount of hard work and occurred over a span of many, many years.
This isn’t about material things, it’s about having a nurturing, welcoming, safe space for la familia. About having a home. And trying to have a bit of that American dream we are all sold. I hear stories like this everyday and I understand.
Today this gentleman told me about how he’s worked for nearly 20 years helping to prevent and manage forest fires, only to get the call in California (fighting fire) that all that he had worked for, all these years, was decimated in moments, by fire.
He showed me pictures, and although I rarely ask if I can share anyone’s pictures, I asked, because I felt this just said it all. So much hard labor expended for this country to care and provide for his family. Only to have it burned away and start all over.
(Also, I just thought this pic was badass, like my people 😉)
On my wise friend Dan Wahpepah’s First Nations radio show, the other day, we discussed from ancestral and permaculture perspectives how we must live given the reality of fire. We come from traditions that honor fire and remind us that we must adapt by remembering ancestral wisdom and ways. Simplicity, accessibility, regenerating approaches over extractive technologies. I feel that perhaps, all those years mixing and stomping sand, clay and hay with my children to make fire resilient structures was not in vain. One of the things that made these ‘impractical’ in the past, is that it requires ALOT of people working together. Community, mutuality, reciprocity, self-reclamation are all invitations right now. My Mexica teacher says the fire burned away the lie of capitalism and is calling us back to our roots. This reconnection is the great possibility right now and I pray for it.
And yet I’m not lofty about fire’s lessons. I sit with the traces in my heart of conversations with fathers who tell me they cry at work but not in front of their family. Their heart breaking for their small children and their helplessness to provide a home (because there are none left).
I remember when I was pulling my life together from scratch. How much every little thing represented the home I never had, the dream I thought others had and I longed for. Everything held so much meaning as I pieced a life together. This is a marginalized experience that is distinct from everyone’s general aspirations, especially middle class experience. For undocumented and migrant families it is blood,sweat and tears. Expended. Lost.
And this continues, as many are working long days to bring in the harvest, right now. Exhausted, they come home to hold their families together in the ways they can with roots of heart and family.
Like the most resilient trees who even while scarred and charred, reach up and out to reclaim life, each familia holds hope and gratitude for their safety, for life. We talk about reconnecting at barbecues when they have a home. (Will we? Surely we will, someday.)
They’ve walked hard paths before. Hope has kept us going. Resilience is etched in our bones.
But still the magnitude of loss and destabilization with no homes to resettle into, is deep and wide.
As profoundly shocking as the devastation of fire can be, even to one who has devoted 20 years to learning her ways.
I don’t pretend to have the answers, but I know we are all learning what fire can teach us. May we be open. May we come together. May we not let these lessons be in vain. May we listen within to find healing and reconnection.
Through word of mouth in community, I continue to find families that have not yet accessed many resources or need help filling the gaps of what is provided. The direct cash aid you are supporting me to provide, is a deep relief that supports dignity, autonomy and hope in humanity. I know many of you have shared so much with us already and I/we are deeply grateful. Please share with anyone you feel may want to help. There are more stories in the GoFundMe and everyone is welcome to friend me to stay updated. Muchísimas Gracias ♥️
To Donate:
Go Fund Me: www.gofundme.com/f/almedafireslatinxrelief
Venmo: @sylvia-Poareo
Note:
I’ve been sharing my experience of the Almeda Fire in southern Oregon on my Facebook page, but I want to share it here so you can all walk with me on this journey. Click the “Almeda Fire” tag at the bottom of this post to read the entire series.