Sweet Home Colorado

Reprint from July 2007 MySpace

I don‘t ski or climb mountains,
I don’t hike or play in snow.
Soon, I’ll be out of work and money,
Oh, Colorado, I don’t want to go

Crazy as it sounds, I do miss humidity. Not really sure why, but I do. I miss the Southern lethargy, enforced by the oppressive heat and dampness in the air. I miss getting out of the shower and wondering why I bothered, the summer noises of insects and bats and songbirds, waking me up at some ridiculous hour of the morning. I miss the squirrels and raccoons, the smell and sound of summer rain, and the green, the overwhelming green. The trees that grow like weeds, the weeds that grow like trees, the soft grass between my toes, the dandelions in the cracks of the sidewalk, and the puddles all over the streets.

And it’s not just summer, I actually miss winter to some degree. While I was never particularly fond of chipping my car out of half an inch of ice, it felt like winter the whole time. Sure, there was always the chance that it would snow on Halloween and be 70 on Christmas, but still, it was winter. Unmistakably winter.

I miss my home, a river city with a combination of the Midwest and South, but more Appalachian than anything. I miss ribs, bar-be-queued in a cut-out oil drum. I miss catfish, breaded in corn meal, fried, sprinkled with a little lemon, and so greasy (that’s “GREE-zee”) you need three paper towels to keep your clothes clean. I miss the free concerts and various festivals, the bars and restaurants right on the river. The Cincinnati/Kentucky twang, Bluegrass music on the radio, the rolling green hills, the amazing colors in the fall that I would put up against any New England state, these all make me think of home.
And yet…

This place gets in your blood. As proud as I am of my Cincinnati hometown, as much as I love it, and as happy as the skyline makes me feel, I live in Colorado. The whole state is mine, not just one little corner.

I’d like to try it some time, I really would, but I can’t afford it. Plus, I don’t have a 4-wheel drive car to take me to the mountains, nor do I have anyone to ski with. I’ve done the Coors brewery tour, visited the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, and followed the various scenic trails. My personal favorite is the Peak to Peak, from Black Hawk to Estes Park. I can see Pike’s Peak out of my back door. It’s not the tallest mountain in Colorado, but it’s easily the most famous. It was the view from Pike’s Peak that inspired “America the Beautiful” author Kathy Lee Bates to write of the “purple mountain majesties.” And it is majestic, from above and below.

In the winter, it snows, and in the summer, it’s hot. And sometimes, the reverse. Everyone knows that the taller mountains keep their snow through much of the summer. One day, I left Colorado Springs on a road trip, heading for I-70. No real reason, just because. It was in the 80s down in the Springs, so I drove with the top off my convertible. My car is a Chevy Tracker, a two-door car with a top that can be taken off in pieces, like a Jeep Wrangler. The sunroof part of my car was closed. Makes it more aerodynamic. At 9,000 feet, the temperature dropped a little, not unexpected. I just threw on a fleece pullover and turned on the heat in my little car. And then I turned onto interstate 70, heading west toward Grand Junction. Ahead, the sky was darker, indicating precipitation. One of my favorite features, really. But I digress. Driving on, I headed toward the Eisenhower Tunnel. The heavens opened. Soft, white and heavy, snow fell around me. Not gentle, drifting flurries, nor even determined snow showers. No, this was a blizzard, nearly a white-out. I couldn’t see more than two cars in front of me. It was July. At this altitude (up to 6200 feet, higher than Denver at 5,820), the latest snow I’ve seen is June. The second week of June.

I love my hometown. I miss my family, most of whom are still in Cincinnati, and I’m pretty sure a couple of them miss me. If I ever get up the nerve, I’ll have a flying pig tattooed on my shoulder. But right now, Colorado is my home. And y’know, I really don’t want to leave. I love Colorado. I will admit, I enjoy listening to John Denver songs. There are two, though, that that can bring tears to my eyes.

“Take Me Home, Country Roads,” and “Rocky Mountain High.” If you’ve ever driven through southern Ohio, Kentucky or West Virginia, you can feel the longing for home in the hills and trees. And if you’ve ever stood outside during a spring shower in Colorado, well, you can’t beat the sight of a rainbow between the raindrops, glittering in the sunshine.

How fortunate am I to have two places I’m proud to call home?