Chapter 2 - Moving to the Valley

Late afternoon sun across the valley to Mount Lamborn and Mount Gunnison from Sunshine Mesa, November 2020.

---

Living a Wine Encore - Preface & Chapter 1

---

“If I am an advocate for anything, it is to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river.” - Anthony Bourdain

Or, in my case, to the other side of the Rocky Mountains.

In July 2020, we decided to come to terms with finding a property in the North Fork Valley in western Colorado, colloquially known as the Western Slope. COVID-19 had been virulent for nearly half a year, so our actions could have been interpreted as pandemic-related. Data showed that an urban-to-rural migration dynamic was at play throughout the United States in subsequent years.

However, COVID-19 wasn’t the specific reason, though you could take advantage of one of its by-products—working remotely.

Being bootstrapped to Denver could be a thing of the past.

Janine and I had visited the valley on and off for 10 years. With every visit, we had grown increasingly enamored with its charm and unique sense of place. As an enticing benefit, the valley existed outside Denver’s sphere of influence. It had not given way to the sameness of hyper-development of ski resorts and urban-like sprawl associated with recreational and lifestyle crowds, to which many of the foothill and central Colorado mountain communities had succumbed.

The valley was a unique and breathtaking setting, nestled away from interstate highways and crowds. As we discovered, it had deep roots in small-town ranching and agriculture.

For the uninitiated, the North Fork Valley is 55 miles or more, depending on destination, Southeast of Grand Junction and I-70. The North Fork Gunnison River basin is approximately 700 square miles in size, anchored by three incorporated towns: Paonia (1,459 population, 2023 census), Hotchkiss (929), and Crawford (407).

Spread out from the towns, the valley’s diverse topography, geography, and outright beauty are unparalleled in Colorado. The valley is surrounded by three national forests comprised of mountains, mesas, and canyons. To the far southwest is the Uncompahgre National Forest. Gunnison National Forest is closer to the east, where the West Elk Mountains and the Lamborns serve as the valley’s scenic backdrop. Not far from Crawford is the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. To the north is Grand Mesa National Forest, which has the largest flat-topped mountain in the world.

The Gunnison River cuts through the Black Canyon, which is 2,722 feet deep at its deepest point and 40 feet wide at its narrowest.

Key to my interests: Wine grapes thrive in the valley. My dream to create a “farm to table” experience—from grapes to wines—holds promise.

A portion of the valley is a federally designated American Viticultural Area known as the West Elks AVA. An AVA is a specific, defined grape-growing region characterized by unique geographic and climatic features that set it apart from surrounding areas. A dozen wineries spread across the West Elks, from along the valley floor to higher mesas, where the AVA is known to have the highest vineyards in North America, ranging from 5,400 to 6,400 feet.

The valley experiences a semi-arid climate and is frequently sheltered from the harsh weather conditions typical of the higher central Rockies and eastern Colorado. The valley’s agricultural pioneers wisely capitalized on the microclimate by constructing an elaborate network of irrigation canals and ditches that supported ranchers cultivating grass and alfalfa, orchards, produce, and, eventually, vineyards.

When visiting the North Fork, one of our favorite places to lodge was Leroux Creek Inn and Vineyards. Innkeeper, vineyard manager, and winemaker Yvon, with partner Joanna, graciously hosted our many visits and introduced us to the valley's wonders. Yvon also had a side hustle as a real estate agent, so he knew the valley well. Their adobe-style Bed and Breakfast was a virtual haven set before a four-acre vineyard with canyon lands in the background.

Author Thomas Huber, who often lodged at Leroux, richly describes the North Fork Valley in his book An American Provence. He compares the valley’s diverse terrain, sweeping landscapes, and beauty to the Coulon River Valley in Provence, France.

A great place to have a vineyard and make wine.

Lexoux Vineyards, 2017.

We casually pursued several property investigations and tours during the three years preceding the pandemic. One involved a property of 30+ acres with an acre of Pinot Noir located on a valley’s mesa. A year later, we tendered a letter of interest on a property overlooking the North Fork of the Gunnison.

Nothing quite hit the mark.

I have been involved in several Denver commercial and residential property transactions and am familiar with urban regulatory systems and requirements. Unsurprisingly, our valley inquiries taught me that the rural regulatory and living landscape differs significantly.

In particular, unless you live within the boundaries of a town, you don’t benefit from municipal water and sewer systems.

A private or public water company or district may provide domestic water. You must understand the rules and regulations under such an arrangement and whether water availability is reliable. In other instances, water may come from a well, spring, or cistern, which must be manually filled with water from another source. If a well or spring, a treatment system is required to filter, soften, and possibly sanitize the water. Ongoing maintenance and testing are prudent to ensure the system is operating as designed to protect your health.

Irrigation water may derive from another source, such as a ditch company and/or retention pond.

Knowing a water system’s capacity and seasonal flow consistency for domestic and irrigation is essential in evaluating a property.

An on-site septic system handles sewage. Understanding its capacity and maintenance requirements is also essential.

Communication is a key factor. Depending on location and service availability, internet and cellular performance can be inconsistent.

Wildlife is both a joy to witness and a nuisance to put up with. They are particularly adept at helping themselves to gardens, vineyards, and orchards. A wildlife fence is always a reliable solution to unwanted forage. In addition, allowing pets to roam the property without personal control or fencing is risky, as they can become prey or find their muzzles on the back end of a porcupine. This is especially true for urban pets, who are less acclimated to rural conditions and associated risks.

Bella the Airedale after a porcupine encounter in the country.

As my understanding of rural systems and requirements grew, another element of our search necessitated consideration: being able to use a valley property as a short-term rental. Keeping our Denver property was part of the plan. Generating rental income—from the main house or an accessory dwelling unit—while in Denver made sense. Every property we’ve considered so far has offered this option.

While our valley’s investigations helped set property criteria, I decided a vineyard would be a plus but not a strict requirement. There just weren’t enough properties on the market with a vineyard. With the right location and conditions, I could plant a vineyard myself.

Historically low borrowing costs were another factor in moving our property search forward during the summer of 2020. I arranged for Yvon to set up several promising appointments.

The weekend of our property visits in August provided the weather the valley is famous for: warm but not too hot, beautiful clear blue skies, and a slight breeze.

The landscape sparkled. We were stoked.

Utilizing online real estate platforms, I had an eye on several valley properties for much of the summer. Our first visit was my favorite, and I had not tipped my hand. It sat on the edge of Sunshine Mesa between Hotchkiss and Paonia. The house overlooked the valley, with the West Elk mountains to the east and hills with rising terrain towards the Grand Mesa plateau to the west.

It didn’t have a vineyard, though several location possibilities existed on its 14 acres, whether on the mesa or near the valley floor.

We were less enamored by the steep gravel drive with a perilous drop-off and switchback, rising 200 feet from the property’s entrance. When pulling up in front of the house, Janine looked to the mesa fields to the west, asking, “Are those part of the property”? “Nope,” was my response. Without batting an eye, she said, “You mean the neighbors could put in a development right next to the property”? “Yes, presumably, but why would they?” was the best I could muster.

The visit was doomed from the start.

Heading up the drive from the switchback.

That weekend, we visited several properties and came across one we made an offer on. Like the Sunshine Mesa opportunity, the three-acre property sat on the edge of a mesa overlooking the valley. It didn’t have a vineyard, but there was an area to plant one. The house was not turnkey; it required updating.

After four weeks of grappling with the level of work required to make it ready for occupancy and growing excited with plans in hand, the rug was pulled out from under us. The lender learned that the property’s ADU had a separate electric meter from the main house and a separate county address. The lender removed the conventional loan in favor of an adjustable-rate mortgage.

We were devastated. All the work and dreaming went down the toilet. There was no way we’d settle for an ARM. Per the purchase agreement, we were a week from closing. The seller wouldn’t extend the closing date enabling us to find another lender.

End of story, end of contract.

Importantly, we learned from the experience.

One criterion compromise we made with the relinquished property involved water availability. It had a restricted tap provided by a small local water company with 20 taps. The property was the 20th tap, i.e., last on the list, i.e., restricted, i.e., could be shut off during a drought.

There would have been the opportunity to negotiate the purchase of shares from a nearby ditch company to support a vineyard. However, the restricted tap and an unnegotiated irrigation possibility made this less than ideal.

To this day, I believe we dodged a bullet. We wouldn’t make a similar water compromise in the future.

With growing impatience and summer waning, the search resumed. Everything was a fixer-upper.

The straw that broke the camel’s back came one weekend when we hurried to the valley to look at a house on five acres that had just hit the market. It was an A-frame. From the property’s description and pictures, it looked promising. The interior sported sizeable wooden support beams; think 70s ski lodge or cabin. The property hadn’t been used for agricultural purposes, but it was tillable with irrigation water shares and a domestic tap from a small local water company.

The visit was disappointing. It was also a fixer-upper, in a bad way. The worst involved the heat and cooling systems. There were none. Let me restate that there was heat, but it was far from acceptable. There was a large open area in the front half of the home, with stairs leading to a loft containing a bathroom and living quarters. A propane floor heater was situated on the first level. It radiated heat outwards into the living area on one side and the kitchen to the other, then upwards to the loft.

That was the only heat source. I suppose you might have characterized it as a central whole-house heating system. Initially, the house was built with a boiler supplying steam to floorboard units, which, ugly as they were, had been disconnected from the steam supply lines. The boiler had also been disconnected from the lines and no longer worked.

At this point, I had had it. The level of work required to deal with the A-frame was untenable.

Taking a hiatus on the search was a distinct possibility. Back in Denver with a day to reflect, I had a revelation—let’s return for a second look at the 14-acre property on the edge of Sunshine Mesa.

After the frustrating disappointments over two months, we might see things in a different light.

Sping running the lower length of the Sunshine Mesa property.

One positive takeaway from our initial visit was the house itself. It was constructed in a Southwestern Adobe New Mexican style, a beloved design for long-time visitors to Northern New Mexico. However, upon reflection, we noted a significant drawback from that first visit: the moment you step inside, it's hard to tell that the exterior showcases the adobe style. The interior design and decor could easily blend into any home, exterior design be damned.

Additional favorable attributes included the fact that the house was recently built, smartly laid out, and contained an extended irrigated landscape.

I arranged a second tour.

As hopefully anticipated, additional information and insights came with the visit.

The seller’s family built the house, and he and his wife took exceptional care of it. They were proud owners. The house was well insulated, and there wasn’t a window that didn’t provide extraordinary views. It was move-in ready—a stark contrast to most of what had been considered to date.

A spring provided the water. The rights were ample for domestic, stock, and agricultural uses. The spring’s water source was documented on a USGS National Water map and has existed since immemorial. The seller had installed an excellent water collection, delivery, and treatment system with a 1,500-gallon cistern. The spring also ran above ground, traversing the lower portion of the property similar to a small burbling creek. While there was not a vineyard, the property provided possible locations.

Remember the “work remotely” by-product of the pandemic?

Much of the valley’s internet was provided by copper wires—think old-school telephone lines. Performance could suffer when use is high. A new company in the valley was laying fiber optic lines. The property was on a trunk of the new system. Remote work could be conducted efficiently with fast, reliable connections. The service also provided Denver television station broadcasts, a known quantity for Colorado front-range urbanites. The front range is a colloquial term for people residing east of the Rockies in or near the foothills.

We were sold.

After closing on the property at the end of October, we spent much of the winter making the house our own. I painted several rooms, removed much of the heavy drapery, and installed southwest-style molding above all the interior windows.

We quickly realized that using the property as a short—or long-term rental was not in the cards. It became our home, and having lodgers didn’t feel right.

After the initial burst of domestic creativity ended in early 2021, I began planning a vineyard.

There was much to do.

Coming soon:

Next - Chapter 3: Planning the Vineyard