Why the mountains
I moved up to Clear Creek County because I wanted a life that matched the pace of the place I loved most. Down valley, everything is a schedule. Up here, everything is weather, elk on the road, whether the plow came through, whether the propane tank got filled before Thursday. That's the life I chose, and it's the life I'm still choosing every morning.
When people ask what I do, the honest answer is: I take care of things. Sometimes it's a house. Sometimes it's a golden retriever with a heart murmur. Sometimes it's both, in the same weekend.
Six years of cleaning mountain homes
Mountain homes are not front-range homes. Wood stoves shed fine ash into every soft surface. Hot tubs get used harder than owners realize. Guests track in decomposed granite that scratches finished floors if you drag a mop across it. Wildlife comes inside through gaps you'd never notice from a photo.
After six years of turnovers, I know which cleaners actually work on well water, which vacuums survive pet hair at 8,000 feet, and how to spot a slow leak under a cabin sink before it becomes a $12,000 winter emergency. Cleaning at altitude is a skill. I've spent a long time getting good at it.
I'm also a Certified Nursing Assistant, which shaped how I approach detail and reliability in someone else's home. It's background, not a service — but the habits it built travel with me into every property I walk into.
Twenty-seven years as a registered vet tech
Before Gilded Lodges, my main career was — and in many ways still is — clinical veterinary medicine. Twenty-seven years as a registered vet tech means I've placed IV catheters in emergencies, monitored anesthesia on senior dogs, read subtle changes in behavior most people would miss, and comforted a lot of families on hard days.
When a pet-care client hands me a dog with a heart condition, or a diabetic cat, or a rabbit recovering from surgery, I don't need a tutorial. I can administer medications correctly, recognize the early signs of a problem, and get an animal to the right vet quickly if something changes. That's not marketing — it's just what twenty-seven years in a clinic looks like on your kitchen floor.