After a week of indecision and a fight in the supermarket Dan and I decided to drive into the fire. We’d planned a trip up to Ashland for Labor Day weekend and nothing was going to deter me. Not my friend Helaine in Ashland saying they were fleeing to Portland to get out of the smoke, not air quality indicators flashing red, and certainly not newspaper reports calling conditions “worse than Beijing”. I mean, I love Beijing! So, I was curious. I’m still new-ish to California and wildfire season for a New Yorker like me brings intrigue rather than fear. After the weekend away I now know better.
As our 2014 midnight blue Prius climbed higher in elevation through California I pressed harder on the gas and turned up the air conditioning. What at the beginning of the drive appeared to be steam from the 113 degree heat had now turned to smoky haze—the ominous atmosphere descended from a fire-ravaged Oregon.
Helaine was feeling badly that she and Greg had chosen Portland over me despite having wanted to see me for two years. “I’m Sorry Elana, I just can’t take Ashland anymore. It’s been unbearable. Perhaps as consolation she sent me a facebook link to a river salmon music festival that had also evacuated its fire environs in Junction City for a safer space: the Weed Palace Theater in Weed California.
“I can smell it”, Dan said, it’s coming through the vents.
“It is?” I responded, not yet willing to accept the dryness in my throat as being smoke related. I pressed harder on the gas, But when we got out of the car we’d parked just behind the “Welcome to Weed”, CA arch, it was undeniable. The sun to the west glowed fluorescent orange as it sank lower in the sky. I grabbed a scarf from the car and tied it around my face as we took in the surroundings.
The streets were desolate except for a few stray dogs. Clearly others smarter than ourselves had heeded the health warnings. But there was something else. The town had an apocalyptic aura that went far beyond the burning sun. As we walked up the street toward the theater I noticed men and women crouching in the shadows of door frames and behind dumpsters. This was the rural California I’d read about but not yet seen. Signs of the opioid and meth epidemic on obvious display. The evident cultural depression a mirror image in some ways to the ecological devastation of the moment.
I checked the facebook event page once more and frantically googled “Nahko and Friends” to evaluate their legitimacy as Dan ran back to the car to make sure we hadn’t left any valuables out in the open. Though the setting was ominous the event looked promising.
The website boasted a screening of the documentary “The Salmon Will Run” and nationally known indigenous musical artists playing to raise awareness about environmental devastation in their communities and beyond. The performance lineup included Nahko & Medicine for the People, trumpet player and soul vocalist Jennifer Hartswick, Keith Secola, Pura Fe, Hawane Rios, Desirae Harp, Jones Benally Dance Troupe, Earth Circle Drum, plus local performers Buckhorn Mountain Stompers and Ju Drum with Seed n Soil.
As we wandered into the theater a mixture of pot, patchouli, and stale pizza welcomed us warmly. Inside was an eclectic gathering of people united either in their care of wild salmon, their love of music, or their boredom from smoke hibernation. Honestly, it felt incredible to be around people
But as the documentary highlighting the Run4Salmon faded into music performances my skepticism turned too into joy. Here we were with a group of people celebrating the earth as California and Oregon burned. It felt suddenly as if the whole state should be gathering together in song, coming out of the fire to raise our voices in outcry. It was not lost on me that the women singing were members of tribes who had lifted their voices in honor of mother earth and in resistance to her destroyers for centuries already. The rest of us have listened too little, too late.
Speaker after speaker, singer after singer took the stage to raise awareness about the near-extinction of the Winter-run Chinook Salmon, Mauna Kea education and awareness, and the impact of the fires on the local environment. The music reflected both the celebration and the mourning of human impact and interaction with our natural environment. Two of the singer-songwriters, Desirae Harp and Hawane Rios spoke and sang from their traditions prayers for the earth.
Harp spoke for all of us when she sang:
My Heart is in the Water/
My Heart is in the Mother Earth/
My Heart is in the Strong Winds/
My Heart is in All My Relations
Desirae Harp is a member of the Mishewal Wappo tribe from the central coast of California, and she is a descendant of the Diné Nation from the Southwest. She is a singer/songwriter, cultural bearer/activist, and teacher. She sings with Audiopharmacy, an internationally acclaimed world music/ reggae/ and hip hop ensemble. She uses her music as a teaching tool to facilitate workshops on cultural survival, social justice, and environmental justice with youth across the country. She is the founder of the Mishewal Ona*staTis language revitalization program, and she works with the run4salmon campaign to restore the California water ways, salmon runs, and indigenous ways of life.
Hawane Rios is a member of the Flores-Case ‘Ohana, a native of Waimea, Kohala Waho, Mok:upunioHawai’i. She is a Kanaka Maoi cultural practitioner with connections to Maunaa Wakea.