07/31/2026
It's Lammas Eve--the holiday that celebrates the first harvest, a time of hope and fear. The grain is growing tall and heavy in the field, but much can still go wrong before we bring it safely into the barn. Years ago, when I wrote The Fifth Sacred Thing, I called it the Time of the Reaper, scythe to the ripe grain, the wind that whips the spark across the fire line. Not punishment, not even justice, but consequence. When we inherit 5000 years of postponed results.
And tonight, a fire burns close to my home in Sonoma County. My land partners are on evacuation watch, trying to decide how to bring the cows, sheep, goats, pigs, chickens, ducks, dogs, feral cats and all the humans to safety. I'm checking for updates on various apps, and sending prayers of gratitude to our firefighters and for all the work our community has done over these last years to reduce the fuel loads and make our area safer. Safer, but never safe, when we still have 5000 years of postponed results to reap, as the climate grows ever hotter and the world more dangerous.
It's Lammas, a time to bake bread and celebrate the grain, and I am in an ecovillage, Grain et Sens, where they grow their own wheat, mill it and bake bread that feeds the neighborhood. I have so many fears for my home, for the baked and burning world, for those who are fleeing not the wildfires of nature, which in the end are renewing, but the malicious fires of bombs and war.
But I also have hope. The firefighters are working around the clock. The Resistance is rising. For every act of cruelty, there are dozens of neighbors protecting neighbors. The year is turning, and if we survive these times of fire and dnager, the rains will come and renew the land.