It’s been a few years since we moved from our mountain home. We loved our time there, savoring the seasons, sunrises, sunsets. Writing about these precious memories keeps them alive for me. I imagine the scents of pine and cedar in the winter, lilacs in late spring, lavender in summer. I recall hearing great horned owls hooting at night and ravens tapping on my kitchen window in morning demanding breakfast. How I miss them. There were three corvids— Mom, Pop, and Baby, but mostly Mom visited, retrieving the cherries and walnuts I left for her family. I relished being snowed in for short periods, when snowflakes floated down and everything grew quiet. Winter storms with howling Santa Ana winds and sideways sleet also slammed our house, and the building shook as though a freight train was driving through it. On those nights, I wore ear plugs.

We moved to the mountain on Christmas Eve, unpacking and putting away things during the first winter storm of the season. I learned how to drive in snow and ice, slipping and sliding my way down North Peak Road. We met a handful of neighbors, and grew close to Dan, who plowed our driveway, and Butch, Cuyamaca Lake manager and his wife, Barbara, and Rosie, my birthday twin. In our time on the mountain, we made the “best-est” of friends and the “worst-est” of enemies (my grandson’s way with words). Only five families lived full-time on the mountain. The other homes served as vacation houses, and we often bailed out those renting weekenders or flatlanders who struggled with the snowy conditions. Near the top of our hill, lived a couple nicknamed the King and Queen of North Peak, because they were OGs, having lived there since the 70s, and weathered the Cedar Fire. Many homes burned to the ground in that conflagration, so strolling North Peak Way now, feels like going on an archaeological expedition. Littered about properties are pieces of tile and pottery—surviving remnants of cabin entries that no longer exist. Only handful of people rebuilt. Most left the land as it is, a cemetery they seldom visit.

After eight years on North Peak (our goal was ten), Dale was exhausted from the work. Not me, but then I wasn’t carrying the load. I gladly would have paid someone else to paint, trim, weed, or complete other household jobs to stay, but since we’re a team, we left. Besides, getting people to do repairs or ongoing maintenance was difficult— not impossible, but challenging. I stopped writing this blog (but continued writing books), and now I feel the need to return to 5500 ft. More of that to come.

I will share our special memories, suggestions for those downsizing, and where we went from Julian. We tackled the house as part of our retirement journey. It was gratifying and stimulating while it lasted. We left because, as I mentioned at the beginning of this blog, we are not wealthy (all things being relative), and we didn’t want to bother renting or VRBO’ing. We liked working the land, but two and a half acres in a fire-prone area meant constant pruning and weed whacking, which eventually grew old like us. We walked away to another adventure—traveling and ticking off our bucket lists. This is the rest of our story.