Fences can say a lot about their owners

One of the curiosities of having basic Comcast cable is that, in addition to the Denver stations, the local stations and the two shopping channels, subscribers get the Discovery Channel, now mostly about building monster cars and choppers, and the Travel Channel, where the most popular program is the World Poker Tour.

On those occasions when the Travel Channel's programming is actually about travel, even those shows are often more about real estate than actual travel.

One current series highlights private vacation homes in the mountains, such as the Jetson home along Interstate 70 near Genessee Park, made famous in the Woody Allen movie "Sleeper," along with a place called the Snowbox House on Peak 7 in Breckenridge.

The Snowbox House, depending on your point of view, is either a good blend of modern design and the forest around it, or a tacky box with all the charm of a DIA lobby.

The house itself is a minimalist design of 4,300 square feet, made entirely of concrete, steel, and glass (no wood) - even some of the floors are clear glass, adding to the fishbowl effect of the house.

From the inside, the Travel Channel boasts the home offers IMAX-like views of the great outdoors, although the same glass offers reality-style viewing of the occupants by passersby, especially at night.

To forestall too much prurient ogling by hikers in the adjacent National Forest or gawking from the road by gapers, the owners have built an elaborate fence to keep people at a distance, a solid fence of 4-by-4 pressure treated posts with 1-by-10 planks, covered from bottom to top with chicken wire to keep people and wildlife out and the illusion of a private forest vista in.

On the one hand, building a fence is understandable. If you live on Peak 7, you've seen people driving slowly around the neighborhood, either lost because they don't realize that American Way intersects with itself before running parallel to itself, or rubber necking at the various houses, which range from 1970s originals to trophy homes that make 4,300 square feet a mere mud room.

Having your home featured on television is, no doubt, an ego boost, but will also only encourage even more gapers to come by in search of the big glass and concrete box on the edge of the forest, reinforcing the need for a good fence.

On the other hand, fences are not allowed on Peak 7. Theoretically, the county is supposed to ensure that no obstacles to wildlife (such as a fence) go up in the area, although in recent years that prohibition has either been overlooked or conveniently forgotten by homeowners.

Some of the fences are split rail, evoking images of Abraham Lincoln, although he'd be embarrassed by the quality of some of the rail work.

Some are plank fences without the chicken wire, visual claimstakes that say "keep out" while doing nothing to keep the neighbor's dog or the hungry bear actually away from the home.

Some are garish, such as at one home, an otherwise unremarkable wood and log trophy home surrounded on all sides by an 8-foot-high black wrought iron fence, complete with electric security gate and surveillance cameras.

The toys in the yard give evidence that the owners were merely concerned parents, although it's easy to image a High Country version of the Godfather being filmed there.

Happily, a subsequent owner has at least painted the iron barricade a forest green that takes some of the edge off of the fence.

Whatever the form, fences are hostile. The fence around the Snowbox House cuts smack dab through an old trail network that honeycombs the area, trails which touch on beaver ponds and mines, and are highlighted by a wooden picnic table that someone had hauled up the slopes to a point offering a great view of Peak 8.

The 1-by-10 planks supporting the chicken wire around the house not only give evidence of the owner's careless hostility toward his environment and his neighbors, but provide a great writing tablet for prose and poetry by irate neighbors and hikers to vent their feelings about the fence.

So while the house remains a subject of architectural debate, the fence, like any fence in the National Forest which doesn't keep livestock in or predators out, is a clear sign to the neighbors: we only vacation here, we don't want to know you, we just want our architectural illusion of living in the outdoors without ever going outdoors.

Maybe it's time the county enforces the rules on fences, starting with this one.



Marc Carlisle writes a Thursday column. He can be reached at summitindie@yahoo.com.