It’s over. Finally, it’s over.

After 41 days that alternated between hand-wringing and heart-wrenching, the occupation of the Malheur Wildlife Refuge has ended. Four protesters remained until Thursday. Much of their last 12 harrowing, confusing hours in the refuge streamed live and unedited through the Internet. It was a glimpse into paranoia and fear, into anger and frustration.

We heard grievances about this country — a lack of jobs, a lack of purpose, a lack of morality, a lack of future. It was the cry of the fearful, the pessimistic and the proud, grabbing the bullhorn and the moment and shouting straight into our speakers.

Whatever it was, you had to listen. At times it was scary — the threat of violence both coerced and self-inflicted were ever-present. And at times it was farcical — the list of grievances included Hillary Clinton, the Middle East and a lack of marijuana.

But there is no laughing off the underlying issue.

This has been a traumatic experience for Eastern Oregon. The days sure were dark. And now that the out-of-state players have left the field, we’re left to sift through their message and their actions.

For 41 days, Eastern Oregon was a dangerous place to be. Not because of the armed men and women holed up at the Malheur Wildlife Refuge, and not because of federal and state law enforcement swarming around them. They posed threats only to one another and anyone who stood between them.

But the weapons carried by both sides isn’t what threatened us.

The danger is the seeds, already planted and beginning to take root, now doused with gallons of water and a hefty heap of fertilizer. You know the kind. The seeds of mistrust for neighbors with the wrong bumper sticker on their truck. Of animosity toward “the government” as a bogeyman instead of an entity that can and should be held accountable by the people. Of blatant disregard for reasonable discourse — instead choosing to cling to a single line from the Constitution, an ugly prejudice, or a stern glare and a wall of silence.

Like a flock of winter birds taking off from Malheur Lake, the occupiers have left. It’s up to us to decide what their pattern in the sky means, and which seeds we want to tend to now that they’re gone.