“Woodland Gnomes” by Amber Miller
I sit in my car for 5 minutes before knocking on the door. It has been 25 years since I have seen this house and sitting here all the memories come flooding back. Especially the last winter we lived here. Our home was built in 1896 by some of the first settlers of our town. Even when we bought it, the original structure had been maintained as a large, cabin-like home. It had a rustic charm with the wood beam ceiling, the tree trunk staircase, the big red barn in the backyard, and the original old wood-burning stove. The old stove was our only source of heat for the winter, because the house had no central heat or air conditioning. No air conditioning is not unheard of in Colorado, but with no heat in the winter cold, we needed that stove and plenty of wood to fuel it.
I wasn’t sure what would happen if I walked up, knocked on the door, and asked to take a look around. I was pleasantly surprised by the older woman who opened the door. She was short with long gray hair and a plump stature. She wore a long, flowy dress with a stack of beads around her neck. My grandmother would have called her an “old hippie.”
“Hi there, my name is Melanie and I used to live here when I was a kid, do you think I could just walk around the back and have a look...”
“Say no more, absolutely. In fact, you can come on inside and have a look. My name is Dayspring by the way. What years did you live here?”
“We moved away when I was 11, the summer of 1998.”
“Oh, so you were here for that brutal winter. Did the fire happen before or after?”
“Actually, it happened while we lived here.”
~
Living at 7000 feet of altitude, it was normal for us to get multiple feet of snow on a regular basis. So, we spent the summer and fall preparing for winter in the mountains. We went to our friend's farm to pick fruit and vegetables to can and stockpile in our large pantry. Mom baked loaves of bread, made large pots of soups, stews, and baked apple pies and cinnamon rolls to put in the freezer. My dad added to the freezer with deer, elk, wild turkey, and antelope that he hunted and butchered. He also cut down trees to stalk up our firewood, which was my favorite winter preparation.
Sundays, after church, were for wood collecting with Dad since mom worked the weekends; this was our time with him to explore and drive up to the mountains.
“Melanie, don't forget to grab the sandwiches and snacks your mom prepared from the fridge,” Dad yelled at me from the driveway. “I also need you to help Jake get dressed while I get the Bronco ready to go.”
Jake is my little brother, he was five that year and seemingly helpless when it came to getting dressed.
“Jake, where are you? If you don't get dressed we don't get to go to the mountains.”
He sprinted into his room with nothing on but his raccoon hat, underwear, and hiking boots with no socks.
“I can't find my mountain clothes, sissy.”
Jake called his wood gathering clothes his “mountain clothes”. They were stained jeans with holes, a Colorado Rockies T-shirt, and a brown, zip-up hoodie. Even though he would never admit it, he liked to wear his Rockies shirt to match mine and wore his hat backward like me too.
“Mom put your mountain clothes on top of your dresser they're right here, now put them on so we can go. Sophie is already outside with dad and we are going to leave you here if you don't hurry up.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOO YOU CAN’T LEAVE MEEEEEEEEE,” Jake screamed, throwing himself down on the ground
We piled into Dad's 1980 dirt-brown Bronco and headed toward Red Mountain Pass.
“Dad, can we get our candy?” Sophie asked in her little, soft voice. Before we turned up the pass, Dad always stopped at the last gas station in town to fill up on gas and we got to pick out a treat for the drive.
Part of the reason this was my favorite part of our winter preparation was the drive up the pass. It was a narrow dirt road, with large rocks and ruts that only 4-wheel drive could get up to past a certain point. I loved to watch the mountains get bigger the further we drove up with the thick smell of pine all around me. The mountain air made me feel light as it breezed through my hair. I didn't have chores, or homework, or my mom yelling at me for not helping in the kitchen. I got to be outside, in the sun getting dirty and having fun. This is why Dad calls me his mountain girl; it’s still my happy place.
Once we reached our spot Dad started to chop down the trees and made piles for us to carry to the Bronco. We piled up as much as we could manage in our little arms, trip after trip loading the bed as high as it would go for one day. Once we loaded up as much as we could, we laid out a blanket and ate our lunch. Sometimes we hiked around, other times we flew kites, or picked wildflowers.
After many more trips like this, through the summer and fall watching the aspens turn yellow and orange, our red barn filled up with wood, one truck bed at a time. We always had plenty of wood and usually, some leftover for the random cold days in the spring. Except for the winter of 1997 — the year of the fire.
There are many reasons why barns catch on fire: combustion from hay, lightning strikes, or flammable chemicals, to name a few. We lived in the middle of town, not on a farm, so we didn’t have hay or chemicals. All we used the barn for was wood, our bicycles, dad's tools, shovels, rakes, and our lawnmower. The firefighters couldn't really pinpoint what started the fire. They speculated that in the alley behind our house there might have been a discarded cigarette or kids messing around.
Regardless of how it began, it burned fast and the flames engulfed the red barn, burning it to the ground. Firefighters spent most of the night trying to put it out, but despite their efforts, the barn was gone. All of the wood we had collected for the winter burned along with it.
Dad stood by watching with a stoic look of resignation, as he often did. There was nothing he could do. Mom cried as they embraced “At least none of the kids were in the barn and we are all okay” my dad said.
“Your positivity is not really helping right now. Yes, we are all okay but what are we going to do about the wood now, Mike? We can’t get up the pass right now to even get wood, it's snow-packed and…”
“We are going to be okay, I promise it will work out.” My dad tried to reassure her. She pushed him away and sat on the couch in exhaustion, fighting back tears. I tried to pretend I wasn’t listening and jumped into bed in my nightgown as Dad walked in to tuck me and Sophie in.
“Dad, what are we going to do for wood this winter?” I asked
“That is not for you to worry about, missy. We will be okay.”
“But how? all of our wood burned up.”
“Well, I think, in this case, the woodland gnomes will help us.”
“Dad, you're crazy — there is no such thing as gnomes. I'm 10 years old, I know you're making that up.”
Mom chuckled as she stood in the doorway.
Dad continued, “I’m not. Every year they catch a ride with us from the woods in the back of the Bronco. They live in the barn in our woodpile. They work really hard during the summers like we do, gathering food for themselves and they gather wood and build things from wood as we do; they are excellent wood crafters and tool makers. Since the winters are harsh in the mountains, some of them hitch a ride with us to get out of the deep mountain snow. They have little beards and tall pointy hats and they are small enough to sit in the palm of my hand. Sometimes, if you listen carefully, you can hear them tinkering in the barn.”
Jake ran in from his room “I’ve seen the woodland gnomes, Dad.”
I rolled my eyes at him. I went into the barn all the time, even though we are not supposed to. I liked to climb the ladder up to the loft to read or just look out the window at the lilacs. I had never seen or heard of woodland gnomes.
“They are also magic. Not only are they master wood crafters, but they can also create actual wood itself.” Dad said
I wondered if this were true — if they could actually make us more wood to replace the wood that just burned up.
“I think the gnomes will pull through, Melanie, have faith,” Dad said
The next morning, I got out of bed and looked out the window to see the charred pieces left of the barn and smoke still in the air with a light dusting of snow settling over the rubble. To my surprise, mom had built a fire and there sat a large stack of wood next to the stove. I looked at Mom, confused about where the wood came from. She just looked up at me teary eyed as she crouched down in front of the stove.
I ran to the front windows in the living room to investigate, and in front of the detached garage was a stack of wood that surpassed the height of the garage and took up most of the driveway, overflowing out into the road. We had all our wood back and then some, and it had appeared overnight.
Dad walked up behind me and whispered “I told you they were magic.”
The next week at school I told all of my friends about the fire and all the wood that appeared in front of our house. How the fire erupted and the size of the flames, how they lit up our whole street. How the smell of smoke was still lingering. Sophie brought wood to school for show and tell, and told the story about the woodland gnomes who built us wood after the fire. Jake built a little home for the gnomes in the snow. Sophie and Jake really believed the gnomes had built us wood.
It also happened, in the same week, my mom baked a bunch of pies for our neighbors. It was a frenzy of baking for the next few weeks. Each pie had a letter and it was my job to deliver each of the pies every day after school.
“Mom, why are you making a pie for the whole town?” I finally asked before heading out for the last delivery, bundled in my jacket and snow boots. I was suspicious.
“No reason, I just felt like showing some kindness to our neighbors. You don't always need a reason to do something nice for others, or with the expectation of something in return. It feels good to be kind and give to others, don't you think?”
I was still unsure.
The last delivery was for our neighbor who lived across the alley. He was a middle-aged man who lived alone and always waved and smiled kindly. His name was Forest, but Dad called him Woody, just to us, because he thought it was funny. Mom thought it was rude.
I walked up to his door, knocked, and held out the pie.
“Hello, Melanie, what do we have here? Oh, I sure do love your Mother’s pies. Please tell her thank you and she didn't have to do this. I didn't mind helping out after the fire, I know you all would do the same if I lost my firewood.”
I just nodded and smiled, unsure exactly what he meant by “helping out” although deep down I think I knew.
Heavy-hearted I walked back home slowly, snow up to my knees. I quietly snuck into the kitchen to grab some leftover pie crust. I ran out back to the gnome home that Jake built and left the crust there for the gnomes, just in case.
~
Dayspring watched me for a moment, smiling at me with her eyes, and said, “So what you really want to do is look around for the gnomes then.”
“Nah, the magic is gone, although my brother tells similar stories to his kids now. Sometimes I wonder if he still believes. Either way, my niece and nephew get a kick out of it” I said
She laughed “Well honey, let's take a look around. What would you like to see first?”
We both stood up and glanced at the old wood-burning stove.
“I think this is a good place to start,” I said.
About Amber Miller
She/Her/Hers
Amber is from southern Colorado just outside of Durango. She currently lives in Fort Collins, CO with her husband, 2 dogs, and 7-month-old son. She is a fitness professional and teaches Health and Wellness and recreation courses at Aims Community College in Greeley. Amber loves anything outdoors including hiking, camping, snowboarding, and paddle boarding at horse tooth reservoir. Writing is her creative outlet and most of her stories and writings reflect her love of Colorado.