Small Town Romance

I was driving to pick up a kid two days ago and saw the following: On the right, and after much contemplation, a small deer decided to crawl under the bottom rail of a wooden fence rather than try jumping over it; on the left, an old dude in a Panama hat was dragging a ten-foot-long gnarly tree branch down the sidewalk.

This, of course, makes perfect sense. (Unless he was "walking" the stick, then I'm wrong and he's obviously a philosopher.) He was foraging for materials for some project. After I'd overcome the chuckles and parked the car, my suspicion was confirmed: He checked the stand of trees in front of the school then, finding nothing, climbed back up to the sidewalk and drug his limb back in the opposite direction.

I took great joy and (can it be?) pride in this display. Sure, the limb might not been his to take in theory as it may well have been on city or private property, but sketchiness in the law is like a yellow light on the road--a mild suggestion at best. And in a small town with old-timers who knew this place before we all discovered it--and with new-comers like me who've been here a mere 20 years nearly adapting to that loose version of events--well, let's just say the Nanny State is not alive and well in these parts. The downside of that is if you take it too far, you might step on someone's rights. The upside is you remember how to take care of yourself.

I LOVED my years beachside in Cali, make no mistake about it. The people in NorCal are among some of the kindest,  most decent and open people you'll ever find. But you can run into instances where, because the state is so progressive and pro-active by nature, folks have lost the ability (or the right) to make their own decisions. And if you've ever dealt with the DMV in the Golden State you know of what I speak.

But there's something else that makes HERE different: Sure a ton of state expats make the dreamy journey to California every day, though perhaps not as much since the Great Recession became the new normal, seeking one last stop to birth their deepest wishes. Sometimes the genie-by-the-sea provides, sometimes not. It's the Land's End: Last chance to make IT happen. You thrive or you drown, but by gum you tried. But even with all those wide-eyed Californicators, Colorado has the edge: NOBODY'S from here.

Well, almost. But you can go years without meeting a native. And the first thing mentioned in the obits is how long the dearly departed lived here. It's a THANG for sure! And even though I'm only on my 17th year of Coloradoness, I'm starting to feel like a native--my stories are often from "the before times" whenever I strike up a conversation out and about. There's a certain cache in knowing that the Starbucks used to be a 7-11, that we once had a DMV outpost up here on the mountain, and that "that used to be a field (or forest) over there where they've built those houses". I've set my sights on attaining the title "sage" within ten years. (Talk about a five-year or ten-year plan!)

In short: Life's different in the woods and I love it. Just living another day is a bonus point toward greatness here. I'm reminded of my Colonial Days fantasy that every one was someone because there were so few people, and they all knew each other, that everyone counted, everyone was important, everyone could be KNOWN. Oh elusive understanding, truly the greatest treasure we could hope to possess. Not, as the prophet Sally Field Oscar-opined, "You love me, you really love me" but "You KNOW me, you really know me!"

So though more come every year, a great many of them brought here on the tickets of John Denver songs as was I, the cows still outnumber the humans. Thank goodness. Because as self-aware and nature-savvy as we transplants may become, we can always look to Bovinity for new knowings--like when there's about to come a big blow...

...or where the free compost lies.