Fire and Rebirth: Easter Reflections

I didn’t set out to be a flower farmer. I was perfectly happy living in my “Beautiful Little Oasis” I called it, with pretty gardens and a natural spring in the backyard where previous owners had created this tiered water feature which constantly flowed and somehow looked ancient. I had gone through a difficult divorce, and I often said my little oasis saved me. I would be so upset about something related to the divorce, but as soon as I went out my door and started looking around more closely, I was completely distracted, mesmerized really, by what new wonder was poking it’s head out of the ground. I got out of my head and into the moment effortlessly. I was curious making mental notes, about what this looked like now, and what it would become. I learned a lot from those gardens. I made some mistakes in my well intentioned efforts to care for them, but they continued to embrace me.

Over a couple of years I had settled in to my little oasis, nested and made it feel like home finally. I decided to add onto the garage, as I really needed more space, not just for parking, but for lawnmowers, and snowblowers, bikes and skateboards, and all the stuff. The project started in the Fall, but as often is the case with construction, it took longer than hoped. The garage was all framed in and shingled, etc, but it wasn’t until December that they were ready to pour the concrete inside the addition. Of course, temperatures plummeted, and the concrete needed three days to set. They brought in huge propane tanks as big as me to heat the garage while the concrete set. 

On the third night, Friday the 13th of December, 2019, we awoke to strange noises in the garage. We thought at first maybe someone had broken in. It was around 2am, and I went to grab my robe, while the boys went to check the garage. When I came back around the bend it suddenly looked like daylight out of my window. The entire garage was engulfed in flames. Joel would say later that the garage door handle wasn’t hot at all, but as soon as he opened it the heat was incredibly intense, and he just remembers a glimpse of intense, bright light, and it seemed everything was engulfed in flames. He very quickly forced the door closed again. I think that gasp of air fed the oxygen starved flames, and poof. Some of you might be old enough to remember the movie Backdraft. I think this was a lesser version of that, but thank God didn’t end in any of our deaths.

I will never forget that moment looking out the window at the flames, and hearing a loud voice in my head saying, “RUN away, RUN away, RUN away!” I was terrified the propane tanks would suddenly explode and I just grabbed my phone and ran to the back door where I kept a pair of boots, and ran outside into the cold and snow with the dogs. It was surreal. I was in a bit of shock, but I remember very clearly just feeling so grateful that we were OK. I didn’t care about any of the stuff in that moment at all, just overwhelmingly grateful we were OK.

It strikes me now as I write this on Easter weekend, that yesterday was Good Friday, and my fire occurred on a Friday night. The dark days that followed were difficult as the adrenaline and shock wore off, and the reality set in, but it ended in resurrection of a sort, rebirth, different yet the same. Metamorphosis? Pick your nature metaphor of choice. I was going to wrap this around into a discussion of how fire is necessary to rejuvenate a prairie or forest at times, but that will have to wait for another post. I leave you with a poem I wrote in the months following the fire.

From the ashes

When I said that sometimes you need to blow it all up and start again, this is not what I meant.

I was speaking figuratively for fuck sake. But the universe burned my house down.

Rise up.

“The best laid plans of mice and men go often askew… your small house in ruin… now you are turned out for all your trouble …to endure the winter.”

Mr Burns was right.

My plans are in ashes.

Burns. That’s ironic.

What shall I do?

My beautiful little oasis saved me during the divorce. Now I have to let it go. I guess if I was missing the nudges from the Universe before, she flat out pushed me off the edge now.

That life is over.

Be reborn from the ashes.

Rise up.

Breathe in and out.

Summon the spirit of the Empress. The Phoenix.

Sprinkle the ashes all around.

They will counteract the acid.

They will foster clover for the bees and make a tea for the tomatoes. They will hasten the decomposition of the manure.

Let go of the bullshit sister.

Spring is coming.

Plant a new garden.

Rise up.

~Winter 2020