A Personal Herstory

Heidi Magnus

I arrived in Gunnison back in the 80s as a clueless, unsociable young woman with no great love for the human species. My dream was to find a cabin in which to hole up and be in nature. While working a couple seasons for the Division of WIldlife, I formed a deep connection to this valley. The beauty of this place worked its way into my bones. My protective armor started to fall away and little by little I opened up to a wider range of life experience.

I left my job as a biologist in 1995 to open the Firebrand Deli with my sister K8. We opened the deli to escape working for The Man and to Feed the People. Something about having a door open on Main Street allowed me to see humans in a fresh light. The steady stream of interesting people educated me.

They taught me that humans might be worth knowing afterall. Food was what brought people to our door, but it became obvious that people weren’t coming just for the food. Yes, they came for the Surefire, but they came to see what was going on downtown. They came to say Hi to Jefe. They came for the conversations that surround the exchange of things of value. They came to connect and trade words.

Thousands of interactions across the deli counter made it clear that every person has a story. Sometimes we’re lucky enough to hear it. I kicked myself for all the years of stories I missed out on by being presumptuous and oblivious. I went on a mission to rehabilitate myself and become curious. Every day became an opportunity to hear the meaningful stories of people who walked through our door. Not everyone would offer up their stories, but oh so many did. My quest for stories was helpful to the kitchen which was often relieved by the pause I created by asking customers questions that were none of my business. The short and long conversations that happened at that cash register were part of the flow that made Firebrand work.

My education at that counter opened me to the magic of human connection. Shared experiences of sustenance, recognition, grief, frustration, compassion, and laughter were powerful and meaningful micro-moments of connection that sustained me throughout my day. Not every micro-moment was reaffirming. Sometimes those moments were soul-crushing, heart-breaking, or just plain annoying. But behind every person in line that delivered a cringy encounter was the antidote in the form of a beloved regular or kind tourist. You know who you are.

I’m so grateful to whoever it was that first took a can-opener to the tin of sardines that was my heart. Firebrand is now closed, and I’m taking its lessons with me. At first I was at a loss. I no longer had the connections provided by dozens of people in my line every day. The loss hit me hard, so nowadays I have to purposefully seek these connections out.

Now I am trying to be creative in how I am out in the world. I teach Qigong, an ancient energy practice for balance, focus, and flexibility, at Sanctuary Somatics. This studio is a hidden gem at the south end of Main Street Gunnison. It is one of the most beautiful spaces to teach in the whole valley and I meet wonderful people there in my classes. Teaching and practicing in community helps satisfy the sense of connection that I crave. Being part of a community that uses movement for physical, spiritual, and mental well being feels powerful.

This past summer exemplified how rewarding it is to get out of my cave. One hot summer evening in July, I went on the Resiliency Project’s Music Cruise. I rode with dozens of other bicyclists behind the Fuerza Cora Brasil Musical while they serenaded the citizens of Gunnison on a looping journey that led from Jorgenson to IOOF Park. Six women on horseback (muleback actually) joined the music/bike parade. I got to feed a baby goat a bottle, dance in a conga line, and greet people at the Senior Center who lined up in the shade to hear the mobile concert as it paused for a few songs just for them. We threaded through parts of Gunnison that I didn’t know existed.

The Music Cruise was dreamed up in the days of Covid and may have been the most genius idea to come out of that strange time. I love that the cruise still happens. That night captured what is best about the Gunnison Valley: resilience, diversity, gathering around music, bikes, sitting on a sunny porch, and dancing. Oh and tootsie rolls thrown around to everyone by Maryo. When I saw the diversity of people twirling, laughing, and singing, I realized I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I could say my one Spanish phrase over and over and really mean it. En gusto en verte. It’s good to see you. It’s good to see you. It was such a delicious night of cloud, sun, and still air. Our bicycle tires were impossibly close. How did we not collide? Maybe it was because everything was slooowed waaay down. We eased down the streets taking in the lovingly tended yards, the wild vacant lots, the broken windows, the sunny stoops, the postage stamp gardens, the lolling dogs, the cavorting kids, the waving grandmas. It was a profound slice of Gunny life.

Other meaningful experiences stand out in my memory. I got to square dance at the Pavilion Dance Series (a sober friendly event hosted by GCSAPP, GRASP and others). I two-stepped around the Almont Pavillion in a space that encouraged ridiculous fun for all ages. On another meaningful evening, I got to be a part of a Round Table Round Up BBQ at Sanctuary Somatics. Key community connectors from diverse groups within the Valley came together to meet, share food, hear each other’s stories, learn from each other’s perspectives, and discuss how we can make life better in the valley.

First Friday is always worth coming out for. I heard Bonnie absolutely killin it on her ukelele with her band Tiger Electric at Blue Mesa Music. After the First Friday festivities I wandered down to the Blue Thunder Circle ARTifactory of South Main Gunnison where I was spontaneously invited to decorate the Grump Boxes that will be set out to collect grievances. These boxes will be burned with the Grump as part of Vinotok. The Green Man was there and other people from CB South who I didn’t know. I was shy. I wanted to bolt. But I stayed. I made art with a fun community and I was glad.

This whole summer I was grateful to be surrounded by a ragtag group of friends, strangers, misfits, hippies, bikers, dogs, goats, tourists, and mules that all allowed each other to be who they are. It’s amazing to see what happens when you get people together around good food, good music, and movement.

Connection. It’s all about connection and our attempts to connect. The near misses, the spot ons, the beauty, the heartache, the doubt, the validation. It’s all about being brave, making an effort, getting out there, making eye contact, trying out new languages, making mistakes, recovering, and being kind.

When I look around and actively seek out the dances, bike rides, and community dinners that bring people together I have hope for our valley. I want to be part of what helps us thrive and see each other.

But that means I have to get out the door to do it. Yes, I get discouraged sometimes. Especially when I try to make the intersections in town safer. When I worked at Firebrand, I was staggered by the number of people that came in saying they almost got run over in the crosswalk. I’ve been to meeting after meeting and nothing gets better in that regard. This causes me to despair and want to give up. And when there is despair and exhaustion, I remind myself to look around. There is always the glimmer of something reaffirming and worthwhile. Something worthy of attention. Something that could be lost. Something slipping through our fingers unnoticed. And yet we can recapture the beauty in the moment if we just pay attention with a sense of curiosity, wonder and appreciation. The flower. The pink cloud. The handmade dress. A kid with an ice cream cone. Someone kindly and patiently teaching me how to waltz.

So I try to pace myself. I fight little battles here and there. I open my senses to the delight of experiences like music cruises, community dinners, and dances. I teach an ancient art in a beautiful studio where I share good energy with others. The thing is, I could have easily hid out in Gunny as a hermit for the rest of my life. Instead, the customers of Firebrand opened my eyes to the gift of putting myself out there, asking questions, and enjoying the micro-moments of connecting with loved ones and strangers in meaningful ways. I hope to inspire you to get out of your cave. Be brave. You will be rewarded over and over for your courage. Prepare to learn deeply from your successes and failures. It’s hard to get out of our cave, but you already know that it is almost always worth it. I challenge you. try throwing yourself out there in the world. See what can come of it. The ripples of goodness go out farther than you can
possibly imagine.