Finding Home

Sometimes, when you least expect it, home appears.

John and I discovered our home in Forest Falls completely by accident. Or maybe it was meant to be. You decide.

It was 1997, and we had been living in San Bernardino for almost 21 years when, one Saturday, like usual, we went for a drive. That day, for the first time, we ended up on Highway 38. We decided we didn't want to go any higher, so instead of continuing up the highway, we veered to the right.

We didn't even know that's where Forest Falls was. We were on a stroll, not reading signs.

Almost immediately, something about it felt familiar to me.

I grew up in Central America, surrounded by a tropical landscape where everything was green. Trees were simply part of life. Years later, living in Southern California, I remember saying to John one day, “There really aren't many trees around here. I miss trees.”

I still remember that moment like it was yesterday. I lowered the car window just after the bridge, and as we started to climb, the air felt completely different. It seemed almost the same temperature as my skin. I could barely sense the difference. It truly felt like a part of me.

The trees, the Forest Falls greenery, the mountains and that air did something to me. It felt comfortable.

Apparently, as always, John noticed my reaction.

Within days, without my knowing, he contacted a local real estate agent named Marcie. Before long, he took me back up the mountain to see a house she had shown him. Within a matter of weeks, our San Bernardino house was up for sale and we had made an offer on a home in Forest Falls.

That's John for you. Git-r-done!

Marcie did something else I'll never forget. She held a little welcome gathering and introduced us to people. She didn't just sell us a house. She helped introduce us to our neighbors.

My parents modeled the difference between fitting in and belonging. To them, home is where you belong.

Forest Falls also introduced us pretty quickly to another side of mountain living, its potential danger.

On July 11, 1999, we were at a gathering when a summer storm suddenly became something much more serious. Water, mud, boulders and debris came down through parts of the community, damaging and destroying homes and carrying vehicles with it. One person lost her life and others were injured.

It was our first real understanding that living in a place this beautiful also means respecting where you live.

Over the years, we've learned what snow, storms, wildfire, debris flows, road closures and all the other realities that come with mountain living really mean. It reminded me of growing up in Belize. You learn that nature doesn't necessarily arrange itself around your plans. It's part of living too.

Our life in Forest Falls was disrupted for a while when we needed to take care of Mama. We did what we needed to do to make that work. We sold our house, but kept the Rock Cottage, and Forest Falls remained part of our everyday life.

It has never felt like we left Forest Falls. I was at the Rock Cottage every week until my heart surgery, when I wasn't allowed to drive for six weeks.

Sometimes you just have to live somewhere else part of the time. That doesn't mean you've stopped living where your heart is.

Nearly 29 years after accidentally turning off Highway 38 that afternoon, circumstances have shifted. Houses serve different purposes. Routines have moved on. And the meaning of that afternoon has deepened with time.

But the feeling I had when I rolled down the window that day is still there.

Maybe that's what discovering home really means: finding the place where you feel most fully at home within yourself.

Newman G. Millhollon-Turner

Finding Home