Why Del Norte?

"How the hell did you end up here?"

This is not rude. It is an honest reflection of one's inherent belief that where they live is not interesting or desirable, often times by virtue of how many or how few people call it home. Or how long they have been stuck there. Or for how long they have chosen not to leave.

"I've been here all my life."

My presence in their town confronts long held theories of small town irrelevance. This is not about me, but what I represent. Residents of such towns look upon newcomers with suspicion, and bemusement. Some folks accept interest in their home with grace, as a compliment. Some see an influx of energy and attention and get excited about the future. And some still with their own energy intact, see this presence as a threat to their idyll. A boon to their real estate values, but concerns over traffic, packed trails, and “Texans” blind them. An invasive, double-edged sword of overcrowding and hard asset values.

"This is how it starts..."

Small towns, like small countries, all have complexes. They were on full display in my travel through the quaint backwaters of post-Soviet Europe and likewise in many tiny American towns. Both of which I have combed, with special focus on the downtrodden, unexplored, and otherwise forgotten.

“We are all the same in our feeling of being different…”

If I had the chance, and they the attention span, I might supply an elaborate response.

Something like: Del Norte strikes me. It is a place like few others.*

This town is perched at a squinty seven thousand eight hundred and eighty four feet above sea level. As a multi-generational coastal Floridian, I am way out of my depth and element. It is a harsh landscape, wild, and downright unique.**

High-altitude, high-desert, high-plains America was a frontier I didn't know existed, and didn't know I needed. I won't blow smoke up your skirt about the raw natural beauty and the rock formations (of which there are innumerable). I won't even go on and on about the rivers bursting with trout, hiking trails for days, and mountains with more snow than is even necessary. That is all on the brochure.

Let me talk about a day, roughly 45 days into my sojourn, when I was running errands in the nearest big city of Alamosa and witnessed deer frolicking through a busy intersection. I visited a woman living on her own farm with a veritable zoo of animals and purchased a vintage chartreuse brocade couch for $25. I waded through a pile of brand new puppies, hunted for old barn wood in a junk pile, and drove past countless horses, cows, goats, sheep, and alpaca.

I saw a freshly slaughtered goat hanging on a fence post. I met a delightful Mormon family and bought vintage champagne glasses and piles of books from a charity shop. I stared deep into the soul of the Sangre de Cristo mountains and drove empty roads for hours.

I reckon this is all very pedestrian for some, but I assure you it is not for many. And this is just one day.

This is a week’s worth of experiences in the other places I have lived.

There were other times when I held a baby sheep, stared at a local bison herd, and saw a red fox trampling through the snow. Or how about driving home at sunset, being greeted by multiple elk, deer, and antelope herds? I can’t imagine there are many people who can say they regularly witness the blissful roaming of hundreds of wild mammals. The cows and horses and bison are old hat now, even though they shouldn't be.

And, there is no sense in attempting to describe the views around here. As the cliché goes, words will never do them justice. In this case, it’s really true!***

Colorado is a place where all the wonders of the American West are crammed into one spoiled rotten square on the map. A few months before stepping foot into this hitherto unbeknownst wonderland, I was sampling the standout jewels of South Dakota, Wyoming, Idaho, California, and New Mexico. And boy do they shine.

But now I am here, and Coloradan I must be. All others be damned.

Just like a new bride who insists she no longer cares for any other boys because “My husband really is perfect!" And the dough-eyed groom who insists his new wife is "the most beautiful woman in the world". I get the joke.

But, I am digging my heels into the thick Colorado mud. And don't even try to pull me out.

Del Norte fits nicely into this state’s mind-bending otherworldly landscape. Population 1,700: home to multi-generational homesteaders, artists, brewers, hunters, butchers, bikers, rocket scientists, carpenters, and even a certified sommelier. There is a hospital, brand new high school, two grocery stores, two gas stations, a liquor store, more than a few dining rooms, a historic hotel, a hipster motel, and heaps of nearby natural attractions.

There is even a full organic grocer and a cocktail bar with chartreuse, amaro, and absinthe! I am telling you, this doesn't make sense. It should not be.

I dare say I am not alone in the growing realization that this town is punching way above it's weight. I shouldn't be able to enjoy a buttery osso buco with a chewy super Tuscan and then repel off a mountain or wander through a cattle ranch. The tension of the opposites is much too delicious. I haven't been everywhere, but where I have been isn't like here.

So the question is no longer "Why Del Norte?". Instead, I prefer, "Why not?”

*I realize I am wading in my own waters of self-delusion. I repeat, We are all the same in our feeling of being different.

**See above

***You know the drill