The next day we knew much more about the situation in the Denver metro area. Thousands remained without heat and light. Many roads were washed away or flooded. We knew all of that about Shaffers Crossing because we were living it. According to radio reports, hundreds of repair crews were working to fix the problems around Denver. No one seemed to be aware that we were also without power and phones. Perhaps, since there were so few of us, we were merely low on the priority list. Armed with more questions than answers my father left to try and find a way out of the hills and valleys where we lived.

In the late 1960’s my parents moved to the tiny community of Shaffers Crossing, high in the Colorado foothills. There along with my older sister and her daughter, we lived on thirty acres of forest and pasture land. The looming slopes that surrounded the tiny community would be called mountains in most other states. Those lofty peaks blocked most of the radio and all television reception from our little valley. Cable TV hadn’t arrived in Shaffers Crossing and satellite TV and cellphones hadn’t been invented. News reached us via the more powerful AM stations, shortwave radio, and the weekly newspaper from the nearby town of Evergreen. We shared one phone line with the seven other households and less than fifty people who made up the community.