A reader writes in after going through a bit of a rough patch – literally. On the night of Nov. 16, M.S. was driving by El Verano Elementary School when the vehicle in front of her hit a pothole which “exploded” like an IED, hurling rocks through the air, crashing into her PT Cruiser. One foot-long projectile flattened her driver-side tires.
“Another rock hit my windshield, smashing it and denting the roof on the passenger side!” she writes.
Terrified, she parked and rushed inside her house – only then to realize she’d smashed her head on the steering wheel. But M.S. found a ray of sunshine in her dark hour – in the form of Sonoma County Supervisor Susan Gorin, who responded quickly to M.S.’s pothole complaints and acted as a reliable liaison between the victim and the county roads department. M.S. applauds the 1st District Supe who “demonstrated compassion” to her plight, in the midst of dealing with destruction of the North Bay fires. Still, says M.S., “something needs to be done about potholes in front of schools.”
Our Glass Empty department is typically reserved for the Valley’s most scurrilous ne’er do wells, and this week we feature a particularly grim antagonist: sun-kissed climes.
With no rain in sight through the New Year, the record dry weather is raising the hackles of firefighters everywhere – heroic hosers alarmed at the prospects of so much dead-wood fuel awaiting ignition at the forest basin. The situation is such that Cal Fire Battalion Chief Marshall Turbeville described it as “scary,” telling the Santa Rosa Press Democrat that one small blaze at the base of a hill and “it could be off to the races.” If that’s not enough to send chills down our post-fire spines, the National Weather Service predicts picnic-worthy skies the next few weeks with highs in the mid-60s.
So on behalf of Sonoma Valley residents from Kenwood to Schellville, we implore you, Zephryus, god of the gentle west wind and the herald of spring, have mercy upon us – cease your clement atmospheric pressures immediately before we call upon Zeus, god of hale and sleet, to impale you with his spleen-splitting lightning rods and bowel-imploding torrents.
Or, in absence of that, we’d settle for a light drizzle.