The window is the first thing you notice and the last thing you forget. At five in the morning it is a perfect circle of grey; by six it has filled with a mountain that was not there when you fell asleep.
We built the Alpine Lodge around that moment. The bed sits two steps from the glass, the curtains open from the pillow, and the breakfast basket arrives silently at the door so nobody has to get dressed before the light does.
By six the window has filled with a mountain that was not there when you fell asleep.
Most guests spend the first hour exactly where they woke up. Some read; most simply watch the cloud sea break apart below the ridge, revealing the valley one field at a time.
By eight the meadow is warm enough for coffee outside. The path from the lodge door takes four minutes and passes the bench where, every summer, someone proposes.
