Vicki Rose and her husband scrambled to gather a lifetime of belongings as one of the most destructive wildfires in state history came knocking on their door.

They had 30 minutes to collect everything they could from their home in Rye on June 29 before the Aspen Acres fire made it unsafe to stick around.

“It’s a fear that is almost indescribable. You know that there’s a potential to lose everything you’ve ever worked for, and you have to make split-second decisions on what goes and what stays,” said Rose, 62.

In a panicked frenzy, the two wrangled their cats and dogs, got other things for their pets, packed clothes and then fled from a home they’ve lived in for about 11 years. They left behind a house full of memories and essentials, including their “important box” — filled with passports and other critical items.

Almost three weeks later, Rose and 3,060 other evacuees, largely Rye residents, have not been allowed back home, even as thousands of others have been granted reentry.

Located on the south side of a raging inferno that has scorched over 100,000 acres and destroyed hundreds of homes, Rye is one of the few towns that remain under evacuation status because of its proximity to spot fires in an area firefighters call the chicken foot.

Helicopters have doused the flames in that area for days, fire officials said Thursday. While the blaze is over the halfway mark for containment, fire lines along the chicken foot have yet to be secured, though Operations Section Chief Ben Wagner said during a Saturday morning briefing that is a “top priority.”

According to Rose, most evacuees’ days are spent on their phones as they navigate a timeline that seems indefinite.

“Our day is consumed with (the) Watch Duty (fire monitoring app). Everybody’s glued to their phone, waiting for the next update — for a piece of good news,” she said. “We grasp at every little piece of aerial work that’s done or every helicopter that dumps a bucket of water.”

Located on Greenhorn Mountain, Rose’s neighborhood borders the edge of the chicken foot.

As resources and funds dry out, her neighbors have had to split up. Rose said community members stuck together as long as possible, but people have had to find their own ways to survive.

“People are living in cars with their animals because they can’t find a hotel that’ll take their entire tribe, or they can’t afford the Airbnb. We’re three weeks out now. People are financially exhausted just paying for a roof over their head,” Rose said.

Many of them, she said, also don’t have home insurance after their companies dropped them or raised their rates.

Rose and her husband used State Farm for a long time, never filing a claim or missing a mortgage payment. Like others, they got a letter in the mail one day that they had been dropped.

They tried a lesser-known carrier, but the company tripled their rates, causing them to enroll in a mortgage-placed insurance, which she said only protects the lender’s interest in the home.

Across Colorado, wildfire risk is driving up insurance costs for homeowners, according to a 2025 report by Colorado State University’s Regional Economic Development Institute. The report ranks the state as the sixth-costliest state for homeowners’ insurance in the country.

Insurance companies have also dropped coverage and raised prices in other states like California, where wildfires have ravaged rural towns like Paradise, according to a report from ABC.

Rose is staying with her son in Colorado Springs until she is allowed to return to Rye.

The last time she saw her home was Wednesday, when she made a run up the mountain to feed her horses. While her house was still standing and firefighters had clearly made efforts to protect homes in the community, that feeling of not knowing still eats at her from the inside out.

“We got to see all of our (neighboring communities) go home,” Rose said. “While we’re relieved for them and sad for the ones that lost their homes, we’re still in that state of limbo. That’s almost worse than having a resolution either way.”