Wisdom from my dead dad.

Over the years, I’ve attempted to honor the memories of my parents by sharing some of their stories, perspectives and wisdom. And this morning, on the day after what would have been my dad’s 106th birthday, I want to try again.

Though my dad fled Germany in 1936, many of his relatives weren’t so fortunate and died in Nazi concentration camps. My mom and her family escaped the Netherlands in 1940, just a few months before the Nazis invaded and murdered 90% of all remaining Dutch Jews.

My parents were survivors in a world which was literally burning - and in which their aunts, uncles, cousins and friends were literally being incinerated. And here, by a stroke of grace, they settled on this ranch on Tomales Bay, where they built new lives, raised a family and did their best to contribute to their new community.

They were a team, and while mom was the activist, pop was the philosopher. His approach and perspective were guided by faith and religion, family heritage, informed by a global network of friends and family who had also escaped, and by their mutually-shared values. They survived the war, and wanted to create a home where they could heal, protect and serve.

One of their core beliefs was the critical need to work together, to forge common ground, and to find solutions. As I’m writing, I’m looking at a huge stack of dad's speeches and letters gathered after he died in 2002. There was never a dry eye whenever he spoke, because he always spoke from his heart, from a place not only of deep grief, but with an even deeper yearning for hope and peace – peace within our family and throughout the world. Part of the way he expressed that hope was by trying to be a good steward of the land, here in his adopted home.

Dad became a founding director of the “Tomales Bay Association” which was one of the first local forums in which environmentalists, ranchers and concerned citizens worked together to protect this pristine watershed. My folks were fierce proponents of communication, cooperation and forging common ground, and though they made a lot of progress, they were all-too-aware that it wasn't necessarily linear, unidirectional nor permanent. Indeed, in recent years, the coalitions which they helped forge have begun to fray and, in some cases, crumble altogether.

This morning, in this stack of dad’s papers, I came one from over 27 years ago, addressed to the Board of Directors of the Tomales Bay Association. It was his letter of resignation. It’s worth a read.

His letter reminded me of a current example of such division and strife, in the ongoing debate over if and how agriculture and environment will coexist in the Point Reyes National Seashore. Can cows and elk coexist? What role, if any, will agriculture continue to play on public land? Whose perspectives and values will guide such decisions? What is our shared vision?

None of these complicated questions suggest easy answers, and my parents knew that whatever policy decisions may result, in the long run, it was the process itself that would be equally, if not even more, important.

Especially in these turbulent times of division and entrenchment, acrimony and anger, and whether we’re discussing the future of the PRSN (or attempting to prevent bloodshed in the aftermath of the upcoming election) my parents believed that finding long-lasting solutions is, by its very nature, a collaborative process - one which requires us to stop yelling and to start listening deeply, to hear other perspectives, and to try, try and keep trying to work together.

However, they were also pragmatists, and understood that when that process is irreparably broken, we need to acknowledge that reality, and then find a way to re-discover common ground.