"There has to be a reason we all got cancer"

Over a casual dinner at my parents’ home in southern California, my mom and I were chatting about her upcoming plans. She was looking forward to heading back to her hometown to celebrate her 50-year high school reunion with classmates and friends not seen in decades. But it sounded like plans were falling through. She had recently heard that her best friend from high school – the one person she was hoping to reconnect with – had been diagnosed with cancer and wouldn’t be attending the reunion. She seemed sad, of course, but more than that, frustrated. ?

“There has to be a reason we all got cancer,” she said, “this can’t just be coincidence.”

My mom is 20-years cancer free herself, having battled breast cancer when I was too young to understand much more than “we’re going to pick some new hairstyles for mom today!” (personally, I wanted to wear the matte black ball cap, with Rapunzel-like golden locks streaming out the back, mimicking a long blonde ponytail). But now, she was fifty years out of high school and nearly all her friends and classmates from that time had since had (or sadly, passed away from) cancer. Could this be coincidence?

My mom grew up in Lakeport, California, just two hours’ drive north of San Francisco. Some know Lake County as one of the poorest counties in the state; some know it as the meth capital of the world. I know it as “a small town with a big high school rivalry,” the way it’s fondly described my mom. But most people don’t know Lake County at all.

Though the County itself was established in 1861, the region has a rich environmental and cultural history. Clear Lake, the largest lake in California, is thought to be about 2.5 million years old, perhaps the oldest lake in North America. It’s overlooked by Mount Konocti, a massive volcano rising 4,299 feet in the air.

These two marvels have been home to the Pomos, Wappo, Miwok, and other indigenous peoples throughout the land’s history. As Spanish, Mexican, and European settlers overtook the area beginning around 1821, violence and disease nearly wiped out the Native American tribes.

Today, the County is home to mostly white communities, with a few scattered reservations still standing for multiple Pomo tribes. One might look at these communities nestled between rows of vineyards and orchards across the land and think it’s another well-off California paradise.

But there’s more than meets the eye.

As one of the poorest counties in California, Lake County faces low income and high unemployment challenges. It is home to the Sulphur Bank Mercury Mine, which was mined for borax beginning in 1856, sulfur beginning in 1865, and mercury beginning in 1873.

The mine closed operations in 1957, the year before my mom was born. At first, I thought this would be great news for her. But, what happens when a generation of small-town kids grows up with a giant playground.. sorry, closed mine.. in their backyard?

My grandparents were coaches of the local swim team, which meant my mom and her siblings were in Clearlake at sunrise nearly every day as children, training in the waters directly adjacent to the closed mine. After school, they would often go to the lake, or to the mine itself, and find pools of mercury to play with. They would stick their fingers in the shining pools and watch as the hydrophobic liquid metal oozed and swirled around them. They must have felt like real-life water benders.

Today, the Sulphur Bank Mercury Mine is designated as both a California Historical Landmark and a federal superfund site. All of Clearlake is impaired for drinking and fishing due to high mercury and phosphorus levels.

As a result, Lake County faces some of the highest rates of cancer in the US. In fact, the community nearest the closed mine is in the 97th percentile for cancer in the country.

The economic, environmental, and health challenges faced by Lake County communities have resulted in nine of the eleven lake-bordering communities designated as “Disadvantaged” by the federal government.

To my surprise, Lakeport – my mom’s hometown – is in one of the two non-designated communities. If they all got cancer, how could this be?

Lakeport has the highest income in the area and is furthest from the old mine. With those privileges, my mom and many of her classmates were able to leave Lake County as adults to pursue their dreams. When they moved away, they took their cancer diagnoses with them.

When I shared these insights with my mom, she reacted with shock and remorse. She, Dena, Theresa, Jen, Denise, Kim, Sharon, Buffy… they all have had cancer diagnoses… this is their reality.

Today, the Sulphur Bank Mercury Mine is fully closed and gated off, with posted signage sharing the health risks and physical hazards of the site. Still, locals and tourists alike often take to the lake for swimming, boating, and more.

With the right insights, appropriate policy, and action, we can make our environment safer for future generations. Then, maybe, 100% of Lakeport High’s Class of 2024 will be at their 2074 reunion, cancer-free.