Como-After Sunrise

Years ago, Como was a destination for my parents and their friends who owned one of the few cabins on "main street." The ride up there was terrifying when my parent's friend Wes would drive, because he had a habit of sitting all the way forward in the driver's seat, holding the steering wheel to his chest, his face inches from the windshield. I remember crying once because my parents threw me under the bus and made me ride in the front seat with Wes, and I saw only a blur of passed cars and fuzzy scenery through my tears.

My parents and their friends are all long gone, and the cabin we stayed at has fallen into disrepair even for Como standards. Still, there is a pull for this little hamlet, even though some of the people are a little unfriendly and others are downright weird.

At one point, Jason, Drew, Gabe and I were referred to as "dirty hippies" when we stopped to photograph cows being loaded for their one-way trip to the slaughterhouse. Terror echoes in their wild eyes, and despite the fact that I eat meat and was raised around farms, it was a little haunting to have lunch looking at me. Later, at the restaurant, I ordered chicken.

Speaking of food, the little restaurant in town serves up good food, and I was surprised to see a big crowd waiting to get in.
We had arrived early with our party of 7 and had taken up a lot of the space in the tiny one room dining area that's heated by an ancient stove in the middle of the room. Tall windows let in the light and the view of the nearby mountains, and the pictures on the wall show Como when wooden signs hung straight.