THE ROCKY AND BULLWINKLE MOUNTAINS

Here's the thing about female snowplow drivers in Boulder County, Colorado. They can live their entire lives in this state, be heir to a 100-year-old Colorado ranching brand—the S reverse Z—that they stitch onto their own hand-knit hippie caps which they give you in return for an antler-tip necklace, and they will still never have laid eyes on a moose until this very day. Just like an out-of-work creative director from Kansas. You're looking at an equal opportunity moose.

I woke up to Scully, the resident dog at my new cabin, going crazy over something. Most dogs don't go crazy over nothing. So I looked outside.

And there he was, the biggest and only moose I have ever seen in my life, just off my deck. Scully wasn't having it. She rushed the massive beast, barking ferociously, and the moose snorted and kicked at her. I wish I'd had my phone ready, because on a scale of 1 - viral, it was a pretty interesting moment.

When the moose had had enough of those shenanigans, he leaped back over the six-foot fence in one bound. It was like watching a cement truck catch air in a car chase. Graceful, but wrong.

After that excitement, I settled into a freelance project. Before long, it became clear that some kind of small creatures were enthusiastically living life in the attic over my head. There was scratching and scurrying and tiny dynasties rising and falling. Fortunately, my freelance project was about ice cream, so it didn't require extended periods of deep thought.

An hour or so after it had begun, the noise traveled quickly to the corner of my cabin and exited. I looked out the window to see a small but mighty squirrel race down a nearby tree, leap four feet to my deck and launch from there to the window at my knee shouting, "Araaah!"

And this was all just today.

To catch you up on the weekend's adventures, a beautiful drive through twisting canyon roads brought me through Nederland on Sunday, where security was directing traffic. When I arrived at my cabin, my hostess Emily explained that the Frozen Dead Guy festival was in full swing. Clearly I had to go back down the mountain and check it out. I saw six or seven bands in three "heated" tents and had an amazing time. I can add enjoying a music festival on my own to the list of things I did not see coming. It would have been great to have Brandon with me, but after two weeks in a cabin on my own, I was just pleased that I hadn't forgotten how to society.

To be fair, a bunch of stoned hippies at a Colorado music festival is a pretty forgiving re-entry point.

Nevertheless, emboldened by my success, tonight I accepted Emily's invitation to come to the main house for a drink. I grabbed one of the bottles of tequila I special-ordered at Los Tules before I stopped eating there four times a week, and walked 20 feet to her door.

Emily is a movie director who recently returned from 10 years in Trinidad (not the Colorado one) and is a rare Nederland native. Her family's roommate, Lynell, is the formerly mentioned snowplow-driving textile-weaving badass, and there I was—having meaningful, heartfelt conversation with two fascinating women I didn't know before yesterday.

From total solitude to vibrant new connections in just over a day. I'm enjoying this ride.