Change Currency$ USD$ ARSƒ AWG$ AUD$ BSDBD BHD$ BBDBZ$ BZD$ BMDR$ BRL£ GBP$ BND៛ KHR$ CAD$ KYD$ CLP¥ CNY$ COP₡ CRCKč CZKRD$ DOP$ XCD£ EGP€ EUR$ HKD₨ INRRp IDR₪ ILS¥ JPYлв KZTد.ك.‏ KWDRM MYR₨ MUR$ MXNدراهم MAD$ NZD﷼ OMR₱ PHPzł PLN﷼ QARlei RONруб RUB﷼ SAR$ SGDSk SKKR ZAR₩ KRWkr SEKFr. CHFNT$ TWD฿ THBTT$ TTDTL TRYد.إ AEDBs VEF₫ VND Price / Sq. Ft. ­ About : 922 Jenkins Place, Pagosa Springs, ColoradoBear Mountain Ranch has 124 private acres of mature woodlands, bordering BLM lands. The 9,808 SF estate has magnificent views of the San Juan Mountains and features 3 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, an expansive great room with vaulted ceilings, rock fireplace, gourmet kitchen with spacious pantry, craft room, wine cellar, media room, and library. Each room provides maximum comfort with endless entertainment and storage possibilities. This home has an abundance of stonework, custom iron designs, and a state of the art hydronic heating system.

There is over 3,000 SF of outside deck for entertaining and viewing the abundant wildlife and picturesque views.antique door knockers for sale The 11,000+ SF Guest Lodge/Business Center was designed with an Old Western Town motif, complete with saloon, stage, and full-sized bar.front entry doors sears There are 3 bedrooms upstairs, 2 of which have their own en suite bathrooms.bi fold shower door instructions In addition, there is an executive office and conference room, a heated industrial machine shop, and multiple garages/shop space to park all of the vehicles and equipment associated with the ranch.­­ used kitchen cabinet doors for sale ottawa

AmenitiesLibraryMedia Room / Home TheaterSteam RoomArtist StudioGuest RanchMountain Views­­ sliding glass doors puerto rico Click here to show map cheap windshield repair phoenix az The ranch is beautifully situated 7 miles south of Pagosa Springs, Colorado, just off of Highway 84 in Archuleta County.cheap upvc doors northern ireland Far from any big cities, Pagosa Springs is the Ute Indian word for healing waters. This town is well known for its refreshing and rejuvenating natural, hot mineral springs and riverside hot pools. Two city parks straddle the San Juan River, and encompass a river walk and picnic areas. The area is also known for its world-class fishing rivers. Archuleta County's Stevens Field Airport in Pagosa Springs with FBO supports private aircraft up to 55,000 lbs.

The entire four-corners area provides endless activities for the outdoor sports enthusiast. The area offers comfortable summer temperatures reaching the upper 80s, while the autumn days are clear, cool and full of vibrant foliage colors. The crisp and sunny winter days often feature abundant, light powdery snow. The historic downtown area of Durango is located just 55 miles to the west. Durango has numerous big city conveniences, including a state-of-the-art new hospital, fine restaurants, hotels, shopping, a four-year college, and many cultural activities. Also, La Plata County Airport in Durango runs daily commercial air service to Denver, Albuquerque and Phoenix, with seasonal service to Houston and Dallas, and includes facilities for full service general aviation. The regional population is 45,000. The property is 230 miles from Grand Junction, 210 miles from Albuquerque, 150 from Santa Fe, about 285 miles from Denver and Colorado Springs and 475 miles from Phoenix. For more properties from Pagosa Springs, Colorado, please visit Legacy Properties West Sotheby's International Realty

The Peninsula Gun Club is open year round offering a variety of shooting activities for members and non-members alike. Boasting the only shooting range north of Sturgeon Bay, the PGC is a great place to improve marksmanship, educate future generations, and find friends with common interests. Whether you need help fixing or learning about a gun you inherited, need some hunting advice, or want to introduce your kids to shooting, this is the place for you.Let friends in your social network know what you are reading aboutTwitterGoogle+LinkedInPinterestPosted!A link has been posted to your Facebook feed. HIGHLAND PARK — The sign on the lawn says there’s a yard sale today. But there’s been a sale here every day forever. And it’s really more of a yard explosion.Pete Jackson was sitting in front of the abandoned machine shop across from his childhood home, as he does just about every day, listening to the news on an antique radio, waiting for someone to stumble upon his spectacle.“

Only way you’re going to find this place is if you luck up on it,” said the 77-year-old Jackson in an old Louisiana country drawl. He was sitting on the corner of Hamilton and West Grand Street. “If you don’t luck up on it, you ain’t gonna see this place, and I don’t mind if you luck up on it.”DETROIT FREE PRESSRetro diner in Detroit neighborhood wards off crimeHis home is a colossal art project that spreads out from the house into the alley and up to the curb. It’s a nameless wonderland of antiques and folk art and plain old junk engulfed by vines and framed by trees, an outdoor gallery where everything’s for sale. It’s hard to find, but impossible to miss once you’re near it, because it’s one of the only signs of life left out here.The neighborhood is literally gone. Jackson’s street is surrounded by whole blocks with nothing on them but tall brown grasses and a handful of trees. Other blocks have only a house or two left standing.This part of Highland Park got so desolate over time that the city said to hell with it about a decade ago and closed entry to much of the neighborhood using concrete barriers in the streets and alleys, letting the whole neighborhood go back to nature.

And Jackson loves it. That’s why he’s here every day.He doesn’t need to stay here; he’s lived for years in a newer, nicer house in Belleville. He doesn’t need the money; in fact, he claims to be wealthy.But this house is where he grew up. And since his wife recently died, this is where he wants to be again, where he gets to live like he did as a child on the farm in the rural Deep South.Like much of Detroit, which completely surrounds it, parts of once-dense Highland Park became prairieland over the years as people fled to the suburbs in droves. Instead of Jackson having to move back to the wilderness, the wilderness moved back to him. And it provides a surreal frame around his never-ending yard sale of an art show.“I like Highland Park,” he said. “I like everything about it. I got the country in the middle of the city. Couldn’t ask for nothing better.”DETROIT FREE PRESSTea shop owner aims to spur neighborhood's revivalHe was born in Louisiana, came north with his family during the Depression and settled in Highland Park, where they moved into one of those mail-order Sears Roebuck homes that got shipped to the home buyer to assemble.

It’s the same Craftsman bungalow he comes back to every day now.He spent eight years in the army, worked in auto plants and on construction jobs when he got out, and collected antiques from houses he’d clean out before renovating them. Soon he had a large, strange collection of odd things. He always had an artistic streak, and he used some of it to make unusual creations that gradually filled the yard.Over here is a painted blob of melted pop cans made in the 1950s. Over there is a crucifix made last week out of trash. Out front an array of little horse-drawn carriage figurines line up in display. Colorful shutters block the windows of the abandoned machine shop, mirrors hang from trees and poles, and wood cutouts of red-feathered cardinals perch in the trees that largely hide his home.The extravagant display draws a lot of visitors who pass by on Hamilton Avenue and are visually ambushed by this colorful burst of creativity.“It’s actually become a big part of the city,” said Mayor DeAndre Windom, who’s known Jackson since childhood.

“It’s almost similar to the Heidelberg Project. It’s become a pillar in our community.”Years ago, with his antiques piling up, Jackson opened a knick-knack shop in a shack he built behind his home, back when people could still drive up through the alley and happen upon an unadvertised store. Thus began the ongoing yard sale.“Everything’s for sale,” he said, with a sweep of his hand. “You can buy the whole house if you want.”You might find anything here as you walk along the vine-draped paths through the yard, or inside the ornamented house. There are valuables like the antique Coca-Cola cooler that once sat in his grandfather’s general store, and the Nazi dagger with swastikas on it hanging on the wall in the house, right by the antique muzzle-loading rifle.Then there are the kitschy ceramic dog statues, a wrought-iron peacock, bird cages and piggy banks, wheelchairs and wind chimes, and countless other items of little value except to the handful of regular customers who’ve found this place and keep coming back.

He’s usually here when they come. His wife of 38 years died not long ago, he retired long before that, and he’s got a lot of time on his hands. Often he spends the night here instead of driving back to Belleville. And almost every day he hosts the longest yard sale in history.“It just gives me something to do,” said the 77-year-old. “I don’t want to sit in an old folks’ home in front of a TV.”His grandmother was a Cherokee Indian living on a dirt-poor reservation in Houma, La. And wouldn’t you know it, that land turned out to be sitting on top of a whole lot of oil. One day during the Depression the oil and gas companies began showing up seeking to drill.  And suddenly his grandmother wasn’t so poor.When she died the royalties checks she was getting went to Jackson’s mother, and when his mom passed away they began coming to him.“I’m a millionaire,” he said matter-of-factly, as he sat in one of the city’s bleakest neighborhoods. “You ever hear that saying, ‘Land rich and money poor?’

But I didn’t inherit all my money,” he insisted. “I made it by working. I worked for a long time.”Across from his house, several ripe green gourds hang from a vine. He planted them because they’re like the gourds that grew down on the family’s Louisiana farm. They remind him of what he came up from.“We didn’t have cups when we dipped our water for the well,” he said. “We’d cut the gourd and make a handle and make a dipper out of it. It was country living back then.”It’s country living here now too.Ferns hang gently from the covered front porch. His fence is laced with grape vines, which he uses to make homemade wine. And he built a walk-in barbecue out back along the alley. It’s got a fireplace made of concrete and a pit made out of brick, a hideaway entered through wood French doors he found somewhere in the trash.“This here is a real barbecue pit,” he said proudly. “You put the wires over it and you put your whole hog on it.” He sat down for a moment in the easy chair that sits inside.

His gout was flaring up, and he had to rest a lot.“In the wintertime I throw a hog on there, throw on a log on, there’s snow out there, I sit here and I say, ‘What a lucky guy you are.’ "There’s an eerie quiet here in the daytime. You can hear the bugs in the grass, the birds in the trees, the sound of the dry brown leaves scraping the pavement as the wind blows them along. Sometimes a car passes through. If someone’s talking on the phone a block away, you can hear everything they say.The few residents left living around here wander the potholed streets throughout the daytime. There’s the guy they call Bucket Man, who forlornly carries a pail everywhere he goes and offers to wash people’s cars for a few bucks. And the guy they call Yard, who does odd jobs for people. He’s around a lot, shadowing Jackson whenever he can.“He’s a good guy,” said Yard, lingering around as he waited for another task. “That’s why I call him my uncle.”In a course of a day they come by over and over again."

They use this area for entertainment,” Jackson said. “They sit over there, sit over here. You come around and there might be 15 people sitting around. They all know me.”Jackson’s hours here are erratic. The yard sale isn’t advertised. The art display isn’t listed in tourist guides. He doesn’t even have a cell phone for people to call to see if he’s there or not.“I don’t want no phone,” he said. “I don’t want no dog, I don’t want no woman, I don’t want no car. I want peace, and this is how I get it. I had all that. I don’t need it.”He closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair for a moment and soaked in the fall afternoon sunshine as the crickets chirped and a stray dog howled and nothing else was happening at all.“I couldn’t ask for nothing better,” said the millionaire in the wilderness, as a dozen mirrors sparkled in the trees. “I’m going to enjoy this sun the rest of the day and thank the Lord that I’m here.”John Carlisle writes about people and places in Michigan.