Straining my eyes for a bit of green on the moonscape beneath our plane, I wondered if I’d be able to connect with Colorado during this visit. Although I’d grown up among copious East Coast forests, I spent a couple of decades on Colorado’s Front Range adjusting to the arid landscape, so this place had once felt like home. But that was thirty years ago.
Denver was essentially a cow town turned hippie haven when I first set down roots here in 1972. Located on the last miles of flatland before the Rocky Mountains, Denver’s ecosystem is dry prairie grassland, treeless except for what grows along the rivers and creeks. And that would be Cottonwoods.
After we landed, Bob led us through Denver International Airport to the train, to the rental car shuttle, and to the National Car Rental lot, and within an hour or so we were at Mahlon’s door. He greeted us with great hugs.
Mahlon’s apartment was clean and tidy, a loud nose-thumb toward the “sloppy bachelor” trope. Seriously, uncluttered counters and (yes, I got a glimpse into his closet) clothes hangers all spaced two inches apart. There was just enough of everything and not too much of anything.
After lunch, I excused myself for some outdoor time. Mahlon walked me out to the sidewalk and pointed south, “Go down to Pecos and back,” he said, then turning, “And if you want more, walk up to the light,” he gestured towards Huron Street.
I strode off briskly like a loose pup, resisting the urge to leap into the air until I was respectfully out of sight, overjoyed to be moving after the long, sedentary morning. It was a spectacular day. Cool air, warm sun, Colorado Blue sky (we call it Carolina Blue back home) with flowering shrubs and lavender flanking the wide, level sidewalk. This being Colorado, one of the healthiest states in the country, other people were about: jogging, dog-walking, and pushing strollers.
This is when I spotted my first wizened Cottonwood tree. I stood in reverence, my affinity for Denver blossoming in my chest.
I remembered riding borrowed horses along the city ditches in the ’70s and ’80s and our rides on Jesse and Penny down to the Big Thompson east of Loveland in the ’90s.
A couple of days later, we had lunch with Molly and Shane and their longtime friends, Alex and Jade, at the Lake House in Littleton. Molly has several times mentioned how much Alex reminds her of me, and this was our first opportunity to meet. Molly was right, Alex and I have similar profiles and many traits in common. Someone mentioned that we should adopt Alex and Jade, and Bob and I enthusiastically agreed. So now we have five daughters!
Molly and Bob took the opportunity to catch up while the rest of us walked the Clement Park Lake Trail. This time I couldn’t help myself. I took off running and Jade sprinted to overtake me in her dress and hiking boots. Laughing, we returned to Alex and Shane only to burst into childish exuberance the next time either of us had the urge. Soon we were straying from the pavement to chase fat-bellied prairie dogs, Alex calling after us, “Don’t touch them! They’ve got mange. Maybe Bubonic Plague.”
A pair of boys wheeled towards us, asking if we’d like them to catch a prairie dog. “Yes!” we screamed and they flung down their scooters. The larger boy gave chase and at the last minute the chubby pest dove into a hole with a indignant chirp.
The smaller boy crouched low like a border collie, milking the limelight, and crept towards another plump rodent. Then with a wiggle of his hips he flew forward. For a minute, we thought the boy would win, but his intended target also scampered away unmolested.
We were more than halfway around the lake now and Jade and I had settled down, chatting idly with the adults about movies and such. We came upon some old Cottonwoods and I shared my thoughts about reconnecting to my years in Colorado and about how much I loved climbing trees as a child.
Jade, too remembered fondly her tree-climbing youth. “I haven’t climbed a tree for ten years,” I said wistfully. “All I need is a limb I can reach and I can walk my feet up the trunk,” I said. “The trees at home all branch out too far up to reach.”
“What about this one?” Jade asked and a minute later, she was up and urging me to try.
It was a hard-won battle. Grasping the branch nub, I got my right foot wedged between twin trunks, and willed my leg to raise me from clinging to standing while Jade cheered me on. I doubt I would have made it without her encouragement.
It took a long time for the euphoria to dissipate and settle into my bones. Since then I’ve felt connected and rejuvenated, and sure that I won’t ever stop absorbing the world of people, plants, and animals with childlike delight.
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