Up in Smoke

The Balcoses, dealing with insurance issues and other red tape, did not put the property up for sale until the end of June. The asking price was about $1.5 million. Meantime, family members made frequent trips to the site. Early one morning a few days after the fire, Eric dropped his wife, Hope, off at work, then decided to drive past the lot. To his surprise, Edwin’s car was parked in front of it. “He was shoveling snow,” Eric said months later. “It was still dark out, he was shoveling snow, and he was bawling. I thought he’d lost it. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he wanted to rescue Dad’s NordicTrak from the rubble. I said, ‘Dude, the NordicTrak is gone’—and then we both stood there in the dark and cried.”

Ethan, in North Carolina, visited often via what he described as extremely vivid dreams. In many of the dreams, the house was still there. One night, he dreamed that he and his family had somehow been able to move back in after the fire, but then the house began to burn again. “I guess it’s like dreaming about somebody after a death,” he said.

In May, he returned in the flesh for the second time (he had come home at Christmas), and everyday for two weeks he returned, often in the company of siblings and in-laws, and executed a painstaking salvage effort of his own. Ever since he had been a kid, he had been the family gardener, with primary responsibility for the creation and care of the large beds of perennials and other flora that surrounded the house. After the fire, there was nothing left of the gardens adjacent to the house, but there was plenty in what was once the backyard and the beds that he had planted along Sheridan. Hosta had been one of Ethan’s favorites—huge blue varieties such as Elegans, Frances Williams, and Halcyon—and there were “tons” of peonies, dahlias, day lilies, and other plants as well. In two weeks, he and his helpers moved hundreds of the plants to his parents’ town home and the yards of siblings, friends, and neighbors. After digging out the last of the salvageable plants, he sat in the dirt and sobbed.

In early July, Bill and Michelle Pohlad purchased the houseless property from the Balcoses. Pohlad, best known beyond West Isles as one of Carl’s sons and the producer of Brokeback Mountain, is popular with the neighbors and, by several accounts, a happy choice for the property’s ownership. “You could almost hear the sighs of relief,” said a real estate broker familiar with the area. “Everybody knows the Pohlads will put up something nice.”  

A few days before the sale was completed, Eileen called her siblings. The family had always been close, but since the fire they had grown closer. For several weeks immediately afterward, all the siblings but Ethan gathered daily to commiserate, divvy up the insurance paperwork and other obligations, and simply “be together.” Now, on the second weekend in July, Eileen organized a picnic on the empty lot above West Isles Parkway. Not surprisingly, everybody showed up. Even Ophelia, who hadn’t been back to the site since Thanksgiving, was there, “just,” as she put it, “to say goodbye.”

The site was mostly dirt, with patches of grass still visible, a few bits of charred wood here and there, some damaged trees and shrubs, and the flagpole on which the family sometimes raised the colors of the Philippines, leading passersby to wonder if the big structure was an embassy. Nevertheless, the family made the most of the occasion. They sat on blankets and lawn chairs, ate sandwiches, and took pictures. Neighbors stopped by and said hello.

It was a warm, dry day. The sun was shining. And the view, as always, was beautiful.