Christmas. . . is not an eternal event at all, but a piece of one’s home that one carries in one’s heart.
~Freya Stark
In 2012 our local paper ran a winter photo contest. I carried my camera outside that day and snapped a few pictures of our “Little Cabin in the Big Woods” and actually anticipated winning the contest. That seems a bit amusing, looking back. After all, we live along the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains and every single day people photograph the spectacular scene — breathtaking photographs of wildlife, the Garden of the Gods, Pikes Peak, and the like. But when my photo was chosen as the winner, I wasn’t surprised at all. This was a photo of my home. . . and I loved it.
There wasn’t really anything spectacular about our little log cabin. Built in the 1940’s as someone’s summer vacation home, it appeared tiny next to the ancient pine trees that surrounded it. But, it was our cozy home of twenty-seven years. We fell in love with the place as a young family looking to escape the confines of city life. Here we raised our children and figured that even though “Whispering Pines” had its faults, we’d stay there forever — because it was home.
Growing up in a military family, I had the privilege of traveling extensively around the world. In those days, I was perplexed to hear statements of longing to “go home.” Wasn’t “home” the place you went to sleep at night? Wasn’t it where your mail was sent? But I had noticed many people referred to their “home” as someplace they were not currently living. How odd — a distant place called “home.” That was when I noticed that “home” was not just a noun, but more of an emotion, as in “I feel at home here.” Home is where you feel protected, embraced, and understood.
So there it was. The place called home by our family for nearly three decades.
What our cabin lacked in square footage, it made up for in charm. And it was host to a wide variety of events over the years, including impromptu dance and drama presentations by the seven rowdy children who grew up there. Weddings, baby showers, graduation parties, music recitals, and other holiday celebrations were held within its walls.
Then, on June 11, 2013, Whispering Pines vanished along with more than five hundred other homes in the Black Forest Fire — still counted as the most destructive fire in Colorado history.
Fortunately, we had time to gather the children, pets, some photos, computers, and important documents ahead of the flames. At the time of the mandatory evacuation, we unknowingly checked in to the same hotel where firefighters from across the country were staying while helping to battle the blaze.
Over breakfast each morning we thanked them for their service and chatted with fellow evacuees. The fun of the evacuation evaporated when the official news arrived that our address was among those listed as a “total loss.”
Our youngest daughter, twelve-year-old SarahRose, exclaimed after a long deluge of tears, “I’ll never dance again.” This was the child who was such a joyful dancer that her grandfather had often commented to whomever might be listening, “Someone should really teach that girl to walk.”
It was still early summer, but our devastated daughter was already thinking ahead. “This will be the worst Christmas ever!” she cried.
The idea of celebrating Christmas anywhere else seemed impossible, and pretty improbable as well. Many of our family, friends, and neighbors had lost their homes in the fire, too. It seemed that there would be no joy in this holiday season for SarahRose.
In an attempt to reclaim some element of normal life, I encouraged SarahRose to attend her regularly scheduled summer dance programs. “It will do you good to focus on something else,” I told her. But she was reluctant. “Maybe it will help,” I said.
Expectations were low, emotions were volatile, and stress levels high. We knew moving forward was our best option but we weren’t sure how to do so. Logically it seemed to me that if SarahRose were spending all day with her friends doing what she loved, those were steps in the right direction.
Ted Mehl of A Better Image Photography, courtesy of Colorado Ballet Society
By the time her summer programs were over and the fall semester began, she was beginning to feel excited about dancing again. Looming large over all the dancers at that time of year is the upcoming Nutcracker season. Cast lists typically appear toward the end of August and eager eyes scan the corkboard for postings.
We have long been a family of traditions. Stockings hung by the chimney with care, the Advent log, and other favorite activities were repeated year after year. As a family with three dedicated dancers, our girls have been dancing toy mice, soldiers, dolls, sugar babes, party girls, sugarplums, garland girls, angels, marzipan, flowers, and probably some parts we can’t remember. Yes, The Nutcracker is a huge part of our holiday every year.
But things seemed different that year. There was no chimney on which to hang our homemade stockings, and although a friend made us a new Advent log, we had no mantel on which to place it. So many traditions were changing for us, whether we wanted them to or not. Feeling a bit apprehensive, SarahRose decided she would dance only in the Youth Ballet’s production of The Nutcracker that year. Although sometimes it’s fun to be part of two or three Nutcracker productions in the same year, she thought that would be too stressful when we didn’t even have our real home anymore.
The chatter around the Ballet Society studios was all about The Nutcracker casting. A few people had commented to SarahRose, “I bet you’ll be Clara this year.” or “I hope you get to be Clara this year.” She thought they were all being especially kind and encouraging because of the fire and she didn’t expect to get the lead role. She figured she was too tall, because the prior year she had been in the correct age/ height group for Clara.
Surprisingly, SarahRose was cast in the coveted role for the Colorado Youth Ballet’s production! Her tears turned to laughter and she enjoyed every one of those rehearsals. It was one of the highlights of her life, giving her a new home for the holidays — the ballet studio — right when she needed it.
~Donna Lorrig
