NEDERLAND - It’s been nearly two weeks since the fire took their jobs, their livelihoods, their sense of being. In that time, the victims of the Lakeview Fire have picked up the pieces, both figuratively and literally, as they’ve slowly, one by one, been allowed to rummage through the wreckage of their beloved shops. 

For some, sifting through what remains is a surreal moment, as those remains lie in what used to be such a busy and vibrant place that is now just a collection of blackened rubble.

That rubble can appear as a long-awaited respite, the result of a loud and violent suggestion that maybe it’s time for a vacation. Some feel that they’ve just lost their daily routine, their responsibilities. But others feel the loss more deeply. They’ve lost their dreams and their windows into our community. 

Bri Lynn Rashbaum repeated a mantra—of surviving, untouched by the flames, and rising from the ashes—as she anointed a circle of guests with a spray of rose water and an imprint of a circle of clay on their hearts, or on their foreheads to signify their third eye. 

The Spinning Silica Closing Ceremony, held in Chipeta Park on a breezy Sunday, helped the owners of the artist collective to spiritually reconnect with those who, over the six years they’ve been open, have felt and convened with the energy that Bri and Max were putting out into the world.  

The tables under the pavilion were full of clay samples for kids and adults to play and create with. Healing herbs from Bri and Max’s garden were strewn across another table, available for anyone to take and keep. 

Those who taught at Spinning Silica, those artists who showcased their work there, those who brought their kids there to learn and to grow, all stood in a circle and listened to Bri’s words, and listened to Burt Rashbaum recite his powerful poem, “The screaming klaxon on my phone,” written the morning of the fire. 

Bri took a moment to indulge in rage, to scream and release the torrent of uncontrollable emotion that had been ever-present since the fire. She screamed, and the crowd joined with her, releasing what was pent up, so the space could be filled with healing energy. 

After the rage, there were tears, and plenty of smiles too, as those who love Bri and Max, and those who loved Spinning Silica, shared stories and memories.

Bri spoke of the importance of the culture that she and Max cultivated there; she spoke of all that was irreplaceable, and touched upon how she would do things differently, if and when it’s time to reopen and rebuild.  

Max, while talking with those present and keeping an eye on his son, quietly internalized his pragmatism, which nags at him to produce, produce, produce, to blow glass and to sell, in order to be able to buy back all the equipment and tools that Bri had lost. 

Though they currently don’t know what the future holds for Spinning Silica, moving into a new shop or workspace here in Nederland or elsewhere, Bri and Max remain open to the possibilities, prepared to arise from the ashes. 

Ben Roy and Carrie Bladyka, owners of Tres Gringos, also remain open to what the universe has in store for them, as the couple just got married two days before their restaurant burned down, six days before they were going to sign the restaurant over to new owners. 

The Tres Gringos crew, Ben, Carrie, and many of the hardworking and dedicated staff that have worked there over the last five years, got together over the weekend to mourn the ending of one chapter, and to celebrate the beginning of a new one. 

While a recipe book was signed by everyone and handed over to head chef Ben, the mood of the event was not somber, as a marriage was a much more beautiful and important thing to celebrate. 

Though certainly saddened by the loss, there’s a sense of closure, of slight relief, as the restaurant world is grueling, and the struggle is seemingly unending. Ben, Carrie, and much of the Gringos crew, seem to embrace some time off away from the heat of the kitchen, to enjoy one another, spend time with their families, and get reacquainted with their hobbies and interests.

Meanwhile, for Claudia Schauffler, property manager of the Caribou Village Shopping Center and owner of clothing boutique The Shop, turning the page to an entirely new chapter isn’t as easy. 

At 70 years old, Claudia was expecting to continue her preparations for retirement, and with a knee surgery scheduled right in the middle of the aftermath of the Lakeview Fire, picking up and rebuilding isn't immediately in the cards, though she has started thinking of a succession plan. 

“Even though I should be back on my feet very soon, I’m just not quite sure what to expect,” Claudia told The Mountain-Ear. “But I do have a goal.” 

What Claudia had created with The Shop was more an extension of herself, an enveloping arm to embrace the community and provide them with what they needed. 

“The business itself made it all worthwhile. The people, the community, that was very rewarding for me, and that’s the hardest part, that all of sudden I’m not there, I’m not meeting people, I’m not talking with people,” Claudia said.

“For me, I’d love to get The Shop back up and running, and I’d love to have somebody who shares the vision of The Shop—which was never meant to be a big money maker—to help me now and move forward with it. I’d like to keep it going as a community resource.” 

With hope, and with a like-spirited person willing to carry forth the legacy, The Shop will endure, in a new, revitalized form, to continue its goal of being a welcoming hug to newcomers and a home away home for longtime locals—possibly, according to Claudia and to Tebo Properties, within a partially restored Black Forest. 

And then there’s the Mountain Man.

Marching only to the beat of his own, very original drum, John Thompson was not willing to “wait and see,” nor was he able to “go with the flow.”

Shortly after witnessing his Mountain Man Outdoor Store engulfed in flames, complete with the popping of the camping stove gas he kept lined up along the front window, John got into his car and left town. 

“I watched the whole thing burn down, and when it got to my store I was like, ‘I’ve got to leave,’” John told The Mountain-Ear. “I got in my car, I drove down to Boulder and sat in McDonald’s, slightly crying, and I was like, ‘f*ck it, I’m going to go for a hike!’

“So I went up to the Flatirons and I got a hundred feet away from the car and I realized I put on shoes, pants, and a sweatshirt, but I had no socks, no underwear, and no T-shirt. That was the point when I just turned, ‘I need to go back up there, I need to deal with this,’ and on the way back up I realized Kind Castle has been empty this whole time, I should jump on it now and not lose momentum.” 

Just over a week later, with thanks from the professional care and mindfulness of KPK Realty, the old dispensary at 98 Peak to Peak Highway has been seeing some new life, as a manic figure can be seen through the windows, anxiously hanging fixtures and decorating ski goggle displays from dawn to dusk, eagerly working to get back up and running.  

“It's been the longest eight days of my life…and I’ve been thinking about this sign for seven days,” John said as he plastered up a neon- bright sign with hastily drawn block letters that read “Mountain Man 2.0,” over the For Rent poster. 

As he was taping the sign, vehicles passing by on the highway began to honk, bicyclists rode through and gave a thumbs up, and pedestrians grew emotional and red-faced with joy.

For more than 12 years, the Mountain Man Outdoor Store, while providing helpful information to tourists, has been an essential resource for locals, not just for fresh new Carhartts and a replacement sewing kit here and there, but for its sheer unique weirdness, which exemplifies Nederland, and which is ever more heightened by the store’s enigmatic owner, who provides much needed levity for the community. 

Through all the hardship, it’s that cyclical love and respect of the community that keeps John and others going, working through the night to come up with a new plan, to pivot and to come back stronger, for themselves but also for us, to keep that cycle of love alive. 

“We’re going to turn this around,” John exclaimed. “We’ve been through floods that cut us off from Boulder, and the fire that a bunch of people had to be evacuated from, and then the pandemic, where everything had to shut down for a while, and now this. The Town keeps on ticking.

“I was getting frustrated with trying to restart; three nights ago I was in a horrible place, and I kept thinking, ‘this is going nowhere, I’m doing something stupid,’ and then I thought, I have all this insurance money, I could just pack up and leave.

“And then I thought again, everybody in town has reached out to me, people are hugging me, people are putting money in my hand when I walk by, they won’t let me pay for dinner. I’m not leaving! I’ve got to be here for them as much as they were for me.”