The birds are loud in Colorado. I guess they know who rules the nippy air here. A handful of plump blue jays jet set through a burly oak tree. They’re like business men in suits with slicked-back hair and fancy dress ties dangling down their backs. They’re up early and at work on a weekend morning, much more industrious than playful. They nose dive to the ground and poke around at the acorns below. They seem aggressively focused for so early.
There’s walls of grape vines all around, full of ripe Concord grapes, but they don’t even seem to notice. A jolly auburn squirrel scales the fence and catches sight of me. He makes a hard left and takes the fence line all the way down past the vines. Again, no mind to the grapes. Maybe they’re all well fed and full on other things. Maybe they know the vinedresser here used to make wine for all the neighbors and have simply respected that tradition ever since. I forgive them for their hectic morning traffic in light of this, and attribute it to them being mindful in other ways.
Virginia Creeper adorns the lattice and an old carriage house and bricked stable out back. I can picture the horse and carriage parked after dropping a load of smokey coal into the basement’s furnace room. There’s a big opening on the side of the century-old miner’s cottage we’re tucked away in. No doubt where the coal was shoveled in from the outside.
I bet this houses could tell so many stories. The brass hinges supporting solid wood doors are as ornate as I’ve ever seen. I’d leave every door open just to admire them. The windows are the originals with wavy glass and eclectic latches. I am privy to such things.
There’s a bundle of fresh eucalyptus on top of the fridge. That’s what I smelled when I first walked in and instantly had a memory of my great aunt’s house in Allen Park, a suburb of Detroit. I think that’s ironic as I’m thinking of my second cousin who also lives here in Colorado, but still a good five hours from us in Golden.
The pines and evergreens remind me of up north. I will forever be nostalgic over the citrusy scent of pine. I rub needles between my fingers and breath in the scent of my childhood, here in a place I’ve never been to. The cold metal of door handles also brings me back. The aroma of cool weather is a very familiar smell to me.
We pub crawled to a few local breweries last night. Sampled some of Golden’s finest. Pretty sure the low rumble in the background is the Coor’s brewery. It’s quite a site to behold, surrounded by mountains. We saw a hay ride of tourists pulled through town for a beer run. They waved like they were in a pageant parade. It made me smile. Happy folks here.
There’s lows in the 40’s and highs in the 80’s this weekend. We’ll layer it on and take it off as the day moves along. There’s layers to a lot things, and I imagine we’ll peel those off, too. See what’s really going on inside the pregnant pause. I’m thankful for time and space, and real glad for it being shared. This is 40. Stay Golden.