On a windswept day in the mountains, a pure white dove fanned its wings, circled and landed on the rooftop of the old log home. It sat, jerking its neck from side to side, silently observing the three dogs that stared up at him in wonder. He took a few lurching steps around and settled down for a spell.

The house had been built in 1915 when the Brown family homesteaded, thanks to the savings of the second son in a family of eight siblings. Jack had seen the ad in the store window for a section of land, which could be obtained for the tidy sum of $90.00, which would be later exchanged for a patent from the US Government. Jack saved as much as possible from his delivery job at the department store in Denver. When he had enough money, the family began the move up the mountain first by train, then by horse and buggy and finally on foot. Mrs. Brown fainted on the mountainside, weak from climbing, but soon found herself the matron of a mountain paradise with ample game and rich soil.

For two years, the family sheltered in a shack attached to a cook tent that served as sleeping quarters. They hauled water and grew their own food while pitching in to complete the construction of the log home that would remain in the family even beyond Jack’s death in 1997. By then, his thick dark hair had changed to shocking white and his tall, lanky frame was slightly stooped and unsteady. He’d hung onto that property by sacrificing to buy up his siblings’ shares when their folks finally passed away, having lived well into their nineties.

Jack had turned the home into a summer retreat, living most of his days in the city apartment owned by his second wife, Violet. They both loved their mountain getaway and spent many a summer renovating and repairing the old place while maintaining much of its original spirit. The grass grew thick surrounded by beds of irises and day lilies. A vegetable garden flourished providing them with root vegetables and herbs.

As they grew older, their visits became fewer, but Jack’s eyes always gleamed with the same fervor each time he passed through the gate beneath the Silver Links Ranch sign. The string of silver links carved into the sign represented the family members linked together forever. Once he settled into old cabin and stoked up a blaze in the massive fireplace, Jack would don his cowboy hat and grab his cane to make his way slowly and cautiously up the road toward the spring that trickled out of the rocks forming a tiny pond. Jack would stick his cane down into the water to check the depth. Satisfied, he’d work his way back to the cabin for a nap.