Moving Out

They say the average length of time people last in the Rocky Mountain Foothills is 3 years. Or more precisely, 3 winters. After that the cold, and the harsh driving conditions, and the distance from the city (and basic amenities) grinds most people down and they scurry off back to the comfort of Denver. We’ve lasted 6 winters so far so yay us. That said, if I didn’t have the luxury of working from home, I think the novelty of that commute would long since have worn off and more than likely, I’d at least be day-dreaming about living nearer to the office.

However, our feat of endurance pales in comparison with that of our friends Paul & Megan. Not only have they been in the mountains for 9 years, they’ve spent those in St. Mary’s Glacier, at around 11,000 feet (3,350 meters), which for those of you keeping track, is more than 2 miles above sea-level. And it’s an area infamous for its harsh winters. Summer comes late and leaves early in St. Mary’s Glacier and Paul, who does commute to Denver every day has long been used to rising at 5am and spending an hour or more clearing snow each morning, just to get out of his driveway. Life isn’t easy up there.

I had a chance to reflect on this on Saturday morning as I turned off I-70 near Idaho Springs and began the grinding climb up into the sky. The moment I left the freeway, the sunshine I’d enjoyed since leaving home disappeared behind the clouds. Soon after, rain began to fall and before long, this turned to snow. The good news was; I was making this trip for (probably) the last time. Because Paul and Megan finally decided to call it quits and head down the hill to the relatively tropical climate of Dumont, just off I-70.

When we moved into our house, our well ran out of water while we were still unpacking. With Paul and Megan, it was the other way round. Their water went out 2 days before the move. And their phone was disconnected. Oh, and their power was cut off 3 days early as well. Did I mention how cold it is up there right now? So by the time their assorted friends and relatives rolled up to assist with the move, nerves were more than a bit frayed and things were not running to schedule. Boxes were stacked everywhere, and the U-Haul was parked in the drive, but it was clear there was a ton of work to be done.

So we opened the cooler, sank a breakfast beer and caught up on the gossip. I would have been quite happy doing this all day, but that doesn’t get the baby’s bonnet bought now does it? We all had our assigned tasks and (eventually) fell to them with a will. Beep turned out to be an expert with the moving dolly and was soon trundling back and forth with ever larger pieces of furniture. Sean had a gift for packing the truck in the most efficient manner possible. 13-year old Alhana who had somehow managed to persuade a school friend to show up and help, was given the job of emptying the fridge (rather her than me; there was some seriously scary stuff in there). 5-year old Clara wandered around looking cute and getting in the way and very pregnant Lauren kept the couch warm until we had to move it. Paul, Patrick and I traipsed back and forth with boxes and assorted bits of furniture, grunting, swearing and despite the snow, sweating all the while.

Megan? She hyper-ventilated a lot and worried about the breakable stuff.

It’s amazing how much crap you can collect over the course of 9 years. I know; we left more stuff at our Phoenix house than Megan and Paul were taking with them, and yet, the truck began to fill at an alarming rate. Cars were pressed into service for the more fragile pieces but still it came. Reluctantly (yeah, right) we agreed the piano would have to wait for another day, along with a few other bits and pieces, so finally, the truck door was rolled down.

Of course, if you’ve ever moved house you’ll know that loading the truck is but just one step. All this stuff has to come back off at the other end. The good news was, the snow stopped and the temperature rose by 10 degrees F as we drove down the hill. Bad news was, the afternoon was wearing on and it gets dark early at this time of year. Oh, and we were all just about banjoed already.

But the new house is bright and roomy and for the moment, clean, without the maze of steps, and corners, sloping floors and low ceilings that had plagued us on the way out. That’s not entirely true, there were steps and lots of them but for the most part, they were wider than the ones we’d left behind giving a bit more room for maneuver. Unfortunately, this didn’t make the furniture any lighter. And curiously, all the really heavy stuff had to go to the top floor. I haven’t sworn this much since the last time I watched Scotland play football.

Darkness fell long before we were done and the last couple of thousand trips were done by instinct and muscle memory. My poor, weedy biceps were screaming for the last hour or so and on a couple of occasions I had to put down the load, take a breath then start over. But at long last the back of the truck appeared and with it, a bottle of wine stashed there earlier. We couldn’t find the corkscrew of course, which led to a discussion of the best way to break the neck of a wine bottle without leaving shards of glass in the vino, but finally we were all parked on the couch like so many boneless chickens and toasting our friends in their new home.

I’m going to have to go back again of course. In the dark I missed a large pottery vase sitting on the passenger side floor of my car. But I don’t mind really. Paul and Megan are good friends and I always enjoy their company.

Plus, I no longer have to traipse up that bloody hill. It’s all good.