I
found myself building my first home in Breckenridge,
Colorado. At 10,170 feet above sea level, this mountain
community is the highest of the high towns along the
Continental Divide. Breckenridge is smaller than Aspen,
and its friendly residents give it more of a small-town
feeling. Breckenridge, Keystone, Arapahoe and Copper
Mountain ski areas are all close by. The Continental
Divide wraps around two sides of Summit County. The whole
county is made up of mountains and valleys. Three of the
four highways entering it go over major Colorado passes.
Since Summit County is home for four ski resorts and close
to Denver, it achieved the status for being the fastest
growing county in the U.S., at one time.
I
had a very tight construction budget and had allocated
nothing for delays, cost overruns or my living expenses
during construction. I worked many long nights to meet
critical deadlines. Transporting rental equipment and
supplies during the night saved precious daylight for
actual work.
At
first, I put up an old army surplus tent and settled in
with my sleeping bag. I bought a microwave oven for
heating up quick meals, such as hot dogs or cans of soup
along with warmed, buttered french bread. Breakfast was
usually just a fast bowl of cold cereal.
A
number of fall snowstorms prevented me from completing the
roof, so the house couldn't be "dried-in" until
the end of October. In the meantime, I finished sheathing
the exterior even though the doors and windows hadn't been
installed yet. All the rough-in plumbing and some
fixtures, such as the fiberglass shower stall, were
installed. I moved out of my tent into a small, unfinished
room in the basement, wrapped in plastic sheeting. I
worked long hours, seven days a week, surviving without
modern facilities. A hose supplied my running water; a
hole in my back yard served as a toilet, and a tiny,
ineffective electric heater provided my only warmth.
Colorado
River, Eagle County, 1969; from
Tracking The Snowshoe Itenerant.
Only
a glint of light came from the starry night. A single bare
bulb glowed within the house. The studs looked like bones
of a skeleton through the translucent styrofoam sheathing.
The cold stars glistened down from above. The house
appeared all alone in the dark woods, but that night, Beth
came up from Denver. She and my daughter, Melissa, were
living in Denver until I finished the house. Beth made me
aware of the personal proprieties I'd neglected -- I
needed a bath in the worst possible way. I granted her
this request, but she was confused as to how I would
fulfill the task.
"I
don't understand how that's going to be possible,"
Beth said. My wife perceived the shower working only after
the house has been finished.
"Let
me explain. Since we just test the supply lines, water's
available throughout the system, including the bathtub.
The well pump has been running off an extension cord. The
drain lines have been all hooked up and ready for some
time. Now, by back feeding this temporary power line into
our electrical panel, we can get electricity throughout
the house."
"If
you can get power through that little wire, why does the
power company want to use those great big lines?"
"We're
only using a little power, not as much as the total house
demand. The house's electrical distribution system can
provide power anywhere we need it for minimal use. That
should turn on the electric outlets I set up in the
bedroom." I threw the switch to turn on the
electricity. "Now let's see if the hot water tank
works." I threw a second switch. Only time would tell
if the water was heating.
"It
just seems strange to me to be taking a bath in an
unfinished house," Beth said somewhat skeptically.
"If
I can sleep in an unfinished house, why can't I take a
shower in one?"
"The
doors and windows aren't in yet. The framing's bare -- you
can see through the walls. The temperature is below zero.
It's almost like being outside."
Shrugging
my shoulders as I answered. "I need a shower."
"You're
crazy."
"Didn't
you say something about me being unfit to socialize with
humanity?"
"After
a shower at this temperature you may not be able to."
"Don't
worry, just give me a hand."
The
bath and the bedroom were at opposite ends of the bare
studded hall. The path needed preparation. We used scrap
pieces of cardboard to cover the concrete floor,
protecting my soon to be bare feet from the cold. Beth
moved the light to get the shower out of shadow. Every few
minutes I tested the water and finally reported,
"It's getting warm!"
"You
mean it's working?"
"Come
on! Did you ever doubt it would work?"
"Everything's
working. It's as if the house were coming alive."
"Well,
if it is alive, it must be from my last three months of
CPR."
"No
wonder you haven't had a bath for such a long time."
"It's
hot now. I went back to the plastic room and prepared for
my bath. I loosened my boots and then pulled them off. No
one would have believed that they were only three months
old. They had heavy Vigram soles, and had been advertised
as "the last pair you'll need to buy," but the
mountain's forces had destroyed them. The tread was
heavily worn, the surface scuffed and torn, and
dirt-colored socks showed through the holes. The front of
the left sole had already begun to separate. I started
taking off my socks. It was obvious from their appearance
that they hadn't been off my feet for a long time.
"Whew
-- maybe I should burn the remains," remarked Beth.
The
well-used, torn and faded Levis settled to the floor with
a puff of dust. Finally, I revealed my last line of
defense against the cold ... a dull white pair of long
underwear.
"Gee,
I can't even remember when I put these things on."
"Maybe
they won't come off."
"Maybe
I should keep these on until the last moment. Ah well,
what the hell." I took off the last layer, exposing
pale white skin, evidence of how long I had hidden under
layers of clothing. I put on my jacket (the same one I'd
bought my freshman year at CU) for the cold journey to the
bath.
"Turn
on the shower," sounding as if this were my last
request. We could hear the water running through the
copper lines. Steam started rising from the shadows of the
bathroom.
"It's
ready." Beth's words required a response.
I
left the door of my plastic room like a horse out of the
starting gate, running down the short hall and into the
bath. I paused just long enough to take off my jacket
before getting into the shower. Even this brief exposure
to cold air was enough to make me start to shake all over.
Desperately, I climbed into the steaming stall. "Ah,
ah. Ummm-warmmm! This feels so good."
I
turned constantly to stay warm. One side was bathed in
warmth, while the opposite one faced the cold. My thoughts
began to trace the miracle of my bath. A complete
understanding of the total system began to reveal itself
in the shower as a truly deep relationship. I'd dug each
trench, soldered every pipe, and run all the wires to make
it work. Visions of the water coming up from the 150 foot
well, through its entire course to the shower head, were
as clear to me as the water itself. My soul flowed through
every bend in the pipe as if it were an essential part of
the system. Simultaneously, I sensed the electrical pulse
surging through the lines. Yet, there was more than merely
understanding the mechanics of a house. I felt as if I
were living through the functions of my new creation. My
home represented a junction of nature's gifts and modern
technology. I had manipulated nature with man's ingenuity
to fulfill a personal pleasure...a warm bath.
Until
this point, my immediate needs for warmth were satisfied
by turning, so that no part of my body stayed out of the
warm water for too long. As the time went by, I increased
the flow of hot water as its heat dissipated. But finally,
the warmth began to wane...the hot water came to an end,
only warm water remained. A serious problem of exiting
presented itself, but I desperately clung onto any
remaining warmth. As the water turned lukewarm, reality
could no longer be ignored. The situation seemed to amuse
Beth. "Well smarty, I'd sure like to see you get out
of this."
"Hand
me my towel!" Very carefully, I dried half of my
body, while the water kept the other half from freezing.
Then I turned the water off, hastily dried my back side
and ran for my plastic room. "It's hard on my body's
nervous system, being surrounded by warmth one minute and
then shocked by the cold the next."
Beth
couldn't help but to needle me a little. "Well, guess
we all have to pay for our little pleasures in life."
"I
don't mind paying a little...it's freezing that bothers
me." But after a few minutes in my sleeping bag,
complacency replaced my shivering.
Up
the Swan Near Breckenridge, 1985.
I
slept well, deaf to the sounds of the night, at long last
clean and comfortable. At 6 a.m., I awoke with a cold
chill, suddenly realizing I'd made a serious mistake.
"No, this can't be happening to me. The whole damn
system must be frozen. This has to be some kind of bad
dream."
Beth,
half awake, couldn't understand my mumblings. "What's
the matter?"
"I
think I forgot to drain the water out of the lines after
my shower last night. I gotta check it out." The
immediacy of the moment left me with little time or desire
to search for clean clothes. In front of my bed lay my old
filthy rags. The damp long johns and the stiff brown socks
went over warm clean skin, and the round stinky areas
under the armpits rapidly found their old position. Dust
flew as I covered the under layers with my old tattered
blue jeans and worn ski parka. I jammed my feet back in
their form fitting leather boots without bothering to tie
the laces and stomped out the door in search of freeze
damage.
Beth
began to wake up and sensed my concerned. "Are they
all right?"
"They're
froze, frozen solid."
"Can
they be fixed?"
"Yeah,
I think so."
"How
long will it take to fix them?"
I
came back in our bedroom to answer her. "Fixing them
won't take long, but they have to be thawed and dried out
before starting. Hell, that could be awhile. The house
needs to be closed in and heated first. That bath sure
cost a hell of a lot!"
I
sat down on my cot and poured a bowl of cereal for
breakfast. Rather than dwell on my mistake, I began making
a plan of action to solve the problem and get on with my
project. The house had to be closed in. I started with the
downstairs windows.
Usually,
I worked 14 hours a day, through the night into the early
morning. But after I installed the cast-iron stove, work
slowed down at night. It functioned as a heater, scrap
disposer, cooking stove, a pleasant diversion and source
of entertainment. The joy and warmth offered by that
fireplace hasn't been forgotten to this day. Steadily the
house progressed until it was finished, just after the
first of the year.
Peak
8, Breckenridge
At
last, we had our very own home in the mountains. We were
about a mile outside the town limits on a hillside facing
the ski area. I constantly shoveled snow out of our
driveway, pulled cars back on the road, and worked outside
in minus twenty degrees Fahrenheit weather, but the beauty
and uniqueness of living among the high, majestic,
snow-covered mountains exhilarated and rejuvenated my
spirit. However, the long winter still took its toll when
the snow just kept falling, even when the calendar said
spring had arrived. That winter, I spent Sundays sitting
by a warm fire or printing images from the previous summer
in the darkroom.
Breckenridge
had little for families to do. There was a bowling alley,
but it was dismantled shortly after we moved in. There
were hardly any houses in our neighborhood, much less
other children for my daughter to play with. My wife took
Melissa down to the preschool so she could make friends
with other children. I got Melissa out on skis just before
her third birthday, but even though I took her skiing
several times, hoping she'd get involved, she didn't get
interested until she was in high school. If you're not
into skiing and live in Breckenridge, there's not much to
do during the winter.
I
remember our first Halloween in Breckenridge. Beth made a
little leopard outfit for Melissa and I got a great big
bag of candy for the trick-or-treaters we expected. It was
about 10 degrees outside, but there was no snow on the
ground. I was excited as I prodded Melissa to knock on the
first door. A couple of young fellows lived there and the
one answering door said something like, "Gosh, ya
mean it's Halloween? I plum forgot about it." My
excitement, and Melissa's, began to fade when we left
house after house without any treats. I thought to myself
that the few parents who'd gone out with their kids should
get together for a little mischief, just to teach those
treat-less folks a lesson.
Later,
we had a son, and as he grew up, there were more families
and neighbors with children for him to play with. In the
early '80s, Halloween was just about as normal as it was
in any other city in the United States. We went to the
movies after a new theater was built. The kids would go
skiing with us if we insisted. Melissa got into reading
books and insisted that I read them, too. She felt so
strongly about it that she read me six books out loud.
Beth spent a lot of time up at the health club playing
racquetball or skiing.
There
was always a lot of partying going on. Unfortunately,
families weren't offered the number of social activities
that were available at the local bars. Those interested in
partying could go to Fatty's Golf Tournament, The Pub
Crawl, and of course Uhlr Fest. In contrast, we attended
most of the school functions and numerous local parades.
Once a year, the county fair presented a wide variety of
activities. I took several classes at the local Colorado
Mountain College to get out one night during a week. A lot
of our friends were also involved in the Red, White and
Blue volunteer fire fighters and the Summit County Rescue.
In
summer, we went on lots of picnics. We even fixed up a
place near the stream in front of our house. The kids
always liked dirt-biking with me, and we explored many old
mines. Sometimes, they went along with me to take
pictures. Melissa was a cooperative subject and Griff
always wanted to go to ghost towns. There was an infinite
maze of trails to explore and the summer was never long
enough.
The
memories of the beautiful times during the summers and
falls inspired us to survive the winters. One of my
favorite memories was of a family hike up Mount Baldy.
While stretched out on the rocks looking out over the
entire county, we ate sandwiches, trail mix and diet
Cokes. Beth, Melissa and I soaked up the incredible
panorama and the last of the summer sun. From our
rock-covered vantage point, we could see over the valleys
below. There were no hassles or problems here. Exploring
above timberline on a beautiful warm day allowed the
serenity from the land below to enrich our souls and
remind us why we lived in this beautiful place. Reaching
the peak that we saw out our living room window added a
new perspective to our world. Being together with my
family made all the toil and struggle to live in this
rugged life worthwhile. My daughter had spent much of her
life in the mountains and this environment formed part of
her strong character. She had grown into a fine woman. We
could always count on nature's beauty to refuel us. We put
memories of those power days away for storage to offset
the long winter's bitter cold. We drew upon the good times
to revive our spirits when the going got tough.
One
summer day when Griff was seven years old, we hiked for
ten miles, much of it off trails. We saw country so
magnificent that the memory of its beauty still gives me
pleasure today. All the way up the valley, we explored
deep pools and spotted numerous large trout feeding in the
clear waters. Griff threw coconut flakes in the streams
and the trout snapped it up. Tired when we finally reached
the head of the valley, we relaxed as we ate our lunch in
the sun and watched the trout in the crystal-clear
streams. On the way back we were exhausted. But Griff
never complained, and just kept going in spite of the
blisters on his feet. The mountains had guided him along
the path to becoming a man.
That
fall our family strolled through Breckenridge's Valley
Brook Cemetery. We came across a grave that read:
"James (Jack) Barr/1947-69." What! Could it be?
I couldn't believe my eyes. This was the grave of my old
friend who'd first to introduced me to skiing. I had never
known he had been buried here. He'd been here with me all
along. I was sad about the loss of my good friend, but
found solace in having him here with me in the most
beautiful place on earth.
