It's for sale. The house that has fascinated me ever since my first walk around Cole a decade ago-3404 Race Street-is on the market.

Built in 1910, the original owner's daughter inherited the house and had lived in it from the age of six until her death, at 94, last June. Elfrieda Riedel.

The house is one of the original homesteads in the area and sits on a 14,100 ft. lot. I met Elfrieda about seven years ago when I was--surprise!--walking the dog on a hot July afternoon. She was out in her housecoat pulling sumac starts from stubborn, hard clay after receiving a warning from the city regarding weed abatement. So there was this woman in her late 80's, trying to remedy the situation--one weed at a time.

I helped her for a little while, pulling and sweating, throwing the nasty lot of it in a pile near the falling down garage. Elfrieda had days and days of work ahead of her, but her spirits were up, and she seemed grateful for any help she could get--and for the conversation. She told me how she grew up in that house and how she had family in Minneapolis who were coming for her soon.

It was all I could do not to ask her if I could see the inside of her house, but manners trumped curiosity and soon I bid Elfrieda goodbye and headed home. I saw Elfrieda a handful of times after that, and always waved, said hello. She consistently returned the wave with a smile. About a year ago, the house seemed to fall into more disrepair, and I assumed that Elfrieda had either gone to Minnesota or passed away. Searching Denver Post obits, I found out it was the latter. Rest in peace, Ms. Riedel. You were a beam of light in what was often a shady area of town.

Soon I noticed a FOR RENT sign in the yard...and a huge white boat on the lot. I never saw people in or out of there. I hoped that whoever was living there had a sense of the history of the place, but I wasn't holding my breath.

Then, about three weeks ago, a FOR SALE sign went up. I immediately contacted my realtor neighbor and we took a walk over to the house to see if we could get in. The sign said Aspen Real Estate--we called, but were routed through various mailboxes and finally told that the "mailbox was full." Note to real estate agents: Full voice mailboxes do not sell houses. It's always nice to be able to actually reach SOMEONE when you're interested in a property.

Granted, we weren't looking to buy, but we were being trailed by people that were. We'd run into them while scoping out another house on Vine, one that (we thought) had sold last year but was on the market again. Two women saw us scoping it out and when they drove past, I yelled "buy it!" Minutes later they came back around and one of them asked me "Why don't YOU buy it?"
"Because I live right there," I responded, pointing in the direction of my house. "But I've seen the inside of this property, and it's a great place, and they didn't raise the price, it seems."

The women got out of their car and walked around a bit. As we turned to head toward the Race St. house, I threw a bone to the Lookers. "The house we're really interested in is the one we're going to see...on Race."

The women appeared interested.

"Follow us if you want to check it out. It's in need of work but it's a gem."

Sure enough, within 10 minutes of our arriving at Elfrieda's old place, the Lookers pulled up.

"Any idea what they're asking?" said one.

"We're trying to find that out," I replied, staring up at the underside of the eaves.

Turns out we couldn't figure out the price because of the aforementioned full voicemail box AND the fact that the property isn't listed on Aspen's website. It's like someone is trying to deliberately obfuscate potential buyers. I can't say that I blame them, because a piece of property like this is rare in the city-the lot alone is worth serious dough. Still. Why list it if you aren't going to make any information available to the public?

The Lookers eventually asked for my realtor friend's card (bonus!) and said they were looking to buy in the area. I think 3404 Race was a little beyond what they were willing to do in terms of rehab, however. I can't say that I blame them, though I wouldn't hesitate to tackle the project if time and circumstances (namely money) were different.

Walking around the house, you can almost smell the history. I sense that the inside of it is caught in time, with intact moldings, period light fixtures, original floors. In one of the rear windows hangs a heavy deep red velvet curtain with a paisley-esque raised motif, a relic of many moons ago. I want to touch it, run my fingers over the pattern.

This past weekend I spoke with the new neighbors across the street from 3404. They mentioned that another person on the block bought the upright piano that once filled 3404 with music. "It was a pretty cool piece," said Rick, who, along with his fiancé, was creating new flower beds in front of their house.Oneline of Rick's from our short conversation stuck with me: "Yeah, this area, in 5-10 years, it will be completely different. You know, gentrification..." He uttered the word like it was a novel term that found its way to Denver only recently. I may have burst his bubble by referencing the Tre Tre's-his fiancé had already used the word "sketchy," and my mentioning gang activity didn't make her feel all that much better, I'm sure- but let's be realistic, shall we? Yes, Cole is "gentrifying," but has a loooong way to go before it lives up to its adopted moniker of "the next Highlands." I had to laugh when I read recently, on a flyer for a house on Gaylord listed at $315K that backs up to the hallowed Royal Liquors, "Total remodel in Denver's hottest zip code, 80205!" Truth in advertising? I think not. However I am happy to let the energetic new Coleites believe that they've found the Next Best 'Hood in Denver. I agree, for the most part; I just know the underbelly of it a little too well to be allSunflower and Starbucks and Swing Thai.

For now, I pray that someone with vision and a passion for historic properties snatches up 3404 before a developer buys it and tears down the house and outbuildings. Yes, the place is in dire need of repair and some parts may need to be torn down. But the brick is in good condition, and the trees on the southeast side of the lot create a sweet little forest glen that's aching for a family picnic. Strolling the perimeter of the house I spied spring flowers coming up all over: grape hyacinth and forget-me-nots lining the walk from the back door to the garage. I could close my eyes and picture Elfrieda in the alley, hoisting a bag of weeds into the dumpster. What she saw in her lifetime of living on the corner of Bruce Randolph and Race Street I can only imagine. The future of 3404 is uncertain, but it deserves a chance; its future habitants will build upon a rich legacy, breathing life into that tired homestead once again.

And if you, dear reader, should buy it, may I come and see the inside before you change anything?