In support of Gorsuch Haus
I’m forever curious about when in life the shift occurs between a child’s mind, exhilarated by the idea of creating something new and the inflexible adult mind stuck in a golden age, bent on spending the rest of time carefully protecting a menagerie of memories.
Which naturally leads us to one of my 5-year-old’s favorite books, “Iggy Peck Architect” — an emotional romp in which a talented young boy manifests incredible and ridiculous creations from household items like diapers and glue, building model churches out of fruit and architectural arches out of pancakes. Eventually, his unbridled building frenzy and the creativity that fuels it are squashed by his second-grade teacher, Miss Lila Greer, who demands he end his construction projects and fall in line.
Miss Lila Greer’s fear of anything vertical was seeded years before in a virtual nightmare when she was stuck for two days in a high-rise elevator with none other than a French circus troupe, and they were all forced to survive on cheese.
In the end, Iggy Peck saves the day when his class is stranded during a field trip on an island. With Miss Lila Greer fainting from fear, Iggy Peck leads his second-grade class in the construction of a miraculous bridge to shore made of boots, tree roots, strings, fruit roll-ups and things.
Hats off to Iggy Peck and to the few and the brave local developers willing to dream big amidst staggering opposition and quixotic reveries of early Aspen.
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