Landscape and fellowship offer North Bay residents time of hope and renewal

Data provided by Brooke Bingaman, lead forecaster at the National Weather Services’ Bay Area office, shows that November was 5.2 degrees cooler than normal in mean temperature, and December was 1.8 degrees cooler. January was actually slighter warmer than usual. Then came the prolonged chill.

From 1991-2020, the average temperature in Santa Rosa in February was 51.8 degrees. This February, the average was 47.4. The 30-year mean for March was 54.4 degrees here. This March, it was 49.7.

Typically, according to Bingaman’s numbers, there are 16 days in March-April that crack 70 degrees. In 2022, in the throes of drought, there were 29. This year, there was exactly one.

The calendar was flipping to spring. The weather app on your phone refused to cooperate. March went in like a lion and out like a slightly less angry lion, leaving yet more mudslides, downed trees and washed-out intersections.

Would it never end?

Helen Putnam Regional Park was advertising the answer Thursday. As April mornings go, it wasn’t anything special. The sky was a marble of pale blue and white swirls, and the sun labored to break through. But the parking lot was mostly full, and the trails were active.

“We especially like the spring,” said Bonnie De Berry of Petaluma, talking while striding uphill with her two children. “Because it’s green. And it’s not too hot, not too cold. We love seeing the wildflowers.”

They were in abundance Thursday — colorful bursts of sun cups, dwarf checkermallow and, of course, California poppies, plus weird spiky balls of purple sanicle and sprays of invasive flowers that Len Mazur would just as soon not emphasize.

Mazur’s title is vegetation management technician for Sonoma County Regional Parks, but most people know him as the wildflower guy. And he is hopeful for a particularly vivid display this year.

“The colder temperatures have delayed that,” Mazur said. “But I wouldn’t say they have destroyed the potential. We should be seeing really spectacular local native wildflower blooms, it’s just going to start up a little later.”

Mazur admits to “chasing wildflowers,” moving from the coast to the inland hills and valleys, and finally to higher elevations as each of those areas erupt in succession. Right now, he is grooving on our oak woodlands. That includes the oaks themselves, with their sprouting tassels destined to become acorns.

“A lot of times, the general population doesn’t consider an oak to be a wildflower,” Mazur said.

“But all of our native oaks are in full bloom — pendant blooms, like a blooming mass. Underneath those oaks, you’re likely to see Henderson’s shooting star, baby blue eyes, milkmaids. I’ve also been seeing fiddlenecks, lupines and checker blooms, to name a few.”

Mazur isn’t big into the idea of glorious spring renewal. As a botanist, he said, he appreciates the unique growth of every season, and every microclimate. But lately he has been struck by how vigorously some of his favorite haunts have sprung back to life after being devastated by recent wildfires.

“Seeing the natural regeneration has been powerful to me,” Mazur said.

“It shows the stamina our local ecosystems have to regenerate after really catastrophic events. It’s amazing to go to places like Hood Mountain or the ridges of the Mayacamas, and to see those landscapes absolutely come back to life. In terms of the conversation about renewal, that makes it feel really potent.”

Reasons for relief

The North Bay entered winter choked by a long drought, then whipped almost immediately into ominous rising waters. Now, miraculously, we may be leaving both behind for a while.

There is another reason for relief, though it’s a more fraught subject to discuss: COVID-19.

Doctors and scientists, unlike politicians, have been loath to announce the end of the pandemic. The SARS-CoV-2 virus is still out there. It’s still potentially lethal for the more vulnerable among us, and health officials don’t want the public to stray from vaccinations, or masking when appropriate.

But it does feels like we’re emerging from the long, dark metaphorical winter of this pandemic.

“We’re not seeing the numbers of people getting really, really sick,” said Dr. Eric Hodes, who took over as chief medical officer at Providence Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital in February. “That’s really great for patients, and for our caregivers. It was so hard to see people not do well with this new disease no one understood.”

When he spoke Friday, Hodes said Memorial currently had six patients with COVID. None were in intensive care.

The California Department of Public Health dropped its masking requirement for health care facilities on April 3. Memorial followed suit, acknowledging that the dominant omicron strains of the virus are highly transmissible, but not nearly as deadly as their predecessors.

“Suddenly we can see each other’s faces,” Hodes said. “To see that mandate removed has been a relief for people — and a sign that things are better.”

No doubt, there is still plenty to be glum about. The American political landscape remains a horror show. Homelessness is proving intractable, and too many Sonoma County parents and students are feeling unsettled about the safety of their schools.

But the power of a sunlit walk, over rounded hills painted in shades of green that only a Benjamin Moore marketing executive could hope to name, cannot be underestimated.

It’s the hope of hope, as Pastor Janet Blair said, and we can all rejoice in that.

You can reach Phil Barber at 707-521-5263 or phil.barber@pressdemocrat.com. On Twitter @Skinny_Post.