RITUAL BURNING

It took four-wheel drive for the last little bit, but I made it to the cabin on Deer Creek. It was dark in here.

And cold.

The radiant heaters had all been set to 40° and weren't in a hurry to warm this place up. So I settled in, unpacking food, putting clothes in the dresser, and finding all the light switches. Other than the refrigerator being located past the little eating area and down a short hall from the kitchen, this cabin is perfect.

The owner had texted me earlier that I should buy some fire starter logs on my way up. So before heading up the canyon road, I'd stopped at the only retail outlet I saw. Loaf n' Jug, swarming with down-to-earth locals gassing up their trucks and picking up food and snacks. I hopped out of Brandon's big black pickup, wearing a seed cap, feeling like I fit in. This is not a touristy part of Colorado—much more Wrangler than Patagonia.

Guess it follows that people around here are trusted to start their own fires. The dentally-challenged woman at the counter confirmed that I was out of luck, so I asked her about a mailbox to drop off some interview thank you notes. "You know that little blue building up the road, sugar?" I nodded. I had no idea. But I loved that she was talking to me like I belonged here. And I did find the mailbox.

Cards mailed, belongings neatly put away, and a cold, dark little woodstove. Any girl who drives to the mountains on her own to write a screenplay about her experience as a would-be survivalist should be able to make a fire without a starter log.

Scouting around under the trees, I gathered a big bag of dried pine twigs and branches, many with bunches of dry, reddish needles still clinging to them.

Back inside, I found an old work notebook in my computer bag, and felt pretty good about tearing out the pages of notes I'd carefully written and acted upon before losing my job to budget cuts.

I crumpled them.

Tossed them in the wood stove.

Piled on those pine twigs.

Lit a match.

And let me tell you, there's a reason forest fires are a thing. Whoosh.

I kept feeding the fireplace larger twigs until I had a merry blaze going that finished warming this place right up. The combination of saying goodbye to my latest chapter and enlisting the ancient comfort of fire with just one match set an empowering tone for my stay.

Whoosh.