On Friday, March 20th, my father, Ken Hamik, was in a serious car accident along the notoriously dangerous Highway 299. He was on his way home from an incredible meeting discussing the future of Hempcrete housing—an industry and project he and his team have been passionately building together over the past decade.

We are beyond lucky that crash sensors on his phone alerted authorities. He was airlifted by Life Flight helicopter to Mercy Medical Center in Shasta County, where we learned he had suffered a concussion, a fractured sternum, a dislocated and fractured right shoulder, tongue lacerations that make it difficult to talk, and, most seriously, five fractures in his spine—including a severe C4 neck fracture. Given the extent of his injuries, doctors have told us it is nothing short of a miracle that he is alive—something that became even more real after I visited the crash site.

Even more incredible is that he can still walk, move his left arm and right hand, and is fully aware. We are deeply grateful—but we also know his recovery will be long, painful, and uncertain. He may still face surgeries, along with ongoing medical care and extensive rehabilitation. Alongside the emotional toll, the financial burden ahead feels overwhelming.

Our focus is on his recovery—but the reality is that medical bills, rehabilitation costs, and time away from work are quickly adding up. So we are turning to our greatest support system—our family, friends, and community—to ask for help covering:

• Life Flight helicopter transport

• Hospital and medical expenses not covered by insurance

• Ongoing rehabilitation and therapy

• Daily living expenses while he is unable to work

• Assistance with replacing the family car

It’s not easy to ask for help. But we feel incredibly lucky that my dad is still here and has the chance to recover—and that we can turn to the people who love him.

We truly cannot do this alone. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your kindness, generosity, and support.

With love and gratitude,

Sarah (and my mom, Cherie)