Welcome to another edition of the Millipede Members Monthly newsletter! I’m Sunshine, another Salmon Creek Arts board member and longtime lover of all things Mendocino. I volunteered to write the August newsletter because I’m sentimental and wanted to revisit the first time I visited Salmon Creek Farm back in July and August of 2020 as part of a series of BIPOC retreats.
“You should do this,” an email from a friend read, forwarding a note from someone named Fritz Haeg:
June 3, 2020
Dear friends,
In lieu of the annual group retreat, Cedar cabin is offered as a BIPOC sanctuary space this summer for two week private retreats, if you or anyone you know might be interested. Newly renovated, open space with 3 beds in separate nooks, full kitchen & outdoor tub, fast wifi, private entry gate from parking lot, secluded spot on the land, direct trail to the creek, endless fresh veg/greens/fruit from the gardens, no SCF obligations/expectations, just a quiet spot to breathe for those who need it...
In love & solidarity,
Fritz
I could barely comprehend what was being offered. My friend hadn’t mentioned anyone named Fritz before, and didn’t recall seeing a farm by that name at any of the farmers markets around the Bay Area. The email mentioned something about the usual work exchange/farm chores being suspended (what farm chores?) and a Cedar Cabin located in my favorite part of California, open for BIPOC groups for two weeks at a time as an offering to help us rest and engage in self-restoration/preservation. The exact details didn’t matter to me. Mendocino was my happy place and I needed a break from the Bay area. I figured I’d learn what was up once I got there.
Like many, the early months of the pandemic was a bleak time for me. Beyond simply existing as a black woman in America, I had recently left a high stress job only to find myself unexpectedly unemployed. The new job I’d given notice to join a few weeks before my friend's email appeared turned out to be a flop: the founder confessed during my on-boarding meeting that he hadn’t raised any of the funding as previously stated and needed me to join a call to convince an investor to give the company money in order to earn my paycheck. Fortunately for him, I hadn’t moved cross country as originally planned and this conversation was virtual. Whereas before the community I built in the Bay Area would carry me through a rough patch, this time I was left isolated in a studio trying to avoid contracting any illness until I had a job. It was bleak.
Over the years, I’ve developed a ritual for my drives to western Mendocino: taking 101 north, I’m not stopping until I reach Cloverdale. I then navigate west taking 128 towards the coast. My next stop will be somewhere along the road between one of the state parks: Hendy Woods or Navarro. I’ll hop out and wander for a bit, my footsteps cushioned by fallen needles. Inhaling deeply, I pick a tree to hug and marvel at how small a speck I represent in the context of the continuum of life on earth, how lucky I am to be alive at this particular time in and in this particular place. Life in the Bay recedes and I’m ready to experience what awaits.
Heading to Salmon Creek in July 2020, I followed the written map Fritz provided and repeated my ritual. This summer, though, there were a few things I hadn’t seen on my last trip to the coast: an auto shop off 128 had raised a confederate flag. Folks were openly showing support of Trump. I braced myself and worried briefly if I wouldn’t have been better off staying in Berkeley. If perhaps my faith in strong recommendations from friends and proclivity towards impulse had led me astray this time. Yet, when I finally turned from Highway 1 and headed down Albion Ridge Road, towards the property , I started to see the signs that proved I’d made the right choice: Black Lives Matter signs were positioned conspicuously. Relief.
I arrived at the gate, met Fritz, and headed to Cedar Cabin. As my two companions arrived, each squealed with joy at our good fortune: the cabin was beyond imagination, the setting unlike anything we’d experienced on other trips north. Yes, we all saw the flag, but the reception at Salmon Creek more than made up for the wariness. Learning from Fritz the history of Cedar cabin’s previous residents, what struck me most was how one, a botanist, took care to create a natural looking landscape of vibrant colors that changed throughout the year. Thanks to this person, I saw for the first time grass that appeared highlighter orange - not understanding that such neon colored plants could grow in Northern California. Every view from the cabin’s windows was breathtaking.
Still practicing social distancing, we drove the coast and ate fresh fruit bought from farm stands using the honor system for payment. We visited our favorite hiking trails and stopped at as many beaches as possible. We learned how to mosaic from Max and Jay and lent extra hands to the tiling of the outdoor grill. And most importantly, we were able to rest, recharging in our own corner of the redwood forest.
Four years later, my friends and I still talk about our experiences at Salmon Creek Farm that summer. So when Fritz asked me to join the board of the now-launched arts organization, my heart exploded with joy. I was thrilled to be considered. I want to contribute as much to Salmon Creek Arts as its predecessor-in-spirit - Salmon Creek Farm - has contributed to my life.
In October we host our first class of Salmon Creek Artists, just announced last week and selected from over 500 applicants. And our inaugural program starts this afternoon(!) with the arrival of our first group for a week long BIPOC artist retreat, continuing the tradition of four summers ago. They will experience my favorite season on the land with meals by SLUGS, the newly formed food program led by chef Gerardo Gonzalez. Salmon Creek Arts continues to fundraise to further its mission. I hope you’ll join us in supporting the collective endeavor.
- by Tsion Lencho
A few of the songs that carried me through the Summer of 2020: