Thank you, Applegate Valley
Written by:
Elise Higley
The last of our crew at Oshala Farm was clocking out for the day when a loud “poof” caught everyone’s attention. Looking up, we could already see white smoke curling from the barn’s clearstory. Within seconds, it was replaced by flame.
It’s hard to believe how difficult it is to dial 911 in a moment like that. 9112. 912. 9111. Finally: “We have a serious fire on our hands, a massive structure fire on a large barn. Send everyone you can.”
We’d later learn, confirmed independently by the state fire marshal’s team and our insurance company’s investigator, that the fire was accidental, sparked by an extension cord plugged into a scale. A piece of equipment we’d used a thousand times, on a day like any other.
We had 12 fire extinguishers mounted to that building. It didn’t matter. The speed and ferocity of the fire were beyond anything we could fight with what we had on hand. Crew members ran to move tractors and forklifts parked alongside the barn. Others sprinted to isolate the irrigation lines so we could put 100 percent of our water where it counted. We laid handline, brought in the big irrigation cannons, and did everything we could to hold the flames back. The heat was unlike anything any of us had ever felt.
It felt like forever, but firefighters arrived within seven minutes of our call. Applegate Fire led the response, joined quickly by Williams Fire and crews from around the region. They faced flames reaching 60 feet into the air and deployed anyway. Neighboring buildings began to catch, not from flame, but from radiant heat alone. They fought through a gauntlet most people never have to think about: power poles catching fire and dropping live lines between firefighters and the buildings, propane tanks near the forklifts and our employee lunch area heating past their limit and exploding, throwing flame onto additional structures.
Finally, the fire reached our fuel tanks, sending what looked like a 100 foot flamethrower into the sky as it burned through them. When the old pine trees at the edge of our property caught fire, we started to really fear it would spread to our neighbors. It was extreme fire season: hot, dry, windy, our normal afternoon breeze fueling the flames like a blow dryer.
One of the first to arrive wasn’t a firefighter at all. A few guys from Anderson Rock & Dirt happened to be driving by with a water trailer hitched to their truck, and they used whatever means they had at hand—hose from our well water at first, until the power cut off our well and irrigation pump—then kept fighting with fire extinguishers, saving our old barn again and again as its eaves caught fire and sent flame into the shake roof underneath the metal. They fought until there was nothing left to fight, and then, just as fast as they’d appeared, they were gone. Heroes, through and through.
Somewhere in the middle of it, sprinting around trying to help with whatever I could, I started seeing my neighbors’ faces. Word had spread, and people dropped everything and came. By the time the flames were out and the ashes were smoldering, the community was already showing up in ways we couldn’t have imagined.
We had a crew to attend to. Many of our team have worked with us for more than a decade, and dozens of families depend on this work for their mortgage, their rent, food on the table. That morning, looking into the fear on our staff’s faces, Jeff and I faced one of the hardest moments of our lives, wishing we could promise them it would be okay when we hadn’t even processed our own loss. We are very proud to say our team has not missed a single day of work since.
Help came fast, and it came from everywhere. Neighbors offered barn space, cold storage, and equipment, along with tools to help replace some of what we lost, including hoes for the crew. Several neighbors built us a large rack dryer so we could get back to harvesting. People arrived with food, hugs, and condolences. A GoFundMe went up, and the response was overwhelming. The Lindsay Lodge organized a raffle with over 40 local businesses donating, alongside an unforgettable burger day at the farmers’ market. Other farmers gave space, labor, even their own market earnings. Teachers offered classes. Musicians like Alice DiMicele raised funds at the Green Show at Oregon Shakespeare Festival. A local artist made “Support Your Local Herb Dealer” stickers that were, frankly, awesome.
More than anything, you shared our story far and wide. At a time when we could barely articulate our own needs, our community spoke for us. We moved to this valley in 2013 because we believed a place like this was best equipped to survive tragedy together.
It has humbled us ever since.
We also want to thank Sara Katz and Ed Smith, who founded Herb Pharm here and helped build an industry that now looks to this valley as a standard-bearer, and Mark Wheeler, founder of Pacific Botanicals and one of the most influential people in Oshala’s history, who showed up for us personally in the days after the fire, just like he always has. Between them and neighbors like Banyan Botanicals and Strictly Medicinal Seeds, this narrow valley holds some of the most respected names in herbal products on earth.
Rebuilding barns, coolers, a mechanic shop—everything it takes years to build the first time—is not a season’s work. It’s a long row to hoe, and we know we’ll be walking it for years yet. What you’ve done for us hasn’t been the finish line. It’s the reason we can keep walking it at all.
There is magic in this valley, and the community is what makes it work. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you for everything.
With love and gratitude,
Elise, Jeff, and the entire Oshala Farm team
Elise Higley