Lori Vina-Guelich and her daughter, Olivia, arrived at 2:30, sharp.

“I think this is where we’re supposed to be,” said Lori, scanning Buchanan Recreation Center’s little-used Bergen Parkway access road in both directions. There was nobody in sight, unless she wanted to count the small clutch of ducks parked on Buchanan’s lower pond. “Maybe we’re early.”

Actually, she and 13-year-old Olivia were right on time. They’d come to Buchanan on the afternoon of Saturday, Dec. 6, to welcome a young man they’d never met back from a place they’d likely never see.

“We enjoy peace and beauty in Evergreen, and there’s not too much to worry about,” Lori observed. “Our soldiers are going through things I can’t even imagine. When I saw this posted online, we wanted to turn out.”

It was a small post, easily lost among the electronic chatter flashing across the Evergreen Colorado Neighbors & Friends Facebook page on a given day. A simple inquiry into the hows, whens and whys of decorating the “Welcome to Evergreen” sign near El Rancho in honor of Army Specialist Michael Berna, recently returned from Afghanistan’s plains.

“I sort of looked into what the military does over there, and what it’s like for them,” Olivia said, thoughtfully. “If I ever came home from someplace like that, I think a bunch of random people waiting for me would make me feel good.”

 

 

 

 

On Feb. 1 of this year, SPC Michael Berna had been 21 years old for less than 24 hours when his unit deployed to the East. Attached to Apache Troop 1-75 of the 101^st Airborne Division, Michael served as an Army Cavalry Scout out of sprawling Bagram Airfield, the United States’ largest military installation in Afghanistan and the physical linchpin of Western policy in that fractured nation. He often worked 18 hours a day, 12 of them surrounded by the armored bulkheads of a comfortless MRAP (mine-resistant ambush protected) vehicle. His job was to protect the base from the seldom-seen, but always lethal threats that lay just below every horizon, and to escort emissaries beyond those horizons and into the dark heart of Indian Country.

For nine long months Michael served his nation under arms, and for nine long months his mom, Judy, his dad, Jeff, his big-sister, Meredith, and his two little-brothers, Isaac and Sam, blessed his studiously blasé online correspondence and anxiously ticked off the days of his tour. On Nov. 1 of this year, Michael arrived stateside and started decompressing at a base in Kentucky. He was scheduled for leave in early December, and his mom went online to explore the possibility of a small, but heartfelt welcome.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What a nice thing to do, especially during the Holidays,” said Debbie Kelb, who showed up at 2:40 with her Bichon Shih Tzu, Sidney, at her side and neighborly empathy in her heart. “I’m happy for the opportunity to welcome one soldier home from service. All it costs is a little time.”

The crowd expanded exponentially at 2:45. The main formation had been mustering inside the recreation center and suddenly poured out in a merry march down to Bergen Parkway. By 2:50 both sides of the road were a riot of flags and balloons. Chris Adamowski rushed down from the recreation center pool, dripping wet and clad only in a bathing suit, flip-flops and a red-white-and-blue towel.

“I didn’t want to miss it,” Chris shivered. “Michael’s the man.”

See, Judy’s little post didn’t get lost in the online shuffle. It got noticed, and remarked, and passed along and around, and pretty soon her modest plan for a welcome-home banner out by the highway had grown into grass-roots happening. Call it the power of the Internet, call it a spontaneous burst of patriotism, call it the better angels of our natures, but Michael’s semi-intimate “Howdy” was fast becoming a rousing “Huzzah!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not sure which car they should cheer, the assembled well-wishers hooted and hollered at most that passed by. Not sure what all the hullabaloo was about, most drivers jumped right into the spirit of the occasion anyway, honking and waving and clearly enjoying the spectacle. Standing on the shoulder with his tow-headed young son, Colby Corrin had come to celebrate the return of a brother in arms.

“I just finished 30 years in the Marines,” he explained. Colby spent the first 23 of those years with the British Royal Marines and the last seven as a commander in the U.S. Marines. He spent most of them in sketchy vacation destinations like Haiti, Sierra Leone and, yes, Afghanistan. Like most of the folks around him, Colby didn’t know Michael at all, but he knew very well what it means to finish a dangerous tour in one piece. “It’s nice when they come home,” he said, simply.

It was just after 3 o’clock when the Berna family – all of them, together – drove slowly past in a big brown Suburban. Michael smiled from the back seat, shading his eyes against the westering winter sun and plainly astonished at the view. A joyful spate of noise broke out, and a furious flurry of activity, and then the moment disappeared up the road and it was quiet again.

The moment reconvened a few minutes later in the Buchanan multi-purpose rooms, which had been united to host a reception, of sorts. It wasn’t a particularly fancy affair, but it was an entirely welcoming one. There were snacks, and drinks, and somebody put up a crock pot full of meatballs. There was information about Michael’s service, and face-painting for the kids. Evergreen sisters Caitlin and Sidney Powell – “Facing West” to their growing legion of fans – provided a perfect soundtrack in two-part harmony. The Bernas didn’t make any big speeches, and nobody asked for one.

“Thank you all for coming,” is most of what Judy said. “Have a good time.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

By 3:30 the party was well underway, and it was good. Emissaries from local Boy Scout Troop 1776 and Cub Scout Pack 119 turned up to show solidarity with a fellow man in uniform. The way 11-year-old Steuart Richardson saw it, he and Michael are on kindred missions.

“We’re taught to take care of our neighbors, and that’s kind of what the Army does,” Steuart pointed out, persuasively. “Before we came here we were ringing bells for the Salvation Army.”

A table was provided, along with paper and pens, for any who wished to welcome Michael in a more permanent way. Rocking a totally awesome bat-mask he got from the face-painter, little Oliver Harmon bounced up to the table and started marshaling his letters. Trouble was, little Oliver had never composed a welcome-back-soldier note before and he wasn’t clear on the proper form. Showing commendable initiative, he grabbed the nearest already-written message and began painstakingly transposing it onto his own clean sheet.

“I thank you for your service!” he wrote. “Oliver”.

His mom, Rachel, stood by as he labored, offering only encouragement and letting her son work out the finer points of plagiarism all by his lonesome.

“I thought it would be a really positive thing to see,” said Rachel. “There’s a lot of negativity in the news. This looked like something happy. And it is!” she declared, a smile breaking across her face like her very own sunlight. “This is very happy thing!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Running the gauntlet of earnest well-wishers lining the sidewalk outside the recreation center, it can be said that Michael looked cool, amazingly fit, and a trifle apprehensive. Odd as it might sound, that calm and self-possessed young soldier who’d just spent the better part of a year playing cat-and-mouse with dangerous and determined enemies may have been slightly intimidated by the barrage of kindness directed at him from every side. Still, and to his very great credit, Michael repaid every kindness in kind.

He didn’t volunteer much, but he received every approach head-on, with a warm smile and a handshake, returned every thanks with genuine gratitude, and answered every question frankly, sincerely and with good grace. And, in a short while, Michael seemed to relax and accept all the unfamiliar attention in the generous spirit with which it was offered. He recalled the physical and emotional rigors of duty in Afghanistan.

“I thought about Evergreen every day,” Michael said. “I just wanted to come back here, grab my camping gear and go get lost in the mountains somewhere.”

He remembered coming home.

“We drove in at night, and you could only see the shadows of the mountains. It was so great to look out the window in the morning and see Evergreen.”

With more than a year to go on his hitch, he spelled out the program for the remainder of his leave.

“I have just under 30 days left. It’s the longest break I’ve had since I’ve been in. I’m just going to try to relax.”

And Michael reflected on his unexpected welcome, and on the gentle company that extended it.

“It’s strange,” he said, with vaguely perplexed shrug, “but it’s great to see how many people will turn out on a Saturday to make a stranger feel good.”