Written for Chico Enterprise Record: North State Voices

I love transitions.  Those spaces between, with what was still in the rear-view mirror and what is to be just beginning to materialize ahead.   Like dawn, and twilight, and the pause between inhale and exhale.  A good transition requires that you pay attention.  It demands recognition as a place in and of itself, not just a passing through.  A good transition isn’t necessarily an easy one.  In fact, some of the best are quite difficult.  

Have you ever driven up Skyway, or Neal Road, and tried to find where the dirt turns from brown to red?  It’s a gradual thing, of course, as the foothills roll the valley into the mountains.  From afar it looks like an easy enough place to explore.  The reality, however, is an ankle-twisting foray on land strewn with andesite from some ancient geologic upwelling. The chaparral is dense with buckbrush and toyon and manzanita; as kids we would follow animal trails on hands and knees to burrow through.  The faded spots on our jeans were always a little pink because that red dirt does not wash out.  Rattlesnakes live here, and alligator lizards and buzzards, and also red-tailed hawks and black-tailed deer, jack rabbits and coyotes.  Things that jump and run and scavenge and bite and prey.  It’s fire country.  Sacred ground.  And maybe all the more compelling for its rough edges. 

Adolescence is perhaps the most notorious of transitions.  That tender, volatile space where child and adult coexist as humans on the verge of the unknown.  Awkward and beautiful, they bravely show up to face each day with bodies that don’t necessarily look as they did when they went to bed the night before, skin that spontaneously erupts, emotions that don’t yet have vocabulary, the sensation of spotlight on everything they do.  It is an honor to be held in esteem by middle-school students.  They are discriminating customers who don’t suffer fools lightly and can smell fakery and fear a mile away.   

In my line of work, teaching those middle schoolers English, one of the most difficult tasks is the transition sentence.  All other parts of writing have a formula, an expected way of proceeding that is easy enough to translate into practice.  But a good transition is art.  Often what distinguishes masterful writing from the simply proficient is in the way the author ties one place in the work to another, or builds the cliff-hanger to keep the reader turning pages.  I’ve never found a way to provide direct instruction for quality transitions.  The best I can do is offer examples of authors who are able to tap into that particular talent.  

So many of us are in transition right now.  Current events have forced change into almost every aspect of our lives: jobs, homes, relationships, lifestyles, all potentially look quite different going into 2021 than they did in 2020.  Myself, I’ve spent more than a few sleepless nights grappling with anxiety that is, for me, a regular companion in uncertain times. There’s opportunity here too however; I’m spending more time with the people who matter most and pursuing some things I’ve always wanted to do- hence this Northstate Voices column!  Heraclitus the Greek philosopher said, “Change is the only constant in life,” and there is no teacher who can give us a formula for that.  The best we can do is to be good examples for each other, take our chances as they come, and trust that, as with excursions in the chaparral and adolescence, we will get through – likely not unscathed- but stronger, and wiser, and better humans for it.

Written for Outdoor Education for All

Paradise Lake is magical.  My parents weren’t really fishing and canoeing sorts of parents (to be fair they were busy making a go of it in Paradise, and in education, while raising a family… all worthy pursuits and all fully time consuming). That’s probably the primary reason I didn’t visit Paradise Lake until I was 16.  When I did go, that first time, it was with my ragtag group of high school friends: wise and wild children- the kind of people who get their knowledge from the earth and sky and water, and not popular culture.  It was after hours, and we were on a vision quest of sorts, and it was an unforgettable experience.  Thirty years later there is still magic at that lake.

It was untouched by the Camp Fire; as you pull in you can almost forget that such a thing ever happened.  There are no burned trees, no once-occupied and now vacant lots, no insidious imposing of Scotch Broom over the native landscape.  The approximately 250 acres of reservoir is still pristine.  

It’s a quiet lake.  Good for napping.  My daughter calls it “reserved”, which is kind of funny since it’s a reservoir.  The rules of the lake include no wading or swimming, no dogs, no motors, no groups of more than three children under 12 per adult.  So- mostly people go there to kayak, canoe and do some light fishing.  Biking is allowed on the trail by the lake, however it’s really flat, there is nothing technical, and it doesn’t seem like the place for it really.  I’ve never seen a bike there.  It’s not usually crowded, and nature holds full sway.  

Before the fire we often went to fish there; my husband and daughter love the reliable source of bluegill and I love the peace.  This past weekend was our first visit since the fire.  We unloaded our canoe as a family of four otter- one a baby hanging onto Mom- played not three yards off the launch ramp.  There were ducks and geese all over the place, and an osprey circled and called overhead.  As we floated to our favorite fishing cove, we passed a doe and her fawn playing in a clearing.  My husband and daughter set up their fishing poles, and I got out to walk the 4.5 mile trail along the lake.  It’s a smooth, easy trail given almost 5 stars on AllTrails.  It’s not a loop trail, so before heading back I stopped to read my book on a lakeside bench. Lulled by the quiet, and the sweet smell of forest duff baking in the sunshine, I fell for a while into the mind-clearing reverie that can only be found in place largely unadulterated by humans.

The preeminence of the natural habitat at Paradise Lake is no doubt at least partially due to its status as a reservoir that provides drinking water to the local community; hence the rules as stated above.  However, in June of this year, Paradise Recreation and Parks District replaced the Paradise Irrigation District as custodians of the lake.  PRPD is keeping the rules as stated by PID until the end of the year, and then the Parks District may switch it up.  As PRPD District Manager Dan Efseaff said in a press release with the Paradise Post in April, “We are excited to add this gem to our portfolio of park properties…adding recreation opportunities at Paradise Lake to the PRPD suite of properties and recreation opportunities aligns with our vision of becoming a destination recreation district.” They are taking input, so the public is encouraged to contact PRPD to tell them what folks should be able to do at the lake. 

Personally, I’d love to see paddle boards allowed.  It’s the perfect place. Rentals and reservations could even generate some funds. The ‘no body contact’ rule is a barrier, but not an insurmountable one.  Paradise is in a state of flux where normal rules don’t necessarily apply.  One could argue that much of the water still piped from the lake is currently not used for drinking- although many pipelines are no longer under advisory from the fire, everyone I know is still using bottled water for drinking.  As to California law: originally created by the state in 1970 in response to concerns regarding cryptosporidium resulting from studies commissioned by the state water project, the banning of bodily contact in reservoirs used for drinking water is somewhat outdated.  The rules were created before the filtration system requirements of the 1990s, and water treatment is better now than it was in the 70s. It is possible to apply for and get an exception through the California legislature; the most recent was Bear Lake in 2013.   It’s also worth noting that other states don’t necessarily ban swimming in their drinking water reservoirs, and it doesn’t seem to be a huge issue.

In a time when Paradise is remaking itself, maybe redefining what the lake has to offer is something to consider.  Paradise Lake is, after all, arguably the most accessible option for aquatic recreation on the Ridge.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not at all sure allowing full recreation is the way to go (I’m wholly against permitting motorized recreation for example-the lake is far too small) and I’m not even sure swimming is a good idea.  In addition to the issue of cryptosporidium, I’d hate to see the serenity presently on offer overrun with people out to have a hootin’ and hollerin’ good time.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but there are other places on the Ridge that provide that venue.  However, an easily accessible recreational lake is a huge asset to a community- something Paradise might want to capitalize on right now.

Ultimately, PRPD, along with PID, the state and hopefully the public, have the final say.  What do you value about Paradise Lake?  Do we need a lake in town that is fully accessible for all recreation including swimming?  Do we keep the restrictions as they are?  My two cents, for what it’s worth:  I’m hoping for a place in the middle-a place where we can more fully tap into the recreational potential of Paradise Lake and yet still keep the magic.

~Sources:

https://www.kqed.org/news/11780692/why-cant-you-swim-in-most-of-the-bay-area-lakes

https://www.paradiseprpd.com/paradise-lake

https://pidwater.com

https://www.cdc.gov/parasites/crypto/index.html

https://water.ca.gov/Programs/State-Water-Project

http://www.leginfo.ca.gov/pub/11-12/bill/sen/sb_1051-1100/sb_1063_cfa_20120509_120207_sen_floor.html

Written for Outdoor Education for All

Holy Toledo things are hard right now aren’t they?  Butte County was already plagued with high rates of homelessness and poverty, then the Camp Fire and all its devastation happened, and now Covid 19 has thrown everything into high stakes shambles.  For most of us, just about every single thing we do has been up-ended.  All the things we have to do have gotten more complicated and difficult, and many of the things we want to do, well we can’t do them right now.  Work is hard.  Basic errands are hard.  Kids are SO hard.  What to do with them, how to be there for them, how to keep spirits up and role-model navigating this new normal… it’s all so ridiculously hard and stressful.  As a teacher, my level of anxiety has been through the roof since I still don’t know what school is going to look like.  If I’m being honest, I have to say sometimes it’s all too much, and I’ve spent more than a few mornings of late crying in my coffee to the chickens.

It helps.  The coffee, because of course, and the chickens because they are funny.  Mostly though, those morning sessions help because I’m investing in time outside. Stress increases cortisol levels, depletes serotonin and can make a person depressed.  Both oxygen and sunshine increase production of serotonin, so my mornings outside help my system rebalance and regulate. While working in the coop I’m pretty constantly mulling over and processing what I can do to support my kids: my own personal child and my 60 sixth graders starting school with me in three weeks.  I have a gazillion questions for the upcoming year, and not a lot of answers.  It seems most likely that we all will be spending copious amounts of time behind screens.  From personal experience, and from working with my daughter, I know that excessive screen time is a sure fire way to feeling cranky and depressed.  Plenty of thoroughly researched studies corroborate this as fact.  Unfortunately, at least in the immediate future, hours of screen time seems unavoidable.  The one, single anecdote I can offer is: get outside.

I am super excited to be part of an organization that supports advocating for abundant time spent in nature to heal the effects of our current experience. Outdoor Education For All. works to “promote ecological literacy, health and wellness, and to build a citizenry active in natural and cultural resource conservation and stewardship.”  As a staff writer, I get to do this work with them through the lens and perspectives of a teacher, parent and lifetime local.  There is a lot of opportunity in our region to create space where nurturing and healing of both land and people can work in tandem.  As we participate in experiences that broaden and expand our knowledge and appreciation of this place we call home, we also promote well-being and balance in our personal lives.

Our kids are having a hard time right now.  Heck, we are all having a hard time right now.  Although we have dealt with repeated trauma these last years, we are still lucky to live in an incredibly beautiful corner of the planet.  When we notice our kids struggling to manage their emotions, when we ourselves are having a hard time regulating, let’s take it outside and explore our corner some. We’ll be doing our minds and bodies a favor in that fresh air and sunshine, even if we’re just drinking in nature and having a cup of joe with the chickens.

Sources: 

https://www.webmd.com/depression/features/stress-depression#1

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2290997/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6214874/

Written for Outdoor Education for All

My family usually goes camping several times in summer, adventures that we look forward to all year.  This summer however, being the time of everything cancelled, there is no camping for us.  Everyone is seriously disappointed… which led us to our backyard camping venture.  We pulled out the gear and set up tents, barbecued, played games, and roasted marshmallows in the fire pit.  When the sun went down, we curled up under the night sky for some constellation identification and wishing on shooting stars.  Problem is, we live in central Chico.  The noise from the freeway never stopped, and neither did the glow from city lights.  It felt like we were trying hard to see the stars, and I think we all “woke up” missing our summer camping more than ever. Nighttime in Chico, at least where we live, deserves air quotes.

Speaking of camping.  The Camp Fire (an unfortunate name for the most devastating blaze in California history) took SO MUCH.  It wasn’t very long ago, and it is still traumatic just under the surface for everyone who lived through it.  So it’s with full knowledge of the treachery of silver linings that I offer this one: nighttime on the Ridge is really nighttime. It’s not some pseudo half-lit leftover glow of frenetic energy.  It’s deep, and thick, and populated by the soft dark things that are so glad to still be there.  Bats and owls and raccoons and possums prowl; my dad hears coyotes from the bottom of the canyon (something he hasn’t heard since he was a child, sounds that were gone by the time I grew up there).  As a kid I used to join Dad sometimes, sleeping out in the field under the summer stars.  It wasn’t camping, it was just sleeping outside because it was too hot.  He would show me planets and constellations, share the Latin names, the Greek names.  Those stars still shine brightly over that field, and it’s comforting to know that through the uncertainty, the hardships, and even when all else is gone, they are still there, shining on.

Star gazing was always good on the ridge.  A favorite place was Valley View… when I was growing up the road dead-ended at a vacant lot that was perfect for teens to perch on the hoods of their cars and watch the night sky fill the canyon.  Just around the year I graduated high school that lot was sold, and a private home was built on it.  I went out there not too long ago; much of Valley View, including that house at the end lot, had burned.  I didn’t drive all the way out to see it; the owners are in the process of rebuilding.  

Fortunately another favorite, Lookout Point over Butte Creek Canyon, was purchased from private owners by the Butte County Board of Supervisors in 2008 to create a public vista.  As kids we would play around in that stretch along Skyway- there were random trails that were fun to chase down and the shell of a failed restaurant for exploring.  Over time, of course, that land has been developed, and now expensive homes and gated communities pepper the skyline.  Lookout was always the best view over the canyon, indeed it is considered one of the most beautiful canyon views in all of the state.  Without the foresight of our local supervisors it might well also have been co-opted for private or commercial use. Instead, thankfully, the public still gets to enjoy the view.  

There were about twenty or so folks with binoculars and several telescopes set up at Lookout the other night to spot the comet Neowise.  Laughter rang out, born of the excitement of a once-in-a-6,000-year comet and also, no doubt, of participating in a spontaneous moment with other community members in this time of social distancing.  It was a gorgeous evening and Neowise shone brightly under the Big Dipper. 

After the Camp Fire some friends who had lost their home in the Tubbs Fire in Santa Rosa came up to stay with us and brought their Stars of Hope.  Stars of Hope, an organization that uses art to bring healing and hope to communities impacted by trauma, provided boxes of stars to use as the base on which to create messages of love and support. We painted about fifty stars and hung them all over Paradise.  

It was a cathartic experience, and one that I know others participated in as well; similarly decorated stars were also hung about town.  Many stayed up for a while, and it was validating to see them shining their messages of encouragement even months later.  One Star of Hope that lasted a particularly long time hung from a Blue Oak that survived the fire at Lookout Point. I like to think that it’s a sign: a reminder of how what we recognize as worth investing in and preserving will last. That’s my hope for the Ridge, my wish on a star if you will: that we recognize the incredible beauty of this area as worthy of our time and energy, and that we support public access and preservation of its natural resources for the enjoyment of current and future generations.

~Sources: 

https://www.orovillemr.com/2008/10/24/lookout-point-vista-site-officially-opened/https://www.chicoer.com/2007/09/08/lookout-point-likely-to-become-public-vista/https://starsofhopeusa.org/

Everyone who grew up in Paradise knows the beauty and power of the West Branch of the Feather River.  It helped shape us into better humans than we would otherwise have become.  It formed us, from people with widely varying backgrounds and values, into a collective of nature lovers.  It gave us meaning, and depth, and understanding of something more important than ourselves.  I’ve travelled to many beautiful places in the world, and the Feather River remains at the top of my list of amazing natural wonders.  In the aftermath of the Camp Fire, with access to our beloved waters compromised, pictures and reminiscences of times on the river are, for many, all of what remains of our communal wellspring.

Thomas Pain, architect of the American Revolution, is quoted as saying, “ The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph”.  No doubt the Camp Fire and its aftermath have brought hard conflict.  What triumph then can be gained?  Paradise, and surrounding communities, are working as best they can to recreate themselves.  With tenacity, perseverance, and some vision, it is possible that Paradise could truly become “all its name implies”.  Paradise Recreation and Park District has grand ideas of how that might be implemented.  There are designs for potential parks: Lakeridge Park in Magalia and Noble Park in Paradise; both incorporate existing local features such as creating hiking paths around the Magalia Reservoir and expanding a community barn in Noble Park to accommodate public events.  In alignment with PRPD’s vision of becoming a destination recreation district, there are perhaps other possibilities for acquiring land along the ridge to serve as both recreational green space and a fire break.

Running in the canyon below the ridge, the West Branch of the Feather River is the crown jewel of this region.  The most beautiful and pristine swimming holes are accessed through PG&E land.  Perhaps Paradise can acquire this land for the people.  PG&E might even be prevailed upon to grant it in reparation.  The town could invest in rebuilding access, create paid parking, and hire attendants to maintain sites.  As it stands, PG&E interest in the land is questionable, and the alternative to PG&E ownership might well result in the travesty of private investors who could block access; think Butte Creek Canyon-a favorite playground of my youth now largely inaccessible due to the prevalence of private residences that built up and line the canyon road.

The natural resources of this area are its children’s birthright, and they should be treated and protected as such.  The summer before the fire, some cousins came visiting from Maryland as part of a cross-country tour.  The teenager’s request of her father was to “visit awesome swimming holes”.  I took them up to the flumes and we spent the day at the river.  A month or so later, after they had returned home, it was reported back that the flumes were the best swimming in the entire country.  Those of us lucky enough to have grown up here know this to be true.  The world is changing, and these times are challenging.  Swimming in the majesty of Mother Earth’s waters brings a solace and a vitality to the human experience that is exquisitely unique.  We had that here.  I hope we can figure out a way to get it back and preserve it, so that we, and future generations, are able to revel in it again.

Creating space for student choice.  In my PBL charter school, and in my own teaching philosophy, this is a driving concept.  If we want our students to be curious, to dig deeply into their learning, to produce excellent work, than they must feel that they are engaged in something meaningful.  They need to be passionate about it.  In my own life, I am fiercely protective of my time.  As a mother and teacher, with other passions and a household to run besides, I feel the need to squeeze every last drop out of the day.  When I’m met with a task or situation that feels inefficient or smacks of busy work, my response is disgusted anger, and the resulting product is sub-par.  I imagine most of us, including our students, feel this way.  Time is precious, and time spent doing work that has no meaningful application is time wasted.

In the self-contained classroom, writing time seems the most sacred of all.  It demands a good chunk.  Generating ideas, organizing, drafting, revising, sharing, refining- not to mention teacher time in reading, commenting, assessing.  Even when woven throughout subjects and curriculum there is never enough time.  And so, I want my students to be fully invested when the clock starts.   In writing, I’m looking to give my students opportunity to explore genres and find their voice.  At the same time, I’m beholden to standardized testing and recognize my responsibility in getting my students prepared for it.

To this end, I’m pulling much of my curricular ideas in writing from Kelly Gallagher’s Write Like This.

First and foremost, he advocates for teachers to write with and model their own writing for their students.  It is imperative that they literally see the writing process in action.  As we move through the writing process- from generating ideas, to graphic organizers, to drafting, revising and editing, students will see me grappling alongside them.  Not only does this provide them with examples and the understanding of how writing happens in real time, it provides me the opportunity to write myself!  Valuable stuff indeed.  Additionally, my goal is to allow students to approach a subject from a variety of real purposes.  Take baseball for example:  one might write a personal or fictional narrative of a situation involving baseball, or maybe one is more interested in researching and explaining the evolution of the game, or perhaps instead one prefers to write and defend their opinion as to why one team is the best.  This allows students to recognize that there are multiple genres with which to approach a topic, as well as giving them the opportunity to write about what is most engaging for them.  If I was asked to write a story about baseball, it would be a poor story as I have absolutely no experience in the game.  However, I’m interested in history and I like to research, so that avenue would provide a richer experience for me.

Ultimately, my job as a writing teacher is to help students find and develop their voice as they explore topics that they care to write about.  In this way, hopefully, my students of writing become adults who can recognize and articulate multiple perspectives in a given situation.  Ours is a multi-layered world with many viewpoints.  We need our young people to be able to research and inform articulate opinions, and develop personal narratives they are proud to share.  I mean for my time in their lives to be a step in that direction.

She was a rough kid.  Long, stringy blond hair, too much makeup and too much exposed body hanging out of pretty much everywhere.   She was one of a whole lot of rough kids in my first class at my new school: 19 boys and 4 girls in seventh grade.  There were, are, bigger personalities and better stories- but she can’t author her own anymore so this one is for B.

Of the four girls in her grade, her role was the hardest by far.  There was the smart one, the pretty one, the well-cared-for quiet one, and then there was B.  All she had going for her was tough talk and an I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude.  Those kids, kids like B, it amazes me that they get up and come to school every day.  She walked; she could easily have gone somewhere else or blown the whole thing off, I doubt her mom would ever have cared.

The one and only time I met the mom was when I was called in for a conference with her and my principal- the purpose to address my poor treatment of her.  The mother, not B. She said I had given her a “dirty look” during Back to School Night because, “I think you’re just jealous of my big boobs.”  I’m not kidding.  That was the conference. Welcome to teaching.

B had warned me prior to the meeting- said “My mom thinks you look down on her.  I told her you’re not like that, you’re cool.”  High praise from this child.  And early on too. The only other things that I really remember about her were when she was caught during tech time in a chat room with a random guy, and when she gave me a hug the next year when I saw her downtown one night..

Several years later she was shot and killed by the police after trying to run them over during a traffic-stop gone bad.  She was probably 18.

Colleagues sometimes chide me for my investment in kids like B.  And they bring her up as an example of how my time and energy there won’t change anything.  “Put that energy into kids who are going to make a difference in the world.  Don’t let the leeches suck you dry.”  And it can be easy to go there.  High stakes testing, crowded classrooms, limited resources, aging energy, straight-up societal values push hard towards abandoning the bottomless pit of generational poverty and dysfunctional need.

My father, retired professor quoting Camus, says that in times like these we are called upon to guard against the evil in ourselves.  I’m doing my damnedest.  I just won’t give up on any of them.  Because even if the end is ugly, the right now can be a glimmer of self-respect and a hug.  And I don’t know, I guess it’s cliche’, but right now might be all there is.