The cookoff is held at the Lake House, which sits on Evergreen Lake, the centerpiece of our village. In winter, the lake offers outdoor ice-skating and hot cocoa. It gets quite a bit of use by Denverites who come up for the day, and it provides the local adolescents with a kind of Mall al fresco since there really aren't many places for teens to congregate in Evergreen. A big alcohol-free party called Skate the Lake brings out most of the town for New Year's Eve. In summer, the lake offers paddle-boating, canoeing, fishing, free weekly concerts on the lawn, and a lovely backdrop for summer weddings and such. A walking trail and boardwalk circle the lake, and Cafe de Lucca, my favorite coffee shop, sits nearby.
September is when the aspen leaves turn their brilliant yellow in the high country, and often the first snow arrives. (This week, however, was in the 80's and tinderbox dry.) The elk begin their annual indelicate courtship ritual. Their bugling and shenanigans wake us at night. They are not discrete. So when we say there are ruts in the road, we ain't talkin' potholes. Yesterday a huge bull elk and his harem snarled traffic near the library. Today I took a very distant photo of the strapping lad (and his massive rack) resting in the shade on the golf course as we walked toward the lake for the Chili cook-off. When I walked back a couple of hours later, he was busy rounding up his small assortment of eligible ladies du jour. I snapped another photo or two (from a very safe distance) but grew increasingly less comfortable as he focused his gaze on me and two golfers who had stopped to admire him. He began to move toward us with purpose, even though his love interests had moved off in the opposite direction. It doesn't take these stately creatures, high on testosterone, long to cover quite a bit of turf in short order with a few strides, and before we knew it, the golfers and I were backing away, nonchalantly pretending we were minding our own business, while locating large objects behind which we could disappear. Not once, but twice we retreated. It was abundantly clear that this large fellow was telling the three of us, in no uncertain terms, that the fifteenth hole was his territory today. The photos on the side-bar don't begin to convey his presence.
By now you city folk are surely thinking I'm spinning yarns about this place, but check out the next surprise. Yesteray, 1:20 in the afternoon, in the same roadside ditch near town where Karen and I sat among the elk, a big fat mamma bear and two half-grown cubs wallowed. By the time I turned the car around and got the camera ready they had started to distance themselves from the attention they were attracting, but fortunately I got a parting shot. With the camera, that is.
At the construction site, the workers are really rippin' on the house now. The framing and exterior OSB is all up, the roof has been tar-papered. The earthwork and retaining walls are complete. The basement floor is poured over the radiant loops. Plumbing and wiring is being woven through the framing. The windows were installed Tuesday, and as soon as we can get a garage door selected, we will have a sealed envelope. It's looking phenomenal. When I visit the site I feel something strange, compelling, stirring. It is truly hard for me to leave.
A word about the subcontractors. I enjoyed getting to meet most of them this week. For the most part, they are a rag-tag bunch of weathered mountain men. As we had hoped, Bob's history with the local building trades is paying off. His subs are true craftsmen. Their attention to detail and professionalism is evident throughout.
