I arrived at my friend Caroline’s as the Mountain Peace Forum is picking up furniture. It is the end of a chapter for my friend and neighbor. After years of being part of our Nederland neighborhood, she is leaving the mountains, and joining the legions of residents living on the plains. She is moving to one of those new build neighborhoods near Golden along Highway 93.
Her last rite of passage is donating their “mountain things” to charity and to friends and neighbors. I am fortunate enough to score a Thermarest that looks brand new and a pair of snow boots. Items that Caroline deems no longer necessary to her new life down on the plains. It’s a sad day — I’ve gotten to know she and her dogs well during the last several years. She is sad too, telling me that once they leave, she will never return to the old neighborhood, saying it will be too hard.
I think of her every time I drive down to Denver via Highway 93. I gaze upon the large houses, row upon row of them, their walls so close together, I imagine they can see each into each other’s bedrooms. I am sure they are amazing inside, offering turn key amenities that we will never have in our rustic log home. I imagine fancy new kitchens, gleaming with stainless steel appliances and granite counter tops, all to go along with hardwood floors gleaming from being installed just a short time ago.
But along with that comes with missing other things — the smell of pine and fir trees, the opportunity to take a slow, long walk with the dogs down a back country road, views of snow capped mountains as the setting sun turns them pink, the hush of new fallen snow on subalpine forest, and the sounds of silence.
Another friend of mine is considering joining these ranks. She misses her friends down below, and the wear and tear of mountain life has her contemplating something simpler, with less demands on her time.
What makes someone give up on life and the mountains and migrate to the cities or the plains below? The reasons seem to be many. Some just can’t take the harshness of the mountain winter, especially the hurricane-like winds that buffet the town during wintertime. Some get tired of the commute up and down Boulder Canyon day after day. Some yearn for more social opportunities, the ability to walk to restaurants, bars and coffee houses. Some want a brand new condo that offers no fuss, no muss.
All of this has led me to contemplate our own life here. The real estate market is hotter than it’s ever been — the value of our house has doubled since our purchase just seven years ago. We could make a lot of money by selling at the peak of the housing boom. But that leads to the inevitable question, where would we go?
I can’t imagine living anywhere else. From the day I walked in the door, this place has seemed like home to me in a way that nowhere else I’ve lived ever felt. I feel a sense of calm when I pull in and gaze upon our little log home. I feel a sense of wonder every time I look up in the sky at night to see stars winking back at me. I feel a sense of contentment, sitting on a rock along North Boulder Creek, listening to the water burble and gush at my feet. I feel a sense of coziness and comfort cuddled up on the couch next to a roaring fire. I feel a sense of awe every time I encounter a moose or elk in our neighborhood.
And I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
