In 1968, when Jim and I were first married, we knew we wanted to move out of the city of Denver. We wanted to live in the mountains, but we both had jobs in Denver. Where could we go that was close to Denver, but not too close? We found the perfect town ~ Idledale, Colorado. A quiet, unincorporated village tucked just west of Denver, Idledale sits in the foothills along Bear Creek. It’s easily overlooked on the drive between Morrison and Evergreen.
Situated at 6,466 feet above sea level, Idledale gave us the right slice of mountain life. The population was about 300 people, more or less. The incredibly beautiful Red Rocks park is close by.
We found a great house. Located on five acres of land, at the top of Grapevine Road, the picture window in our living room provided a view of the entire valley. We had good neighbors. The home cost $15,000.00. We probably bought it with Jim’s GI benefits. Garth was born while we lived there. It was a good life.
Like most of the men of Idledale, Jim signed on as a volunteer on the Idledale Fire Department. The volunteers were a rag-tag group of men, young and old. Women weren’t allowed to join because it was considered bad luck to have a woman in the station. Women were allowed to make sandwiches and deliver them to the station after the fire, however. No one complained or even questioned the rules. That’s how it was.
Idledale had only one truck when we lived there. The Denver Fire Department donated an old pumper in 1956 and the men built a station to house it. There weren’t any fire hydrants in Idledale. When a fire occurred, the chief drove the pumper into Bear Creek and filled it with water. It was a delicate task. Often the chief filled it too full, and the pumper quickly became too heavy to climb out of the creek bed and onto the road. The chief then had to keep dumping water back into the creek, until the old pumper could be coaxed out of the stream and up the road to the fire. Meanwhile, women who were home taking care of children, sprang into action. They put fires out using garden hoses and buckets of water. They soaked small rugs in water and beat out the flames before the truck got there. Then they went back to making sandwiches.
For some reason, there were a lot of fires during the four years Jim and I lived in Idledale. The volunteers did their best, but often came home full of soot and ashes.
“How did it go?” citizens would ask.
“We saved the trees,” was the reply. That meant that the house had burned to the ground. The conversation was over.
Eventually someone caught on. It was obvious that only one firefighter was present whenever there was a fire in Idledale. A young man who lived in a small shack in the middle of Grapevine Road was a very enthusiastic firemen. He was often the first person on the scene.
People started asking each other if maybe he was actually starting the fires, just to watch them burn. Sad, but true! He pleaded guilty to arson, went to jail and the incidence of fires decreased dramatically in our small town.
Jim and I sold our home in Idledale and moved to Lakewood soon after Jason was born. We didn’t want to take Garth out of the mountains. He loved being outside, roaming up and down the hills. We had an old dog, with only one eye, who was his constant companion.
Now, as an adult, Garth lives in the mountains of Winter Park with his wife, Bethany. He is an engineer on the Aurora Fire Department. There are women serving with him in the fire station. The guys make their own sandwiches.
Who is this book for?