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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 person in profile holds a smartphone with flames on the screen. Word balloons explode out of the phone with messages including “extreme heat dome!” “Stay hydrated!” “Keep pets inside,” “Danger! Hot pavement!” Restaurants closed until Tuesday,” and a drawing of a fan.  
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.

Author: M. Sabine Rear

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