The heart of our mountain home is centered in the Great Room. Deep chairs to sink into next to the hearth, floor to ceiling windows overlooking Silver Creek and Mt. Evans in the distance, and, at the opposite end, the dining nook overlooking the creek just yards away. Everything in this room speaks to being centered in oneself, in nature, and in the Other. Many evenings we’ve lingered over dinner, reliving what we saw on our hike that day, until finally we adjourned to the big chairs with that last glass of wine, not quite ready for the evening to end
The master bedroom overlooks a clearing surrounded by spruce and pine, and many months of the year it is washed in the sound of the rushing creek just outside the window. In the depth of winter, snow drifts cover the stream bank, silencing the sounds of water over stone. But even then I’ll still crack open the window just to better hear the wind as it blows through the tree tops. (And often surprised to awaken to the kiss of snowflakes on my cheek.)
Our second bedroom has two photographs that echo each other…one of a pier stretching out into a calm lake, and the other of moored rowboats that remind me of nothing more than old friends standing at a bar, telling and retelling the same stories that have always anchored their friendships. For often, you see, our home is shared by two couples, coming together from time to time to bond over the challenges we all face – raising families, handling a difficult job, taking care of aging parents. And perhaps you will notice that when you change the physical place of where you are, as you discuss these life events, your mind will open up to new perspectives, new solutions. And so we think of our mountain home as a kind of retreat, as a place where you can go into yourself, and stretch your sense of what is possible.
What can you say about a TV room? Well, a room with not just a TV, but books on nature and arctic exploration, on how to survive alone in the woods, biographies and memoirs, the crime thriller that no vacation should be without. We’ve got plenty of the silly board games that many of us played as kids; a comfy leather couch that won’t mind the occasional spill when you get a bit overexcited at a bad call the ref just made. And of course, windows, always windows…open to the creek, open to the stream banks below the house…open to all the choices that are spread out before you.
I can’t look at our loft without thinking that lofts were created for kids – a house’s version of a bunk bed. Little ears perch above it all, trying so very hard to catch every word from downstairs, fighting off sleep, not wanting the day to end. With Engelmann Spruce normally towering above you, suddenly you are in the tree tops. There is as much magic in that as any Harry Potter book, if you just add a touch of imagination…something our children tend to have an abundance of, something that we adults should call on more often. So our loft will be inviting…to your kids, or the kid in you.
Let’s be honest here…our kitchen is a ‘one butt’ kitchen. But that chef’s butt will find the highest quality pots, pans and knives, and a full complement of things you really don’t want to have to buy or haul from Denver – olive oil, balsamic vinegar, spices and condiments. The rest is up to you! (Oh, and we do have a couple of stools overlooking the bar side of the counter – chefs are really at their best when they can kibbutz while they work!)
So, that’s the grand tour. And as with most things, we feel that success is in the details…the rustic pillows, the soft throws to wrap up in, soft lighting, comfortable ‘at home’ chairs you can sink into – and of course all the grand details that Mother Nature herself provides – the starlit night, the swirl of a rainbow trout hitting the surface of the trout pool, the drama of a winter storm coming in over the Glacier. So take a deep breath…and enjoy.