FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: As the world continues to be a chaotic place, we celebrate some heroes at home: the Wildland Firefighters. Salida resident and author Kristen Moeller lost her home in a wildfire in 2012. Her latest book Phoenix Rising: Stories of Remarkable Women Walking through Fire...

“Whether we are conscious of it or not, the ground is always shifting. Nothing lasts, including us. there are probably very few people who, at any given time, are consumed with the idea ‘I’m going to die,’ but there is plenty of evidence that this...

This coming weekend, nine women will gather at my burned out property to explore what it means to be a writer, why they feel called, what they want to say to the world - and why they may never get their message from their hearts...

Ah, the nervous system. I am thankful for the systems that keep us alive – yet this morning, mine has worn me out a bit. All Western dwellers, and certainly us Coloradans are on high alert this fire season. As of yesterday, 7 fires were burning across the state including the horrific Black Forest fire near Colorado Springs. What seemed like a wet spring has turned into a dry summer with conditions perfect for fires starting and burning out of control. Three weeks ago we were evacuated from our Evergreen home due to the Blue Bell fire that burned up the road for us. Most likely we were never in danger, however this year the authorities will be extra cautious as the deaths by fire count last year was unacceptable. We appreciate the precautions and went through that evacuation relatively smoothly.#limegulchfire Yesterday, in the middle of a lovely day spent with my brother and nephew, an email popped up from my Kuehster Road neighbors about a fire way too close for comfort to that already fire ravaged area. I felt the shock hit my system and as I carried my computer in to show David, my words turned to mumbles, and then to deep sobs. Last weekend, we settled in to that property even further by putting up a precious yurt with the help of dear friends. Planning to spend more time there this summer, our compound includes our trailer “Flame”, a finished shipping container made into a workshop for David, and now the yurt on it’s lovely perch. The couple days we spent enjoying our new dwelling were the most precious since our fire last year. The ground cover is returning, young aspen groves are popping up, the wildflowers are going crazy. What was once burned out and stark is being taken over by budding life. Still uncertain about rebuilding there, the yurt is our way to spend more time and try it on.
To those affected by wildfires – those who have lost loved ones, animals and homes, or still wonder what you lost as you attempt to gather the fragments of information that are beginning to surface – our thoughts are with you. There are no words that are adequate. I am sorry. It sucks. It’s horrific. It’s confusing and overwhelming. It’s all of that and more.IMG_0070 We who lost homes in the horrible fire season last year are with you. We feel your pain. We know the anguish. We wince as we read the news, see the pictures and smell the smoke that drifts into our burned up hills. We understand. We were there – and now we are further down this life-altering path. We aren’t far enough along to have forgotten anything – and truthfully – none of us will ever forget. We will remember that day forever. We will remember the sounds, smells and how it felt. The chaotic moments of evacuation – or of not being able to return to collect anything – will be etched in our minds forever. We remember the terror, the bewilderment, the not knowing, then the knowing. We wish with all our hearts that you didn’t have to go through any of this.

“It’s a good day to die”, I say to my seatmate. Not my usual opening line but one I feel strongly about today. Tomorrow may be a different story, as normally, I am not a big fan of dying. A sense of peace and clarity...

Fingers to keyboard is my mantra for my new authors. Fingers to keyboard. And keep those fingers moving. And keep your eyes on the screen. Not on Facebook as I am doing right now...

The hollowness of my core echoes its mantra into my mind. Or is it the other way around? My mind echoes and tells me it’s my heart. Is my heart breaking? Is this pain real? Does anything ever make sense? I sit to work on my book this morning before the crew comes to pack and the house is filled with that activity. Entrenched in a re-write of my book that began early this year, I hit a serious road bump after the fire, then began again with fits and starts throughout the summer. I am writing an updated version on waiting, bringing in my “new” perspective, removing references to Jack all with the partnership of a new publisher. This is quite an opportunity but I can’t seem to get this sucker off the ground.  With the help of my editor, I have melded new stories with old, changed the introduction, and have places where I merely need to write transitions yet each time I begin again, I wonder, just what is it I am saying? What is this waiting thing after all? Is it a phenomenon? What does it even mean to wait? Recently, on two separate occasions, I received direct reports from new readers of how my words spoke to them, pointed to where they wait themselves and challenged them to look at life differently. This is obviously quite a gift, coming in the midst of my questioning.
On the anniversary of 9/11 many of us unite and reflect on that devastating event that changed lives in a flash and altered how we view the world. The range of reactions to today will be as wide as the range of personalities on this planet. Many will stop and honor the dead, remember and reflect. Some will weep and mourn. Some will merely go on with their day. Some never have stopped weeping. Some haven’t missed a beat this whole time. In this big, wide, wacky world there is a plethora of reactions to this event, to other events, to how we handle grief and anger and uncomfortable emotions. Today, I will stop and reflect. I will have gratitude that my slice of tragedy pales in comparison to this enormous event. Yet, I will also mourn my own and continue to gently find my way through something that doesn’t make sense, that came out of the blue and turned my world upside down, leaving life hardly resembling what it was before. I will think of my neighbors who lost loved ones and know their pain is not any less than those who lost loved ones in 9/11. Across the world, people will stop and grieve those lost in 9/11. Who will stop today to remember those lost in the North Fork fire? Or the High Park fire? Or the Waldo Canyon fire? Or any fire? I will.