Years ago in the ’70s when Breckenridge was a sleepy mountain town with $10 lift tickets, I lived there for a summer in high school with my best friend. We worked in Keystone as maids, driving over Swan Mountain Road twice a day. We opened our first bank accounts and climbed in the mountains on weekends. I’m not sure I realized how blessed I was to experience the Colorado High Country for an entire summer.
After 17 years in the vast concrete jungle of Los Angeles after college, with wall-to-wall people, smog and a distinct shortage of cool mountain air, I returned home to Colorado.
For five days before Memorial Day weekend this year, I returned to Breck. Strolling down Main Street one evening after pizza and a refreshing rain, I noticed this momma fox and pup frolicking in an abandoned lot.
Could there be any town on Earth better than Breckenridge? I don’t think so.