Cook-off Delicious!

Bob Gibbs, on behalf of Historic Georgetown, Inc. (HGI) awarded Georgetown's first Dutch Oven, One-pot Cook-off $300 Grand Prize to Team Hungry Mommas, Sharon Rossino and Tristen Greenleaf  of Georgetown.

The $50 first place category winners were: Team South Enders with a delicious pork and sauerkraut Miner's Stew; Team Ole and Lena's Grub won the Bread choice with a molasses Swedish Rye Bread; and the Cobbler award went to team Hungry Mommas, a sweet sumptuous peach/blueberry cobbler.

With an overwhelming vote, The People Choice award went to the Chuck Wagon team, We'll Shine Again, for their elk stew cooked over  hot coals.  One team member is a banker, the other is a horseshoer. 

Georgetown closed the downtown street to traffic at 7 A.M. Contestants lined the street, popping up shade tents and tables, pulling out iron pots of all kinds, firing up the coals and propane stoves and the cooking began.

Music and live entertainment played throughout the day. The crowd joined in the festivities learning to square dance. More jumped in to dance the twisting and turning Macarena. The Tommyknocker's Beer Garden was open for business on the Hamill House lawn with a "beer bus" shuttling people back and forth.

People were milling through town all day long to tantalizing aromas, waiting for the judging to begin. The crowds became heavy as it became closer to the time for the judges to taste the stews, breads and cobblers. The judges were Scott Goeringer, from the Georgetown Valley Candy Company and an award winning chef; Ken Nelson, Goldsmith and gourmet cook; Joyce Jamele, Silver Queen B and B; and Dawn Janov, author and former food columnist.

That's when the spoons and forks came out and the crowds gathered around the booths making their way up and down the street tasting all the entries and voting for their People's Choice favorite.

This very successful fundraiser for HGI ended with the crowd crowing cries of "next year."

Thanks to the sponsors of this event, Lodge Cast Iron Products, Clear Creek Economic Development Corp, Henderson Mine/Climax Corp, Krystal 93 FM Summit County, Tommyknocker Brewery, Georgetown Parks and Recreation, Green Waste and Recycling, Mile High Rafting, Rocky Mountain Cabana, the Laurita family, the Reynolds family and Empire Sports.

Tom Elliot and Marvin Geisness    Miner's Stew first place winners.


Lois Kruger winning first in the bread category for her molasses Swedish Rye Bread. 

Loveland Ski Area Chef, Eric Mohn and Stephanie Behring made a wonderful lamb stew. 

Dan Wilson, from the Longs Peak Chapter of the International Dutch Oven Society, smiling about the awards he's taking back home. 

Getting Down and Dirty in Empire

Boom-da-da boom boom! The loud speakers blare hip-hop, rap music to the crowd. The rhythmic beat gets the heart pounding; hips’ swaying as each dirt boarder gets ready to race. Off each one jumps, down, down, up and over, twisting, and turning in the air.

It's a good crowd in Empire for the 2009 Altitude Cup Mountain Board Challenge. This new Board Park is the biggest in the country and an up and coming new sport to match. Standing on the edge of a deep gully, looking down onto a vast vista of dirt mounds, raised lifts, steep dirt ramps, and cones lining an obstacle course, this huge dirt area stretches out football fields in length.

Jason Lee, (or J Lee) is The Godfather of Dirt," a title given him by his peers. "I was always athletic," Lee says with a slight smile. A skier since he was three years old, summers honed his skills as an avid skate boarder and as a Pikes Peak VMX Bike Racer. Later on it was snowboards. The snow season was short and Lee had an idea. "Imagine being able to ride everywhere, anytime, you don't need tarmac, you don't need snow, all you need is the passion of riding."

Credited for producing the first mountain board in 1992, using four fat tires, an independent suspension, and click-in bindings, and co-founding the Colorado Springs, Mountain Board Sports a year later. "With the boards," Lee explains, "you can ride anywhere you want...the whole planet is really open." It is the variety of terrain that makes Mountain Boarding so exciting. So grab you board and hit a trail, BMX course, or just down a beautiful mountain grass hill.

Competition is the name of the game and this sport is International. Lee is a seven time World Champion Record Holder in Pro Boarder Cross events. Another record for Lee was Ripley's Believe It or Not, where he successfully jumped and did a back flip 29' over a pit full of alligators.

Both David Kennedy (or Gonzo) and Phil Sheader (or Yeti) of Altitude Sickness Boards in Empire and a sponsor of the event, stressed the importance of padded rubber body armor and helmets. The equipment is easy to understand. The deck is the base for the rider to stand on. Trucks are the springs and axles attaching the wheels to the deck. Various types of bindings hold the rider on the board. Wheels have pneumatic 8-13 inch tires. It becomes more complication with decisions on how much air goes into the tires for speed, what type of binding to use, steering, brakes... the list continues.

Dust clouds erupt when wheels hit the dirt, and the event continues. Friday: a day of teaching techniques for beginners and for the more advanced. Saturday: the four-person head-to-head racing BoarderX and the Dirt Slalom through gates. For the first time ever the dirt slalom was held as a timed event. Sunday: The Big Air Freestyle, tricks and flip time. From riding rails and over mounds, to a steeper downhill run again over mounds with tricks. The most exciting was the very steep dirt hill for experts doing snowboard type giant flips and tricks.

Empire has paired with the future of the dirt boarder and this huge Mountain Board Park. Starting with skis and surfboard to skateboard and mountain bike then the snowboard and now, the newest adrenalin rush - the dirtboard.

Horse Farm Babies

    Whew, going through photo boxes and albums the other day, the waves of memories were overwhelming. My friend Kathleen said, "Leave it for your kids to go through." But there are stories here and I'm a storyteller. Maybe it has to do with my long ago Cherokee genes, they were great storytellers, too.

    I've been a great believer in dreams, not ones that you have when sleeping, but dreams of what you want in life, what makes you happy. Since before I can remember, I've been obsessed with horses. My mother told me as a three year old, I would sit in a corner of the room and pretend clothes pins were my horses. In high school, when my friends got their drivers license they were excited to drive to the beach and hang out. Me, I drove to the Irvine Buffalo Ranch, took horseback riding lessons, helped feed and water the horses, cleaned stalls and drank in the smells and dreams of my own horse ranch.

    After college and much hated office jobs, my family doctor treating me for an ulcer, told me to stop making my parents happy with their expectations and go to Colorado, get a job on a dude ranch where I could be happy wrangling horses. Man that was a real shock to my system. Cried many tears of fear that I could actually do it, but I did just that.

    The Tumbling River Dude Ranch in Grant, Colorado, is where I landed. It was a small ranch - only 42 guests at a time. As the new wrangler, I asked Ray, the old head wrangler, what horse he wanted me to have to lead the trail rides. He laughed and said, "Pick any one out there."

    There was a stout buckskin that caught my eye, but not my rope. I followed that horse around for what seemed like an hour. It was quite the game, just when I'd get close enough to touch him, off he'd go around the corral... again. Finally I cornered him in an open stall, but that was only the start of my troubles with that horse. He spooked at everything, a rock, the wind through the trees, a cracking stick under his feet. His nose would go right up in the air and he'd wildly try to run. Now how can you run on a narrow mountain trail looking up on the sky? I rode that horse every day, leading rides, tailing rides. Put a tie-down to hold his head down helped somewhat, but I never got use to the sash-shays along trail.

    Halfway through the summer, Ray gave me my first spurs and said I'd earned them. I was hooked on horses even stronger then.

    That's my son, Jeremy, when he was 11 with the first foal born on our farm, Darq Sirocco, a black Arabian. Can't you see the champion that he later became? The horse and my son, both winners. The top photo is Jerry Sindt, trainer, with Sirocco winning a National Championship.

    Life happens in it's own time-frame. I was 32 when I finally bought my first horse, 38 when I bought my horse farm in Scholls, Oregon. By chance, my horses won in the Arabian show ring — big. Their babies won even more. It was a great life for myself and my two children.

    This is my daughter, Diane, on Champion Darq Moon. This was the first horse I bought. We called her "Suzie." Don't ask, because we don't know why. That's just who she was to us.

    The palomino mare above is Penny, a Saddlebred/Arabian cross who didn't have a baby who wasn't a champion at the horse shows. The baby by her side was one of my favorites, Wind Dancer. As soon as she could stand up, she was dancing, racing, prancing in style.

    I miss them all, through Mt. St. Helen's eruption and the ensuing ash, to the  difficult decision to sell them so they could fulfill their destiny. But they are all there in my memory, their smell, the sound of munching alfalfa and grain, their funny baby antics, their beautiful eyes, their trust. It's all there, just as though I can reach out and touch them... one more time.

Double Exposure in Alaska and in Life

Leaving our ship on a small tender boat towards the town of Juneau, Alaska, gave way to nervousness for I was scheduled to fly on a small helicopter out to the glacier fields nearby. Jeremy, my son, was a calming influence that summer so long ago. 

Before we left, the tour guide dressed us up in Mukluk boots and heavy coats. Into the helicopter and off we go, several  copters following one after another, looking like a swarm of wasps flying in wavy patterns. 

Landing on the ice, we were sternly warned not to go near the ice holes for some go down hundreds of feet. Not a good place to slip or slide. All the helicopters left and we stayed with a guide... all alone... on the ice. Sort of scared to move around much, but just looking at that beautiful glacier was an exhilarating feeling. The walls of ice that surround us were an iridescent blue/green with an eerie sort of translucence. The ice floor we were standing on was glazed in the sunshine. Minuscule ice fragments hit our checks in pinpricks when the wind would flair up. It was very quiet except for an occasional startling booming crack as the ice gave way to pressure and tumble down upon itself.

I'm not sure if it was a low camera battery in combination with the cold weather, but I was shocked and disappointed when I developed my film to find so many double exposures. Then I looked again and was totally excited because the tender boat was superimposed on the ice walls, our friend's face in a square and my son walking on the ice. Three different times during the day, truly combining all the emotions of that experience. 

Another one had our pilot's hand holding the spiral corded microphone strung out over a girl waving and the surrounding ice fields. Again three different times of the day. 

The photo of Glacier Bay captured the crew going out in a small boat to gather ice to carve later. The window of the bar where I took the picture wanders through the mountains of ice and in the lower corner navigating the floating ice was the boat.

Every time I look at these photos, I see something different. Looking deeper, just like in life. Layers of a day revisited. All at the same time capturing a flood of memories together... in one glance. 

Put all this to haunting classical music and to me, that's what life is all about - fractured segments overlapping

layers of exposures, layers of memories.

Just to let you all know, I was snapping pictures, writing and drawing in the nice warm bar... 

Pumping Iron & Hot Coals in Georgetown

Something's going on. Am I smelling charcoal burning? It's coming from the downtown park. What's in that fire pit? It's summer and flowers always fill that pit.  Hmm, not today though. The flowers are out and that pit is filled with iron pots stacked high.    

There, in an apron and one hand in a heavy glove, stalking the pit, is Chuck Springer, president of the Long's Peak Chapter of the International Dutch Oven Society. In the pit there's also burning charcoal in tall narrow chimneys. It's almost noon, the town is full of people, and Chuck is getting ready for a demonstration of Dutch oven cooking. 

Dr. Pepper BBQ Chicken was my favorite. The Biscuits were easy to make and so delicious, melting in your mouth. Both desserts were tied as the people's choice - Cherry Dump Cake and Chocolate Lovers Delight with a shot of milk. If you were lucky and in town for the day, you most likely were in line for these tastings. 

Just in case you missed it, come to Georgetown, Colorado on September 19th for our First Dutch Oven Cook-off. Enjoy the Fall color season with us.  All around town there's entertainment, storytellers, history exhibits, the air wafting with delicious aromas, a beer garden and brats on the Hamill House lawn, and finally the award ceremony downtown at 4 P.M.

Come on up! We're getting ready for you.

Southern California Gal Hits Below Zero & Grey Skies Forever

If you were not raised in California, this story is for you. My first winter in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan was a real eye opener. Renting a too big, but very nicely furnished house in Bessmer, Michigan was a great start to my first winter experience. It was snowing and so beautiful. After dinner it was still snowing and even though is was dark, the streetlights cast delightful blue shadows on the new snow. It was quiet too. Unlike the patter of rain or the wind, snow doesn't make any noise. Snow seems to insulate any noise.

The next morning I jumped out of bed. I couldn't wait to look outside. It was another grey day, but it had stopped snowing. OMG! The snow had completely covered those bushes along our sidewalk. Just white lumps now. I couldn't wait to get out and play in that soft-looking white stuff.

What? The back door won't open. The snow has piled up against it. Here's another find. Snow can be heavy. Who knew? My husband, from this North Country, had to climb out a window and shovel the snow away before we could get out to do a few errands and later have lunch with his Aunt Mary and Uncle Joe.

I had been warned to layer my clothing to keep warm. No problem, long turtleneck, sweater, jacket. Throwing a knit hat on my head, pulling those boots on, out I went. Brrr. It was so cold. How cold was it? Zero. That's thirty-two degrees below freezing!

Plowing my way through snow up to my knees was damn hard work. Certainly not soft. Fell once and it hurt. Then I tried to get up, what a joke. Thank heavens my husband, trying not to laugh, came over to give me a hand or I'd have floundered there until Spring.

Couldn't understand why my nose kept running. Hard to wipe your nose with gloves on. Of course taking them off and on all the time made my hands numb with the cold. I wondered how I would know when frostbite sets in.

I'm cold in every inch of my body, my feet are cold, and my nose is frozen, though still dripping. There is not a warm spot on me. Finally we get to our lunch date. It is a custom for everyone to take off their snowy, wet boots in the entry. So I complied and tugged those icky boots off.

"Oh, child," Aunt Mary had a shocked look on her face. "Where are your socks?" Looking down at my bare feet, I answered, "I don't own any socks." You see no one wears socks in California - sometimes pantyhose with heels for that special occasion, but no socks with tennis shoes or flats. These were my first boots ever.

Well, I've never been rushed anywhere as fast as Aunt Mary rushed me upstairs, opened a drawer and gave me a pair of Uncle Joe's wool socks. Ah, they felt so wonderful and warm. I'll be eternally grateful for those socks.

P.S. I also learned that jeans are not warm!!! Wool pants and long underwear are what you wear "Up North." 

All Alone in a Furious Storm... help!

It wasn't quite dark. Just dark enough to create long, long shadows that danced a crazy jig across the road because the wind was BLOWING hard. No one else on this narrow two-lane road, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Here comes the rain... in sheets. I'm going through the heavily treed area now where the branches meet over the road in angry waving blows. Was that a scream? Man, my imagination is working overtime. The road is very wet, it's getting darker, I'm slowing down. Maybe that's not a good idea.

Dark. Very dark. Still raining torrents. Hard to see the road. The headlights are making strange images, or maybe they're just in my head. Is that my heart I hear beating? Got to remember to breathe. Ah, that's better. Now relax the shoulders. Oops, better pay attention to the road.

Gosh I hope I recognize the driveway. No street lights on this back country road. Ever so often, a glitter of light comes from a house way off in the distance as I pass by. That's a good sign. Getting into the area of lake houses at Little Girl's Point right on Lake Superior.

Yes, there it is, the Seagull Point sign. I pull into the narrow driveway, and run towards the cottage with my key at the ready. Luc, my long-haired Chihuahua is shaking at my feet. We're getting soaked, but I do manage to open the front door and burst into the dark house. On with the lights. Seems warmer already. Amazing how that works. Turning on the heat. What no heat? Just great. The temperature is dropping and it is cold. Oh no, all the lights go out. Calling the owner, now. He tells me the pilot light always blows out during a storm. Nice of him to tell me now. Also I'm told that the power will probably be out for days and that his handyman wont come out until tomorrow afternoon to relight the pilot light. Hey, but he does offer his cabin next door that has a wood burning stove.

After telling me details of how to get in, I gather my overnight things and head out with my little long-haired Chihuahua, Luc, who does not like this one bit. I've got my Gortex jacket hood tied tight, boots on. Luc has his raincoat on, too. Out in the dark again, with only a flashlight lighting about two feet in front of us. Luc is terrified but follows closely. The windbursts throw the rain around us. Luc is jumping in 180 degree turns. Finally we slosh our way over to the cabin next door. 

Yes, I found candles, matches and paper. In no time, the fire is roaring and Luc and I are drying out. Went upstairs to get a pillow and blanket for I'm certainly bunking on the couch in front of the fire tonight. Will morning ever come? Huddling with Luc under the covers... Please sleep, come quickly.