Burning up in Oregon

admin July 07, 2021

M. Sabine Rear

My home state feels unrecognizable. And it’s only getting worse.

A six panel black and white comic. Panel 1. A person with their hair in a bun sits in front of a square box fan and holds a popsicle in one hand and a smartphone in the other. There is a word balloon with a sun symbol above the phone. Text: “By the time it hit 115 degrees in Portland on Monday all I could think to do was sit in front of a fan and try to make contact with as few surfaces as possible. Outside the air was heavy and eerily still.”

A kid in large sunglasses and a large floppy sun hat peeks out of the bottom pane of a four pane window as it rains. A cluster of balloons in the background. Text: “Growing up in Oregon, there was a running joke that it would rain until the fifth of July. I had to have a rainy and a sunny plan for my June birthday. Even when summer was in full swing it rarely got above 85 degrees.”

A collection of tents covered in tarps with miscellaneous piles scattered around and a chain-link fence in the background. Text: “The scramble to get information and resources out was complicated by the scarcity of resources available.”

A shopping cart packed with bags of ice, large bottles of water, and a flat of small bottles of water. Text: “It felt eerily familiar. Much of the last year has been defined by various iterations of panic-buying, from masks to disinfectant to flour. It is distressing to see people grabbing all they can hold when supplies are so limited.”

A hand holding a flaming postcard of Mount Hood. Text: “While sweating it out this weekend and worrying about fire season, I was also grieving how much has changed since I was a kid. It’s ungrounding when your home no longer feels comfortable or familiar.”

M. Sabine Rear is a cartoonist, zine maker, and the cute blind lady you gave your seat to on the bus.

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