The Mountain Room

The hallway runs the length of the house, and the Mountain Room is the last door on it. Open it and there are two rooms, not one — a bedroom up front, a sitting room behind, the wide pine boards running through both.

The bed is a queen under a carved dark headboard, set beside a tall window. Sheer curtains, a rose drape, two lamps that by evening throw more shadow than light. Mornings, the window does the work: pines, and whatever the valley is doing with the weather.

The sitting room is where people end up. A brick fireplace with a Victorian mantel, a round table with a wooden bowl on it, two soft chairs, and a twin bed under a patchwork quilt for whoever’s third. A TV above the mantel that nobody turns on until late.

On one wall, someone painted a garden — a stone wall, hollyhocks, blue mountains going off into the distance. We didn’t commission it and we won’t paint over it. It’s the kind of thing an old house keeps.

The bathroom is yours alone, with a clawfoot tub deep enough to be worth the hot water.

Outside is the Black River valley. Okemo is a short drive for skiers; come October, the hills make their own argument. The fiber is fast, if you’d rather not look out the window the whole time.