PART ONE: A FAMILY STORY My point of view writing about oaks and vineyards.
PART TWO: OAK TREES: MAGIC OR WEEDS? Focuses on California oaks and my life with them. This section outlines the challenges faced by California oaks.
PART FIVE: AFTER THE STORM Are the oaks safe now?
PART FOUR: SELF HELP RESOURCES. OK I'm going to just say it. Wine is an alcoholic beverage and, as such, potentially addictive. Which no one seems to care about. where I live. But if you think you have a problem, here are some places to get help.

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FOR INFORMATION & PERSONAL ASSISTANCE CONTACT:
M. A. D. D.: MOTHER'S AGAINST DRUNK DRIVING
ANTI- ADDICTION SELF HELP RESOURCES

When I was a youngster, I rode my horse through the rolling hills of Woodside, a small town on the San Francisco Peninsula. I'd cross the street from the barn, wander up a dusty trail-- and enter paradise. In those days, you could ride across the magnificent estates that dotted the town, over the hills to Huddart Park and public open space. A person on a horse was welcome just about anywhere. I'd cross the golden meadows, marveling. I love the rolling hillsides of my home state. California's grass covered curves remind me of ripe female forms draped across the land. Luscious. Sensuous.

Ornamenting the hills--- oak trees. Oak trees everywhere. They dotted the flat meadows, ranged themselves over the hills, and packed in tightly when the hills approached the coastal range. The oaks skirmished briefly with the redwoods as hills turned steeper. The redwoods won: the mountains were their domain. Riding through the redwoods was like riding through a cathedral: Hushed. Beams of light barely illuminated the forest floor. Small fuzzy trees with green-gold hands held up to catch the light. All of it was sacred. Like seeing God's face writ in bark and leaves, in trunk and root. All if it shaping who I am. I am so grateful we moved among those trees, my horse and I.

The oaks stood alone in the golden pastures. Craggy. Defiant. Ancient. Stronger than anything. It seemed they'd stand forever-- and as long as they stood, all would be well with the world. And with me. That's how children see things. I couldn't for the life of me see why anyone would harm an oak tree. I couldn't imagine California without them.

Life changed for me, inevitably. I became an adult, entered a period of school and work and kids. Before I knew it, thirty years had passed. I lived in Woodside, the town where I rode as a child. Adults don't seem to notice things like kids do. I drove past oak meadows every day and didn't really see. One day, I noticed. "Those trees look awful!" I was driving down Sand Hill road by Stanford's linear accelerator center. The oaks looked terrible. Some were dead-- beautiful even as standing corpses, branches twisted and gnarled. Having more character than most living people. Others were withered and mangy, leaves brown and mildewed. Not thriving. What had happened to the oaks of the San Francisco Peninsula I had known as a child? These oaks I looked at were on Stanford land-- I knew Stanford hadn't done anything to them. Why where they dying? Could it be these ancient creatures couldn't tolerate their new neighbors? People?
I thought, "That's a shame," and kept driving, I had lots to do. Always lots to do. What a shame about the oaks, though.

A DEAD OAK ON STANFORD LAND--
How many people have this much character?
Photo: Zoe Nathan

We moved from the Peninsula down to Santa Barbara county about seven years ago. Our horse bug prompted the move: too many horses, not enough land. When we hit our new digs, concern about oak trees faded. The oaks of Santa Barbara County were thriving, bursting with life as far as I could see. We live in a horsy subdivision. When we moved in, someone said, "Don't even think of cutting an oak. The county will be on you so fast your head will spin." Well, we didn't think of cutting oaks, but it made me feel safe to know that the county was so environmentally conscious. The oaks were safe.

I love this place as much as I loved my old home. Maybe more. I'm including a few pictures of the Santa Ynez Valley. Some pictures of the National Forest which surrounds us. Other photos taken close to my house. The pictures don't come near the beauty of this place. When I drive up over the San Marcos Pass and see the Valley spread below, it takes my breath away: every time, year after year. Oak savannah, it's called. Pristine meadows are dotted with huge oaks. Gigantic oaks. Gnarled and tough. Dotted over the meadows as though planted by a master hand.

If anyone needed proof of the existence of God, that view should do it. Only God could create that vast perfection. The meadows yield to hills, soft limestone hills. Surprisingly, this environment is fragile: every winter brings new washouts, streaking the brush covered rises with white. The mix of colors is astounding and subtle. Sage green-- from real sage. Darker greens from other plants. Wildflowers exploding in spring. Sexy tufts of yucca flower spikes. Mountains shaped and formed and colored in a way no artist could imitate. Exquisite. The view you see over the San Marcos Pass is protected-- it's National Forest. Permanent open space. Safe.

SANTA YNEZ VALLEY FROM THE SAN MARCOS PASS
Photo: Zoe Nathan

Just seven years ago, I didn't know that California's oaks are under siege. I didn't realize the oaks I saw on the San Francisco Peninsula were part of a Statewide blight. Even where the oaks are protected, they are dying. For instance, the Sedgwick Ranch in Santa Ynez is now part of the US Natural Reserve System. It has been spared from human predation. Yet ecologists studying aerial photos find that between 1940 and now, more than 20 percent of the trees on Sedgwick have died. They aren't reproducing. At first, cattle were blamed for this-- but scientists are finding that the oaks don't regenerate even when the cattle are removed. Other predators-- squirrels, rabbits, grasshoppers, deer, were the next target for blame, but they may not explain what's happening. Acorns seem to sprout, but not grow past seedlings into baby trees. Scientists are studying the problem-- but it's a puzzle. One I sure could see in Woodside. Those trees looked awful.

But this is not the real enemy devastating the oaks. In the last 15 years, about 300,000 acres of oak woodland have been lost. The pace of destruction is increasing. What is the plague? The wine industry. The wine industry represents the worst threat to our oaks in history. I didn't know anything about this when we moved to the Santa Ynez Valley. I never thought about vineyards we moved for the horse property.

I heard about it from a friend: a major vintner cut some forty 200 to 300 year old oaks on a part of his property invisible from the road. He did it so he could plant his new vines in straight rows. It's cheaper and easier that way. I was sick. Shocked.

"How can he do that?" I asked. "I thought the county protected the oaks."

Not on agricultural property. Ag property is in a different zoning classification than our ranchette. Oaks have no protection on agriculturally zoned land. I still didn't get it. How someone could cut 40 massive oaks? Especially someone so wealthy? This man was very, very rich. Very, very well known. He didn't need the extra money straight rows of grapes would earn. Couldn't he plant around the trees? You see oaks in some vineyards. Why couldn't he plant around them?

This was the tip of the iceberg. In November of 1997, commuters on Highway 101 in Los Alamos drove off the road in horror. Gigantic bulldozers were cutting down oak trees right along the freeway. Kendall Jackson Winery was putting in its prestigious new "Camelot" Vineyard. They destroyed over 800 trees to make sure that their grape rows were straight-- and set off a major controversy. This time, the people had seen.

A public outcry arose, causing the county to examine its photo records. Over 2,000 oak trees had been cut between 1996 and 1998-- all to put in vineyards. This is more trees than were cut for all types of development in the previous 10 years. Santa Barbara County is the hot new area for viniculture, you see. We're chic. We're written up in all the wine magazines. Vineyards and wineries are now almost the largest industry in the county. The biggest money maker. What the vineyards did was absolutely legal.

Whereas I would be crucified if I cut down an oak in my front yard, Kendall Jackson can bulldoze 800 with impunity on agricultural land. The County Board of Supervisors, those environmental watchdogs, refused to ban or regulate the cutting.

Some people, including myself, thought this unpardonable. The glove was thrown.

* * *

The glove was thrown, and it stayed thrown for a long time. Vintners ranted about controls on the number of oaks they could cut destroying them financially. Smacking of socialism. Or worse. Environmentalists ranted about the lack of ecological sensitivity and maybe humanity of the vintners.

Things did change. For instance, I understand an internal change in Kendall Jackson's ownership resulted in it becoming one of the most ecologically concerned and sound vineyards. That's a surprise!

I don't really know what happened to the attempts at government regulation of oak cutting. Whatever happened, Santa Ynez Valley has become Disneyland for wine drinkers. Businesses in the five townships in my end of the valley have mostly converted to wine tasting emporiums and shops. Wine tourists swarm the streets year round.

And my father remains dead, killed by a drunk driver who'd been sipping wine.

Does anyone care? Not that i can see. I'm considered a very extreme case. I care about people's livers, brains, and lives as well as trees.

Photo: Zoe Nathan

Information in this section came from: "From Little Acorns", Frederick Golden, Los Angeles Times, June 4, 1998.

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