The Durango Tales

(With sincere apologies to Geoffrey Chaucer)

Here begin the Tales of Durango:

After January with her frost and cold, February brings Ye Olde Snowdown for all Durango to behold. And after that we go on pilgrimage, seeking shrines in sundry climes, taking time to relax and unwind.

In Mancos, at Millwood I was staged, intent on Moab and my own pilgrimage. There, the travelers passed on their routes, some on the ins and some on the outs. And then the tales did begin, right there at the inn, and we got our start with the New Durangoan.

The New Durangoan’s Tale

There was a snowbird from Santa Barb or near, who – sad to say – brought all her money here. Her clothes were of finest weave and pound; and past Dalton Ranch she planned to break ground. Ten-thousand square feet and full of bright and new, the landscaping would be done up in a Mediterranean hue. “I’ll be the envy of the nation, just soon as I complete my relocation.” Our bird laid plans to set up a Fife and teach poor Durango something of the good life. “What’s with all the pickup trucks?” she said while sipping Venti Starbucks. “I’ll teach these simpletons a thing or two, I’ve been through downtown and can’t even find a suitable shoe.” When the temperature it dropped, she went on the road, not eager to travel far from the new abode. But she visited Rome and passed through Boulogne. For Christmas, she did Brussels and stopped off in Cologne. But upon her return, our snowbird shed a tear, for five fathoms of snow had replaced warm and clear. After a moment alone, she picked up the phone, tried to call the developer and list the home. “Tell me please, wouldn’t you say, that the climate is better down in Santa Fe?”

The Agent’s Tale

The telephone it sounded, the secretary she pounded, but our trusted developer was nowhere to be founded. It’s true, I say, it isn’t a joke, our friend just returned from Costa Rica for a soak. The Durango market, it’s not looking good. He’s been down in the tropics practicing hard with his wood. He decided to take flight after a little bit of hosing, you see he passed a year with only one closing. In his day, our man had his wits well set. There was none could say he was in their debt. Vast tracts of land, he subdivided. For his condos a many, the public it chided. Ridgeline homes they would instantly appear. “It’s for the good of Durango,” he’d playfully cheer. “More units mean more dollars. Say goodbye to the old, let’s welcome white collars.” But then from nowhere, who could have surmised, came a cruelest and most unhappy surprise. The loans they all folded with hapless aplomb. The party was over, the market a bomb. So riding on the coattails of poor Countrywide, our friend passed through Mancos en route to Telluride. “I’m off to new riches, and that is a fact.” But our poor little snowbird was left with no one to transact.

The Old Durangoan’s Tale

And now our tale tells of a collar so blue, who landed Mancos in hopes of starting anew. Our lady started in Durango hoping to thrive, but high prices and low wages sent her off on a drive. First she tried Bayfield, a smelly affair, and then shipped to Oxford, which most ask is “where?”

“I thought I’d never say it, but Durango seems so far. Only six months on, and I need a new car.” Confused and confounded, she set up in Mancos, where the purple sage grows and the land it is rounded. The property was cheap, the traffic at a stall. Yes, Mancos worked out for our easy-going gal. The living was pleasant no one could refute, but each day she set off on a 60-minute commute. But luck it did shine, her land was well appointed. With oil and gas, that dirt was anointed. And so she sold off at the top of the top, and back to Durango she went for a shop. And on arriving in fair La Plata County, what should she find but the rarest of bounties. A beautiful home just north in the valley, complete with a single neighbor whose handle was Wally. To cap it all off, the house was in foreclosure. The owner it seemed was tired of exposure. So happily, our Durangoan once again resettled, certain she’d triumphed and finally won the battle. “It’s great to be back. It really can’t be beat. But someone please tell me, what I do with 10,000 square feet?”

– Will Sands