I was crawling on my hands and knees through thick brush, looking for a woman I’d never met. I’d done this dozens of times before.
This morning, nine years later, I was reminded of that day. It was our first day of harvest and Carlos was driving the tractor. He was coming up the hill for another bin when he asked if, after picking, he could have some eagles.
What?!
As he got closer, I realized he was saying higos. Figs. A new Spanish word for me. The figs were growing on a huge tree nearby that we inherited from the previous owners almost thirty years ago. But that little exchange sent my mind racing back nine years to that search.
Our subject had been missing for several days, and this was my second day on the incident. At the time, I was part of the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Office Search and Rescue. The four of us on the team that day had been together for about seven years and trusted each other immensely. These guys even helped out at winery events and bottling. They still do.
We were maintaining our spacing on a grid search and getting close to the boundary of our assigned area when John looked up.
“Look, there’s an eagle.”
“That’s not an eagle. That’s a vulture.”
We pushed a little farther. I eventually reached a spot where the vegetation was so thick I had to get down on my hands and knees. Before long, I was stuck. So I reached into my backpack and pulled out a pair of pruning shears.
Every search and rescue volunteer who doubles as a winemaker carries pruners, right?
I started cutting my way through when I noticed the plant I was crawling through. It looked like a broadleaf maple. I’d been admiring those trees around our property and had been thinking about planting one in the shade outside our house. So, in the middle of a search, I took about a foot-long cutting, stuck it in my backpack and kept going.
Shortly afterward, we found the woman we’d been searching for. Sadly, she had passed away.
The next day I was cleaning out my gear when I found the cutting I’d stuffed into my backpack. I’d forgotten all about it. I planted the dormant-looking stick in the shade outside our house and waited.
That spring, it popped up gloriously… as a fig.
I didn’t really want a fig tree in front of the house, and that spot didn’t get nearly enough sun anyway. So the following winter I dug it up and transplanted it at the winery next to the lawn.
Nine years later, that tree stands right along the walkway leading to the tasting room. Every late summer when it gets loaded with fruit, my mind goes right back to that forest and to the guys who were by my side. We still talk about that day. Training taught us that talking through difficult assignments is key to processing critical incident stress, even if I insisted our first official debrief take place at a brewery.
It was quite a day, but we’re all glad we were able to help bring closure to the family.
Here’s a link to our local TV station that covered the search.
Josh Bendick
Co-winemaker