Rocky Mountains...sigh.....

Of all of the states that I was planning to pass through on my extended little vacation, Colorado was the most exciting prospect. There were many reasons, but there was one in particular, stemming from an incident that took place a time long ago, going back to my somewhat difficult childhood.
My parents divorced when I was only about 11 years old. Their fights were legendary, and loud. There was one particular incident that comes to mind that really had a big effect on my life. It was a weekend, I think, and they were having one of their awful shouting matches, maybe there was glass breaking, and so on. Our neighbors, the Million family, two adults and two boys that I played football and wiffle ball with all the time, were going to go to a concert at Saratoga Performing Arts Center. They were getting ready to leave, and they heard the fighting going on at my house. I was outside sitting by myself, and they saw and heard all of the ruckus, and made a snap decision. I don’t remember all of the finer details of how I ended up in their car on my way to a John Denver concert, but there I was. The Millions had seats inside the amphitheater, but I had to sit outside on the lawn, where I ended up next to a family that had a really big picnic basket full of fried chicken, which rthey shared freely and gladly.
Now, John Denver was just becoming a huge star at this time, and still had his country boy schtick going on. He talked of life in Colorado, sang songs like Rocky Mountain High, and was generally the goodwill ambassador for the state, a role he carried out well, and effectively. It was one song in particular though, that really got through to me that night on the lawn: Eagle and the Hawk. After talking about the beauty of the mountains and the life that flourished there, he launched into the song, not one of his major hits but a powerful (and loud) song that rang out from the big speakers outside at Saratoga. I was sure that he could be heard for miles that night, and the memory of sitting there on a blanket, hearing the words “I am the eagle, I live in high country, in rocky cathedrals that reach to the sky” has burned itself into my psyche.
I am among those rocky cathedrals now. I am staying with Greg and Bette Mathisen at their home in Conifer, Colorado---a beautiful little place where the ugliness of the world cannot easily reach and where I think I might want to live someday.
When Bette picked me up in LaJunta yesterday for the two and a half hour ride to her house, I was still in the midst of cowboy heaven, with prairies, feedyards, cows and their attendant smells, Mexican restaurants galore and flat, dry and hot as hell terrain to cross. Driving up the mountains, it all began to sink in. And when we stopped at a rest area, and Bette showed me a map that had a little star on it, labeled “You are Here”, I breathed in the mountain air and it started to dawn on me where I was.
And then a few hours later, when we were leaving to go to dinner at a place called the Bucksnort Tavern, and a massive elk casually sauntered, fearless, into Bette’s yard, then I knew EXACTLY where I was: Colorado, baby. Colorado.