There is a thing about mountain folk. I had a good friend pass through boulder this weekend. It was unexpected, as many of the drop in guests are, but as usual worked out perfectly, which got me to thinking.
It turns out there is a thing about mountain folk, a common understanding. We aren't looking for a nice place to stay, though they can be nice. We aren't looking for a cooked meal, though they can be lovely. We are looking for a place to lay our heads, but not only that, we are looking for a few beers, flowing conversation, and most importantly, great stories. Ours is a storytelling culture, one where random people can stop by and spend the night, and through mutual friends who may be in a different state or a different country, we realize we have everything in common. We are looking for a random sleeping bag to keep warm and a smile.
I now own a house. It is a fluke that I fell into this thing, and while it is still difficult to comprehend, It is mine. And the banks. I have lived here for about 4 months or so, and in that little amount of time I have been able to open my doors to so many wonderful people, some coming here for a vacation and some just passing through. We have been able to share our mountain stories in my home, in front of the woodstove, and in the future these moments will turn into the old stories, which we will retell, and the storytelling cycle will continue.