Chris:

Bitter ironies sometimes take time to appear.

In late October, I wrote this about our garden: “Along with the bees are the birds in our bit of paradise.”

Paradise.

We once visited the town of Paradise, California, up north amid the dark green forested hills of Butte County, miles from even the small city of Chico and in a different world, it seemed, from Sacramento. We spent a nice afternoon in Paradise. What I remember from that visit was that feeling of getting away into the cool, dark forest.

Our late October post this year celebrated the beauty and bounty of a still sunny and rainless fall–but in the writing I feared a repeat of the devastating fires of October 2017, if rain did not come soon. Then, on November 8, the inevitable erupted in the wooded foothills–not far from Paradise–and within a few hours the wind-carried flames had engulfed the town and trapped hundreds of residents.

For three weeks, the fires on the remote hillsides and through the canyons remained virulent and elusive. The Camp Fire (named for its origin near Camp Creek) eventually destroyed over 150,000 acres and became the worst fire in California history in lives lost (86) and in the thousands of buildings devoured. Even hundreds of miles south and east, California cities and towns felt the effects of the inferno, as a seemingly endless cloud of smoke and ash darkened the sky and damaged lungs. A hundred miles south in Sacramento, schools and universities were closed for more than a week because of the treacherous air.

When finally rains came toward the end of November, the thousands who had been evacuated from Paradise and nearby towns still could not return to what was left of their homesteads, as crews from throughout California worked day and night to clear hazards and debris, search for the hundreds of the missing, and make the firetorn hills safe once again.

Paradise no more.

Still…in the photo above see how many of the trees, particularly the most mature, were not destroyed by the inferno. As we saw last year in Sonoma and Napa, nature will lead the comeback and provide humans the inspiration to use their knowledge, humility, and compassion, so that the forested hills can once again grow toward the beauty and peace that the inhabitants once enjoyed.

December in the Garden

Blessed we are to have this small garden, still a paradise to us, all the more precious now. The gentle rains have soaked the soil and kept our many plants green–and the animals who rely on them housed and fed.

With low temps flirting with freezing, but still above the magic line, the late December garden retains a few vestiges of summer–vincas still flower in their pots and petunias glow bright in their back garden bed. Calla lilies act as if it’s spring, even as the flame trees proclaim NorCal December.

Fruits and Veggies

With all our years in the East, I doubt we’ll ever take for granted the sunshine brilliance, even in the rain, of the oranges and lemons that highlight December in the Northern California garden. The photo that graces the top of this entry may be technically a “still life,” but the oranges and meyer lemons, plus the golden coreopsis and pink tea roses that also dress our December garden, pulsate with warmth.

Meanwhile, the three veggies I planted between late October and late November have thrived in the cool temps and occasional rains. Chard, stir-fry broccoli, and “French breakfast” radishes steadily mature toward harvest in late winter and early spring. This variety of radish is a first for me; the chard is a returning favorite after a few years; and the five broccoli plants renew my appreciation for this hearty, flavorful, symmetrical veggie.

• The chard plant shown in the photo below is one of three I have for the first time in pots, while three others are in the ground (not shown). All are coming along well.
• The six radish plants (background) have been in the ground only three weeks as I write, so they have a good month or more to go before harvest.

Paradise at Christmas

Most of the former residents of Paradise and nearby towns have no homes to return to. They are spending this Christmas season and many coming months as refugees. Their homes for the foreseeable future are those of relatives, friends, or genuine good Samaritans, as well as the refugees’ own RVs or trailers provided by FEMA and other social service agencies.  Some of them will never return to their pre-cataclysm homes, as predictable by what happens to refugees of other similar disasters.

Whether they return or not, their future prospects–like ours and everyone else’s–will depend on the largesse and good will of government agencies and on the donations and support of the entire society. Would that all refugees, regardless of the cataclysm they are escaping and where it occurs–were so lovingly regarded by our governments and by us. Is such a thing imaginable in the U.S. of 2018?

If so, then that would be as close as we can all get to Paradise at Christmas. A bit like a petunia in the late December rain.