Jeanie had never accused Michael of being normal. Shaking her head, she watched her husband plot and plan with the city fathers about making it a real tourist event. The media was involved. Cold Creek was buzzing. Michael was in his element. He bought what looked to everyone else in the world like wasteland along the steep banks of Cold Creek. Michael’s sharp eyes saw a gold mine. He was single-handedly building a motel. A row of simple, rustic A-frames with roofs slanting all the way to the ground. He did the planning, the buying, the bulldozing, the sawing, and the nailing himself. Except Jeanie knew him too well. He didn’t do it himself. He just started it alone. Before the end of the first day, everyone in town was helping. Jeanie remembered the story “Stone Soup.” Michael started out with a stone and a dream, and everyone else threw in. Two retired plumbers offered to help. The proud owner of a bulldozer had been bulldozed into volunteering his time and machine. The women were sewing curtains, the businesses were donating material, and the excitement only grew as Michael announced, one by one, that the little cabins were rented out … before they were built.
