Summer Love

To anyone who has ever felt summer love,

During my first week at camp this summer, I overheard a realtor mention a piece of land about to go on the market--two beautiful acres adjoining the camp. The current owner was a master gardener who had planted wildflowers, sprayed the pine trees for mistletoe and started clearing the land for a house. There were young aspen groves, a rare loan limber pine and views of Mt. Columbia, Mt. Yale and the Buffalo Peaks Wilderness. The price seemed reasonable; my curiosity was piqued. The realtor said she’d email me a flyer. Later in the day, I decided to drive into town for some ice cream. However, I found myself turning the car in the opposite direction and began to explore “Game Trail” looking for the lot. I didn’t have the address and couldn’t find the “For Sale” sign, but I enjoyed seeing the diverse homes and began to imagine what life in this mountain valley subdivision might feel like.

For over a week, I waited for the email from the realtor, but it never came. Then finally, one afternoon I was working in the camp office and saw a flyer for the property on the bulletin board. My heart skipped a beat. I now had photos of the view, the trees and an address. Did I dare go look? I made a quick drive by. The wooded street was so peaceful, so beautiful. My head and heart had already been wistfully spinning and turning—sometimes merely daydreaming about buying land in this community, sometimes “talking to myself” and rationalizing what a good investment the land could be, sometimes blissfully relishing the thought of doing something completely crazy. Of course, there were other times when the whole idea seemed absurd; however, it usually was pretty easy to quell the voice of reason. After seeing the property, I knew I had to show it to Michael when he arrived in a few days.

We walked the lot together. “Ours” we called it as we tried to locate the exact boundaries. We made a long list of questions for the realtor. Surely there would be some catch, some answer that would cast a negative light on the whole idea. There wasn’t. So, I got information about various lenders to look into financing. We began to talk about the kind of house we’d like to build someday. Maybe we could build sooner, rather than later—a place which would be a vacation house for now and eventually our permanent home. The kids could bring friends there for skiing trips during winter and spring breaks. We’d build family memories for years to come. We'd build a house laid-out so Mike’s parents could come visit. We’d help Papa get around while Mom relaxed—enjoying views and a lifestyle reminiscent of her brothers’ homes in Canada. Even when we weren’t there, friends and guests of the camp would be welcome to use our vacation house. It would be a blessing, not just for our immediate family, but others.

Back home from camp, I spent days looking at house plans on the internet. At first I hardly knew what I was looking for, what I/we liked. The realtor had mentioned a passive solar home. This idea struck a chord with our values--green, economical and unique. One night I found a plan that beautifully met most of our desires. It didn’t take long for me to be able to imagine us in the house. I thought about furnishings—inexpensive, colorful and versatile. I had fun realizing what things we already had to take and use there. We have two games of Scrabble, Backgammon, Sorry, Aggravation and Uno, an extra vacuum, some rockers, a microwave and single beds. We’d build bare bones at first and add a garage and some of the appliances later.

Finally, it was time to decide whether or not to move forward, to make an offer on the lot. We reasoned, prayed and eventually came to the conclusion that this wasn’t the right way to invest our energies and money right now. As wonderful as the property is, we aren't ready to commit to this geographical location forever. It was hard to let go, but a few days later I awoke to hear the “still small voice”—the assurance from God that we’d made the right decision.

I assumed that after the “still, small voice” my thoughts of the land and house would fade, and indeed my longing for them, that “got to have it” feeling, has disappeared; but I find my thought still drifting towards that simple straw bale structure filled with bookcases and sliding pocket doors. When we were at Office Max the other day, I tried out a collapsible dorm room chair that would have been great in the Colorado house’s living room.

I’ve questioned why this unbuilt house still seems so real to me, so much a part of me--why I think of it fondly almost like a friend? Then I realized the idea had indeed befriended me—called to me, begged me to entertain it, and in doing so helped me learn things about myself, what I value, what I like. I learned to dream again, to think with happy expectation about what the future can bring. This marvelous piece of land gave me a taste of summer love, something which I’ve read and seen movies about, but which as a teenager never experienced. Sad or bittersweet when it ends, in time its memories bring only smiles and hope...smiles of gratitude for the experience and hope that it’s magic will come again at another season in a more enduring form.

So as summer draws to a close, join me on my imaginary porch next to the built-in outdoor fireplace (for winter s’mores of course), fill your glass with iced sun tea and join me in a knowing, happy toast. “To summer love!”

Cheers,
Maria