Way back in the '70's I met a guy and followed him to Colorado. The official story would be that I transferred to a better college...the truth is lurking somewhere in between. That decision changed my life and I've never regretted it. He was a good guy and, before we went our separate ways we made many wonderful memories and three terrific kids, none of which I'd trade for all the tea in China (which I hear is considerable).
Beyond those particulars, however, is one overarching fact. Though I may not have gasped my first earthly breath in Colorado, I have become a Citizen of the West; an adopted native, all the more appreciative because I recall when I wasn't.
The recent press over a second state song-
Rocky Mountain High, got my full attention. Mine is the generation that followed the almost mythic lure of John Denver's signature,
Rocky Mountain High. When did J.D.'s music become old school and almost laughable? How did we forget what "the quiet solitude (of) the forest and the streams", or "the shadow from the starlight (that's) softer than a lullaby" meant to us.
Yeah, yeah...I know about the drug references, but really, it was the '70's (following fast on the heels of the '60's), so I dare you to find a popular song that couldn't be construed toward sex or drugs.
This song, though, became the anthem of a generation that followed a dream to their ownoriginal, kinder, gentler world. Few transplanted sons loved Colorado and the West as Denver did, and he painted a picture in words and song of not only a place, but a feeling-a new reality--that lured many more, including me.
My first impressions were mixed. The mountains were so beautiful, but the plains so barren, so brown. It took a good couple of years to flip from a love for the lush green landscapes of the Midwest to feeling claustrophobicon its insular highways of mile after mile of forested, viewless green corridors.
Soon, and ever since, I couldn't visit the Midwest, the East coast-anywhere that boasted thick and endless stands of forest without longing to see the horizon. To watch the gold/brown/yellow grasses of endless plains swaying in the wind or wind up canyon roads in search of endless vistas of the continental divide and beyond. Between the two werethe rushing creeks of springtime,followed by meadows of wildflowers,Autumn's annual golden display and finally, that first wet snowfall, fat flakes often hanging on limbs still clinging to their leaves.
Today, I've raised my own Colorado natives and I know, though they love this state, they will never appreciate, quite as much as we did, how fortunate they are to live here. How very much it "'Tis a privilege to live in Colorado."