My uncle, a rancher in Arkansas, used to talk about how he always had to remind his sons to “get the gate;” to close the gates behind them, so that cattle didn’t escape. I’m reminded of this by the fact that the barriers came down here in Carpinteria this morning. The freeway is open again at La Conchita. The thundering herd is with us again.

I’m told that the cupboards were getting pretty bare at our stores, though I hadn’t needed to shop lately. And I noticed the gas station was closed yesterday for lack of deliveries. I haven’t seen my Time magazine yet this week, though I haven’t checked today. Other than that, and the fact that all our police cars got dirty, I wasn’t effected much. Well, there is this abiding sadness, a sense of the abject fragility of human life, and that massive scar on the hills. You can see it from Summerland, eight miles west.

To my neighbors in La Conchita: I understand it’s Home, but you’re worth more than a pretty place to live. The true vista is in you, not from your living room windows. The rest of that slide will fall on that town. Please don’t be there when it does.