The first weekend after the devastating Black Forest Fire, my husband and I decided to drive into the heart of the trees to visit a local favorite, the R&R Coffee Café.  We already knew they have great coffee and food, but some of the recent proceeds would go to benefit some of the residents who had lost their homes, so it was the first neighborhood visit on our list.

As we drove into the trees, we tried to brace ourselves for the destruction, but seeing the damage firsthand was a tremendously moving experience.  The first thing I noticed was the incredible amount of sunshine beating down on the road, normally shaded from the many tall, beautiful pines that mark the area. The skinny black skeletons that remained, charred from the flames, still stood proudly, defiant in the face of nature, even when stripped of their normal beauty and purpose.  Since the trees are what I love most about the forest, this was a sad, but somehow comforting thought. I admired their resolve, as if the trees really had any choice in the matter.

I cringed at the shells of the homes I’d passed so many times before, trying to even recognize the landscape that existed only a week before. Twisted metal, burned up cars, lone chimney stacks and of course, ash, consumed the area and I got chills thinking of all the heartache involved with each and every loss. On the corner, there was a make-shift Salvation Army site with free food and clothing in this hardest hit area of the fire.  I immediately thought of the bin I keep stashed in my living room of items that no longer fit the kids or things we no longer use and my regular trips to drop them off at Goodwill.  I decided it would be a good idea to go to take them there instead, as well as a good reason to finally prune the horrible excess of clothing I have stashed in my bedroom closet.

We passed two roads in particular, ones I would recognize but never really knew their names until I saw them flashed too many times across the news in the last week.  Brentwood Drive, one of the worst hit streets where 27 homes were lost. Formerly speckled with older wood cabins which I adored from the road on my drive through the forest, now void of all character and life. The large fenced yard that housed many beautiful Great Danes was now destroyed.  Part of the fence still standing, but the home behind destroyed. I will always remember the frolicking dogs instead of that which sat before me now. Jicarella Drive, where all 8 homes on the street were destroyed, and where two employees from my very same work building died.  I remembered the couple and how he always wore some version of a flowered shirt, his wife not far behind, also with floral prints and the contentment that seemed to exude from a couple who spent nearly their entire days together.

We passed our veterinary clinic, which I almost missed – again, due to the destruction that masked my usual landmarks. Nothing but a foundation remained and thoughts flashed through my mind of the many times I sat in that waiting room, entwined and harried by four rambunctious dogs – grateful for the smiling, friendly service that I always enjoyed. What would they do now and how are the owners and employees holding up? Since the office is very near the actual start of the fire, did they have time to rescue all of the animals before the fire consumed yet another structure?

As we finally reached the café, we noticed the many cars outside and had to park in the overflow lot in the back.  This is a good sign, I thought.  People are helping people. As we entered the quaint, cozy store, I surveyed the other patrons and wondered what stories they had to tell.  The cashier was discussing her home with a customer and remarking that somehow, beneath five inches of ash, she managed to find her favorite teapot.  Still perfectly intact, even with the lid still neatly in place. All else she had was lost. However, she didn’t say this with despair, but rather with a small smile, her eyes seemingly remembering some past pleasant memory that appeared to be carrying her through.

Another older couple came in, irritated with the local phone company and their inability to restore phone lines due to the incredible damage in their area. On a white board in the corner, someone had scrawled, “We may be displaced, but our community spirit is strong.” Just like the trees, defiant in the face of disaster.  It will take more than fire to destroy this place we call the Black Forest.

Also more common on the roads are dozens of signs thanking firefighters, police officers and first responders of all kinds. Then there are the ones simply thanking God.  I’ve had many friends and family share how thankful they are that their prayers were answered that even though the fire came within feet of my own property, somehow my home was spared. This always makes me wonder what happened to the homes that didn’t survive? Was no one praying for them? The best thing I heard from a friend during the harried ordeal of evacuation was that he was not necessarily praying for my home to be spared, but rather that my family had the strength to get through whatever lie in store. I appreciated his outlook and thought it was probably more reasonable, given the circumstances.

This, to me, is the crux of life.  May we all have the strength and courage to endure. In all truth, there are disasters happening all over the world at any given time – even more horrific and enduring than the fire we saw in my forest last week.  However, we can’t always control events like these.  What we can control is our response.  Both physically and mentally, I firmly believe we should always prepare, train and improve our minds and bodies. In comparison to the rest of the world, my tiny forest family will make it through this tragedy.  They will come back stronger, as people tend to do – if only you set your mind to it.  People helping people is the key.  I saw it at the R&R Coffee Café this morning and I will continue to see it in the hearts and minds of the community that has outpoured with support.

Like the trees, we will all spring back and I pray not for mercy, but resilience. Resolve, dedication and passion – this will get us through today, and every day thereafter. I’ll remember that fact as I watch the forest recover and grow.  So, too, will I.