Thoughts and Observations on Being an Evacuee

It was a beautiful June afternoon on the outskirts of Colorado Springs and on the edge of the Black Forest.  The Forest, as it is called by the locals, is a heavily wooded unincorporated community on the northeast side of the city.  The people who live here are primarily people who are looking for the opportunity to live a more rural way of life where cows, goats and horses; cats and dogs; chickens, ducks and turkeys; llamas and even yaks; far outnumber the human inhabitants.  Elk, antelope, and other native animals also make their homes here.
 
My motorhome was parked on the concrete site next to my son and daughter-in-law's home and I needed a few things from "town."  My 16 year old granddaughter and I headed into the Springs planning to meet up with her Mom later in the afternoon. Little did we know that by the end of the day we would be "evacuees."

As we went from store to store we would catch talk on the radio about a forest fire in the Black Forest.   We saw the huge plumes of smoke rising hundreds of feet in the air, but it seemed that it was just a news story that didn't really affect us.  When she called home, her Mom explained that she had decided to stay home and and would prefer it if we came on home.  On the way we continued watching the big plumes of smoke and taking pictures.  Reality set in when we arrived in their neighborhood.  There was a smoky surreal feeling, neighbors were standing outside all looking to the west and reality set in.  This wasn't just another news story, we were part of the story.

Throughout the evening our attention was focused on the television reports, and running to the back deck where we had an unobstructed view of the fire.  We could clearly hear the explosions as propane tanks burst and see the huge flames shoot into the sky as the fire attacked another growth of trees, or even worse, someone's home. 

In the early evening hours the television news announced that our area had just gone into pre-evac status.  I prepared my motorhome; disconnecting the electric, water and sewer and stashing away anything breakable.  The others focused on watering down the wooden decks and leaving hoses and sprinklers where firefighters could use them if needed.  Inside the house everyone was packing what they wanted to take should we have to leave.  There was the obvious, clothes for several days, pictures, important papers, and then I started hearing each one of them saying, "It's just stuff." 

About 11:00 that night we were advised that we were on mandatory evacuation.  It was time to load up all that had been packed and leave.  There was no panic, just a nervous quiet as we prepared to leave.

The night seemed eerily darker and quieter than usual and because the main entrance into their neighborhood was closed off, we had to use alternate roads to leave.  It was a string of headlights all heading away from the fire.  As we reached the town of Falcon we passed Safeway where the parking lot was lit up like broad daylight and cars, trucks and rvs filled the area.  We arrived at Walmart, our agreed upon spot to regroup.  Again, we found a full parking lot.  Although the entire area was full of people, the thing I will always remember is how quiet it was.  It seemed to epitomize the phrase, "stunned silence."

The rest of the family stayed with friends while my granddaughter, her cat, and I camped out in my motorhome.  This continued for three days.  Our eyes were glued to the around the clock tv coverage and the latest updates.  Even after we had been pretty much assured that their home was fine, we were still on guard as to when we would be allowed back home, and what had happened with their friend's homes.  It was an ongoing emotional roller coaster, with memories we will never forget.

In the end the Black Forest Fire as it was appropriately named, burned nearly 16,000 acres, destroyed over 500 homes, and killed two people and over 41,000 people had been evacuated.  The fire was ultimately contained about two miles from my son's home.  I gained an entirely new appreciation for fighters and the dedication they have for helping.  They truly put their lives on the line to help people they don't even know.

The following are random stories that keep rolling around in my memories.

• The firefighter who found a family dog that had perished.  He took the time to properly bury the dog, mark the grave and leave a note for the family when they returned.
• The unknown firemen who had obviously saved a friend's home by taking their garden hose and fighting the fire up to within a foot the their house.
• The boy who was watering the mulch around the turkey pen as the rest of the family prepared to evacuate.  They came back to find their home gone but several of the turkeys had survived.
• The people who saw their home listed as ok, only to come home to find their large shed intact and their home gone.  After a short drive through part of the burned area I can understand how the mistake could have been made.  In many cases there is no pile of rubble left, the home has literally burned to the ground.
• More than one person described coming home to find that aluminum in siding or vehicles had actually melted from the heat and run across the ground.
• It became personal when my grandsons' scoutmaster and his family lost their home as did other family friends.

I had never worn the term evacuee before, but it is now part of my long list of experiences and one I hope I never have have to repeat.  I will, however, have much more empathy when I read about people who have been suddenly evacuated because of various threats.  My story has a happy ending and many others will not.

THANK YOU FIREFIGHTERS!

What did we do to deserve this child?

I wrote this a number of years ago, but wanted to share it today.

I was saying my prayers one evening when I suddenly realized what an enlightening path we had been down over the last three years.  I had just found myself asking God, “What did my family do to deserve a child like Hannah?”  It was the realization that this question could legitimately be asked from different perspectives that stopped me mid-prayer and actually made me chuckle as I thought back over the journey my son and daughter-in-law, my husband and I, and other family members have experienced since Hannah’s birth.

I’ll never forget calling the hospital and telling my daughter-in-law, Jennifer that we had arrived in Denver and were slowly making our way through road construction delays to our campground.  We had received word a couple of days earlier, when it became apparent that this baby was determined to arrive early, that Jennifer had been airlifted from the rural western Kansas hospital into Presbyterian-St. Luke’s in Denver.  As full-time RVers, we quickly adjusted our itinerary and headed west.  The last call had come early that morning.  Hannah Lee had arrived – seven weeks premature, weighing three pounds, five ounces, but doing well.  Now I was calling to let the new parents know we had arrived and would be at the hospital shortly.  But Jennifer’s voice had a strange tone to it.  “Are you OK,” I asked.  “Is the baby OK?”  There was a pause before she said, “They think the baby may have Down Syndrome.”

Down Syndrome!  I distinctly remember saying, “Oh, Jennifer, I am so sorry!”  I have since read accounts where new mothers have never forgiven unthinking friends and family who utter such insensitive thoughts.  Thank goodness Jennifer hasn’t held that against me.  We quickly made our way to the hospital and found our new, very little granddaughter in the neonatal ICU unit looking a lot like a plucked chicken as I lovingly described her.  She was so tiny with those arms and legs that seemed to uncontrollably flail every which way.  We immediately fell in love with her.

Over the next few days as we awaited the results of the tests that would confirm that Hannah indeed had Down Syndrome, I would make my way to the hospital chapel to pray.  I would pray before I got out of bed in the morning and before I went to sleep at night.  I would wake up in the middle of the night, “Please, God, don’t let this baby have Downs.  Let it all be a mistake.”  We would scrutinize her features and try to convince ourselves that she really didn’t look like she had Downs – even though the palms of her hands suggested that she did.  It was almost a relief when the tests came back and the doctors confirmed that she was indeed one of the 1 in 700 babies born each year with Down Syndrome.  Now we could get on with dealing with the challenges and rewards of having this special child in our family.

We were lucky that we could rearrange our summer itinerary to stay in Denver for the duration of Hannah’s hospitalization.  My son, Darin, was in summer school completing his masters degree and was able to put his class work on hold until he got his baby girl home, and Jennifer had just finished the school year teaching grade school.  We all settled into what turned out to be a nine-week stay in Denver.  Denver is a beautiful city to spend the summer in, but there wasn’t a lot of time for sightseeing that year.  Spending time with this tiny baby became our priority and we soon fell into a routine.  Darin and Jennifer would go to the hospital in the mornings and check in on her.  Bob and I would meet them there at noon and after an update over lunch, we would take the afternoon shift.  After dinner they would go back in for several hours to feed and hold her and check on her progress.

In between times we were all reading books, watching videos, and talking to people about what to expect when you have a child with Down Syndrome in your family.  One statement that has stayed with me is that they are a lot more like “normal” children than they are different.  I think this gave me hope.

It was during my afternoon shifts that I came to realize what a precious gift she was.  She loved to be held and as she grew stronger she would reach up and bat at the blanket covering her bassinet whenever she heard our voices.  It was like she was reminding us, “here I am, pick me up.”  I would hold and rock her by the hour and she would happily snuggle up to me.  I would talk to her telling her how much we loved her and make plans for the fun things we would do when she got bigger.  We celebrated when she first drank from a bottle rather than being fed from a tube.  And we cried when her little heart became too weak to allow her to suck from the bottle and she went back to the feeding tube.  Along with her Mommy and Daddy and other family members, we walked her down to the entrance of the operating room and cried as Darin handed her over to the OR nurse who assured us she would take good care of her.  The pediatric cardiologist patched the little holes in her heart and over the next few days we stood vigil around her bassinet in the pediatric ICU patting her and assuring her we were there.  She was finally on her way home when they discovered she would need yet another open heart surgery to correct another problem.  She came through like a champ and at nine weeks old she was finally allowed to go home to rural western Kansas to be introduced to the rest of the family of three dogs, two cats and a couple of turtles.  She was welcomed not only by her animal family, but an entire county of people who had spent the summer praying for the safe return of one of their tiniest residents.  Over the next few days there was a constant parade of well-wishers through their house, and Hannah, little as she was, thrived on the attention.

Hannah is now a happy and healthy three year old with a little sister who is 18 month younger.  We have been fortunate to spend a lot of time with Hannah and to watch as she began to sit up, crawl and then walk.  We have taken her to her physical and occupational therapy classes and watched as the tIeacher coaxed her to play with carefully selected toys that would improve her coordination and other skills.  We’ve watched her Mommy spend hours and hours playing with her on the floor to help her development and listened to her giggle as her Daddy wrestled with her.  She has readily learned sign language which gives her an opportunity to communicate with us and she is pleased when we understand her.  We are thrilled at the words she is beginning to speak and know that she soon will be talking.  She has a wonderful sense of humor and delights in slowly sneaking up to tickle us when we aren’t looking.

She has brought so much to us. She has taught us patience.  Hannah doesn’t worry if she doesn’t do things right away.  She knows she’ll get it sooner or later.  She has showed us that people who are “different” should not be shied away from but rather accepted and enjoyed for who they are.  I could go on and on with what she has given us, but more than anything she has given us LOVE!  When Hannah throws her arms around you, you get hugged, and her whole little body seems to melt into yours.

So regardless of what some people might assume, when I ask God, “what did my family do to deserve a child like this”, I really am saying, “why did you choose to bless our family with a child like Hannah.

Hannah is twelve years old today.  Happy birthday, Hannah!  This fall she will enter 6th grade, a big jump into middle school.  She loves music, reading and watching TV, playing with her sister, Maggie, and has more friends than you can imagine.  She is truly an inspiration to all of us.  Happy birthday, Hannah.

Thoughts from Kentucky

When I planned a few days in rural northeast Kentucky I was looking forward to becoming acquainted with a part of the country I had only passed through before.  So far these are some of my observations.

Finding an rv park in this part of the state is difficult.  Don't get me wrong - there's lots of them, the word "finding" is the key.  My trusty 2012 edition of the Trailer Life Campground Guide shows very few and none in Passport America.  I stopped at the state welcome center, some are listed in their literature, but no directions or pricing.  I called one, they answered with a grumpy hello, said, "just a minute," and hung up.  So I followed some dilapidated signage and found a park for a reasonable price and full hookups.  Just gotta have that air conditioning.  It seems that in this part of the world most parks are inhabited with locals who bring their rvs out for the season.

Yesterday I took the Zilpo Road drive through Daniel Boone National Forest. Discovered a beautiful winding, twisting road through the forest that made me thankful I was driving my little car, Blue Bell, rather than the motorhome.  It was warm and sunny, a day just perfect for an afternoon drive.  As I wandered around the countryside I kept my eyes pealed for little shops featuring local artisans and craftsman, and a local eatery. I discovered that in this area of Kentucky, there are no little shops and everyone eats at home.  What I did find were sad looking buildings with boarded up windows and faded signs advertising bait, gasoline or food. 

One thing that fascinated me was seeing large painted quilt square designs hung on the sides of old barns.  Each one was a different design but all were the same size.  When I got back to the park I asked around but no one I talked to seemed to know the story behind them.  Guess this will be a research project for me.

Oh, and the lunch I was looking for?  Finally found a restaurant that was still in business and stopped in at the Cornbread Cafe.  Featured was the typical buffet with fried chicken, fried fish, fried shrimp, fried potatoes, fried okra, and thank goodness for the green beans and corn!  Oh well, I was hungry and my diet flew out the window weeks ago.

It is beautiful, green countryside, and despite some of my comments, I am enjoying it. 

Happy Father's Day

Today is Father's Day.  Many of those who still have their fathers with them will celebrate with a family gathering, maybe some good barbeque, or maybe a card and a phone call.  No matter how you celebrate the day, family stories and memories are sure to find their way into the conversation.

Just as many first-born kids, I was a Daddy's girl.  When I was only six years old, he was killed in an accident right before Father's Day.  I still have the little red Swingline stapler that I had picked out for his Father's Day gift.  I never got to give it to him but it still sits on my desk.

But I also have memories that come to mind from time to time - especially on Father's Day.  My Dad was a farmer, and one of my favorite memories is of summer evenings when he would come home from the fields after dark, lay down on the porch with me snuggled up next to him, and we would look into the night sky and sing, "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." 

Another favorite memory is of the last Christmas Eve he was with us.  I got to go with Daddy to the midnight Christmas Eve service at our church because I was a big girl, while my sister had to stay home with Mom because she was too little to stay up that late.  When we came home Santa had been there and brought me the most wonderful doll house ever!

I happen to think that memories run together to help make us who we are, and I cherish mine.  Happy Father's Day, Daddy!

Drive-in movies and blogs

Welcome to my "daydreams and wanderings."  I've been thinking of starting a blog for sometime now, but like so many things I think about, I just don't sit down and do it.  Plus that, I have gotten out of the habit of taking many pictures, so at least to start with, this blog will have few pictures to accompany my ramblings.

Yesterday evening my son, Darin, and I took my 10 year old granddaughter, Maggie, to her first drive-in movie.  Drive-in movies are fast becoming a thing of the past and Maggie wanted to add this to her list of experiences while she could.  "Madagascar" was the featured movie, and was an entertaining one, but for some reason my mind kept wandering to setting up a blog.  By the time they were rolling the credits and we were gathering up our leftover popcorn and lawn chairs, I was well on my way to blogging.

Sleep took over before I got my first post written, but here goes.  I hope you'll join me from time to time.