Oregonians, take a deep breath

As the elections come to an end, please remember we are first and foremost neighbors

We just pulled up our tomato bushes. Juicy, heirloom Brandywine tomatoes are just a memory already — as are even the fried green tomatoes we ate last week, sliced thick and battered in cornmeal and eggs.

The wildland fires from September are seared into my mind, though. I still walk into my backyard and savor the first, deep inhale. As cold, clean air fills my lungs, I remember how the black smoke billowed into our backyard from the fires nearby, blocking out the sun. I remember helping a friend who had to evacuate move her three chickens to our backyard — all she could catch —and unload her family’s entire supply of meat for the year in a chain of people shuttling packages of stew meat from her chest freezer in the back of her pick up truck.

I remember comforting our middle son, Tomas, age 7, who started to cry in the kitchen as we were ourselves moved to zone II (prepare to evacuate), distraught at one more stress piled onto our already uncertain lives.

I also remember how neighbors pulled together. Facing an imminent threat to their homes, livestock and selves, neighbors rallied to help each other. People lent trailers, helped each other evacuate, and brought food and comfort.

And as an evacuee described to me — as our youngest children peered at each from above their masks as we stood outside in our smoke-filled street— what was clear in those weeks is that we were neighbors, first and foremost, united against a disaster. Our common experiences and needs far outstripped any political differences.

We were Oregonians.

I am proud to call Oregon my home. I have had the chance to travel and live in Europe and South America (half my family is Argentine) and then later, study on the other coast. But always, in the back of my mind, I yearned for Oregon: the red clay of the Eola hills, Willamette Valley where I grew up; the damp, Neskowin coast rich with briny sea life; and the far reaches of the wilderness areas where I worked summers as a hotshot wildland firefighter.

And even more than the land, the people: real, hardworking, ready to put their backs into the next work that needed to be done.

Stepping out of the airport, the damp, forest-scented air would fill my lungs each time I returned and I would be instantly home. And while study and work brought me to the cities, I remained at heart a rural Oregonian.

Oregon is in my bones.

Oregonians face unprecedented hardships right now. Wildfire damage, tensions around a racial reckoning that is long overdue, financial and health woes due to the COVID pandemic, rural communities not fully supported during unprecedented fires and other pressures, parents struggling to arrange work schedules to help their children with virtual school.

And now, an election.

Everyone I speak with is weary. Wives of police officers numb from the ongoing protests in Portland. A dear friend from El Salvador and mother of two who is apprehensive about her upcoming asylum case. A friend and midwife who struggles with how her necessary mask and shield separates her from her patients in labor when they most need connection. Friends who have attended rallies in rural Oregon and witnessed women of color speaking about their lived experience of racism while local, white men stood by with guns.

Nurses in emergency COVID units emotionally exhausted from watching people die. My husband, a legal resident and immigrant from Chile, who reports people shouting at him while he works tirelessly on roofs to “go home to his country.” Teachers struggling to motivate students by Zoom. My own sons, stressed by trying to learn on a screen.

We are exhausted. We are frustrated. We are stretched to our limits as parents and people.

An election adds tension in the best of times. And now? In a two party political system in which perhaps neither candidate best represents us? And in a time of bitter rhetoric, and deeply polarized politics in which it is so easy to think of “the other side” as less than human, as a character in a badly directed movie?

Now, the impending election results could very well be gasoline to the well-fueled fires of our lives. In fact, cities across America are boarding up windows with plywood in anticipation of the riots that could happen in the wake of the election.

Times like this, what helps me take stock and stay steady is thinking of my children. Of all of our children.

I have three boys, Matias (age 9); Tomás(age 7) and Gabriel (age 3). They are vivacious, smart, and athletic daredevils. They love to try their back flips on the trampoline and are currently saving up for bow and arrows (because we need more danger and physical risk around here).

They play a mean game of chess (who knows where they learned, but they beat me mercilessly).

They are also biracial and bilingual. And my two older sons have ADHD and dyslexia.

Daily, they encounter a lot of unfairness in our society. Small and large acts of prejudice. As their white mom, watching them grow up has been a humbling lesson about how much more work we have to do as a society to truly value and support all of our children.

But they also inspire me and offer me hope every day. When I look in their eyes, I want to fight side by side with the educators, parents, and community members around me and build towards a better future.

When I look into the eyes of the children I support in early intervention (special education for children 3 to 5), or the kids riding bikes around our neighborhood or shooting hoops, or the children in our Latino community who are fearlessly navigating two or three languages and cultures, I am also inspired to do my best work.

These kids, your kids, are worth it.

And right now, when we all want to hunker down and brace for the storm, let's actually try something different.

As our pastor reminded us last Sunday, let’s think of our kids and grandkids, and let’s dig deep and be an example for them of the values we hold in common as Oregonians and Americans.

Let’s show our children how we respect other people. Let’s show our children how we win and lose with grace and dignity. Let’s show our children how we work together to find common ground, and work towards a shared vision of their future.

Let’s be a little vulnerable. Let’s keep talking. Let’s remember that our commonalities far outstrip who we just voted for as the next president of the United States of America.

Because our kids are worth it.

We can do this. Let’s rise up — together.