Hasty, Colorado...Nice!

Now this is what I’m talking about! Hasty, Colorado.
If you want to venture back in time, to a place where everyone knows everyone, where the heart and soul of small town America are on full display for everyone to see, you can not do better than this.
Last night, I, the traveling stranger, wheeled into town. I had been wanting to get to the grocery store that I had heard was in Hasty, so I could get some necessaries. I got there with an hour to spare before closing. I asked about a place to sleep for the night, as in a park, or a church. Colleen Piatt, the owner (but not the boss, as she stated)of the store, told me that there was a nice pavilion a couple of blocks away.
I headed to the pavilion, where, after a strange conversation with a local teen, I settled in for the night. Colleen had told me that I could use the outlet at her store to charge my phone, so I was waiting around for the sun to set and for my tired self to relax a bit.
I walked back to her shop an hour later. I plugged in my phone and sat there, just absorbing the small town atmosphere. A few cars passed, but by and large all was quiet.
Once the phone was charged enough, I headed back to the pavilion and went to sleep. Prior to that I had filled out a few postcards that I wanted to send from the post office across the street from the grocery store, in the morning. I needed to buy stamps though, so figured Id wait til it opened.
I woke early, got my gear packed and ready and headed to the store, which opened at seven. I was a bit early, so was prepared to wait. I noticed a giant stuffed pillow shaped like a fish hanging next to the door of the store. I didnt see it there the night before. It was very funny.
I heard a sound and turned around. An older, overall clad man was sitting next to the post office on some steps. The front door of the post office was open. I asked him if it was open, and if he worked there. He said that he was waiting for the mail truck to come, and that he was the mailman. I told him I needed stamps for postcards, and he walked to his truck, gave me the stamps I needed, but would not except my money for them. “Put it back in your pocket,” is what he said, actually.
He introduced himself to me as Mutt Markham. I asked him if he had put that fish up across the street, and le laughed and said no, but he might have seen who did. We both laughed.
Just then, Colleen Piatt pulled up in her truck. She was carrying a large tray of donuts, which she makes herself every morning. I said good morning and thanked her for her electricity the night before. And then I had a donut.
Ive had good donuts before. Deising’s Bakery in Kingston, New York is as good as it gets, but this donut, a honey glazed plump beauty, was as good as anything Deisings ever baked. Supremo!!!!
A small crowd gradually gathered and settled around a table inside, eating and gossiping and carrying on a tradition that I hope will never go away---Americans, real, small town folks being small town folks, with no pretensions to anything else, with no concern for the big city nonsense that grows ulcers and stress and makes life something to endure instead of something to be enjoyed.
Hasty, Colorado. As Mutt Markham described it to me: “It’s a long way from nowhere, but it’s a pretty nice place to live.”
And a great place to visit.