The Lone Daisy

Hello and happy Fall! A new season is upon us. I always enjoy that bit of chill in the air after a long hot summer. 

One of my husband Ken’s favorite party lines is to tell out-of-towners that we in California enjoy four seasons: rain, wind, sun and fire. He always gets a laugh as they think he is making a joke. 

The last two weeks in Southern California have not been all that funny as three separate fires blazed out of control for more than a week. Ken and I could see flames from our upstairs deck as the “Airport Fire” wrecked havoc in South Orange County climbing up Saddleback Mountain, jumping across the Ortega Highway, and devastating the El Cariso neighborhood in the mountains above Lake Elsinore, as it made its way to Riverside County. A mandatory evacuation sent families and horses looking for shelter.

While our brave local fire fighters fought to save homes and property in Orange County, another fire broke out in the Mount Baldy area known as “The Bridge Fire” in the San Gabriel Mountains near Wrightwood. As if two fires burning out of control were not enough, yet another flamed in the San Bernardino Mountains. Southern California was on fire!

The San Bernardino Mountain fire, called the “Line Fire” raged through Blue Jay, near Lake Arrowhead, threatened Running Springs, and Big Bear. Then it spread across the front of the mountain below Big Bear heading up the Santa Ana River basin.It was endangering one of Southern California’s most important watersheds and wildlife habitats. There are many youth camps, cottages, and a resort in the river valley.

Our community of 12 historic cabins is located there. Our property was an 1883 homestead used early on as a ranch and apple orchard.

Fifty-two years ago, when our three children were very young, Ken and I purchased a one bedroom river rock cottage, built in 1910. A vacation spot, it became a locus for our family life because it provided access to the natural environment. As the family grew and grandchildren arrived we added on. The place known to us as “the cabin” is of great importance and significance to all of us.

As the “Line Fire” blazed out of control, all the communities in the area were placed under mandatory evacuation orders.

For more than eight anxious days we were riveted to the fire news. We practiced positive psychology on ourselves, trying to remain calm. There was nothing we could do but hope and pray.

As the inferno crept closer to our mountain home, a fire crew of about 15 fighters came through our camp and removed anything near the structures that would combust.BBQ propone tanks, firewood, patio furniture, gasoline cans and such were moved. As the fire line grew closer our anxiety levels escalated, but we were indebted to the brave people working to save the forest.

The evening news kept reporting that the “Line Fire” blaze was uncontained. The firefighters built a defensive barrier at our gate. Bulldozers and heavy equipment lined up to make a stand. Airplanes dropped load after load of retardant.The furious flames continued in their deadly path, coming within less than one mile of our cabins before the crews could turn it around.

We held our collective breaths. Texts and emails whirled between our neighboring families. In our lifetimes this was the closest a fire had ever come. Days passed. 

Slowly the fire reports said that there was 15 % containment, then 25%. By last Monday, September 17th the evacuation order was lifted.

This past Saturday, September 21st, Ken and I made the two hour trip to put our property back in order and to express our gratitude to our responders for saving the watershed and our cabins. They had worked hard making things right, and it did not take much on our part to put things back. 

Early Sunday morning I took the dogs on a hike up the Santa Ana River which a year before, on August 20th, had suffered a massive flood as Tropical Storm Hilary had dumped some 8 inches of rain across one long night, sending giant pine trees, homes, and boulders down the river. It had been a deadly and devastating flood, destroying roads, camps, homes, and taking a life. 

For more than a year county crews with giant tractors and earth movers have struggled to re-channelize the Santa Ana River to create a safer condition for the future. What has resulted from the flood is a barren river bed reminiscent of a lunar landscape. The once lush and verdant scene of the trickling steam nourishing wild mint and thick blades of grass nestling beneathflowering plantsis alive now only in our memories.

As the dogs and I hiked along next to the now peaceful, but sterile riverscape, I could only dream of a future when the plants and trees might one day return. 

I was lost in that reverie when I came upon a single daisy growing in the sandy bank. It was all by itself; a single perfect yellow bloom. I stopped. I could hardly believe it. There it was… beauty growing in the face of destruction. Imagine! It was all by itself!

I smiled to myself as I found a big rock upon which to sit. I would have called the pups over to admire the flower but Dixie and Ginger had their faces under water busily digging up rocks, while the other dog, River, was off exploring.I doubted they would have cared anyway.

As I sat there by the daisy, I thought of a favorite childhood book A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I read it, when I was about ten years old or so. I loved that book so much that I never forgot it. It was about a little girl and her struggles, and the hope she felt as she watched the tiniest of trees fighting to grow up through the concrete outside her window in Brooklyn. Against all odds that little tree grew.Maybe I identified with the little girl, maybe with the tree, maybe both. Somehow that tree was a symbol for me too.I loved that little tree. It signified hope to me. I dreamed then that I would persevere and I did. I never forgot that book!

Here, all these years later, I had discovered another little thing of beauty growing against all odds in the Lunarscape of a sandy and decimated river bed. The flower was showing me the way toward hope and proving once again the power of resilience.

As I sat, I thought about the noise in the world, the terrible troubles in the Middle East, the biting vitriol of the election rhetoric, and I understood that hope will persevere. We are strong and we are resilient; we can get through rough patches. After a long while I stood up. I took a photo of the lone daisy and called the dogs. We headed back to the cabin to share with Ken the beauty of the lone bloom growing against all odds.

I love hearing from you. What have you observed recently that resonated with you? What symbolizes hope in your life?