I was sold a bill of goods about Denver when I arrived from Iowa. Denver is supposed to be the home of wild, tough, adventurous folks — mountain people who are stuck in the craggy, snow-locked passes for the winter and who only come out after the spring thaw, grizzled and hungry and wild-eyed.
I catch a large flake on my tongue.
Sure, I get it. Once a week there is a snowstorm in Denver. Traffic stops. Schools close. Walking is treacherous. And the next day, the snow is gone. We all put on our shorts. We wear sandals. We slather ourselves in sunscreen.
Where did I leave my beach umbrella?
Why would anyone go to Florida? You want warmth? You want sunshine? Come to Denver. "Urban sophistication meets outdoor adventure," according to colorado.com, the official website for visitors to the state. Really? How about: "No need to put away your shorts." Maybe not all that catchy, but it would certainly attract folks from the Midwest, where long johns are a fashion-must until early April.
Not being an urban sophisticate or an outdoor adventurer, I decided to go out in the latest snowstorm and see what Denver has to offer a frumpy flatlander during the one day a week of snow.
So here I am. On an urban trail in the suburbs tucked between housing developments and businesses. The trail runs past a high school and stops at a park. Utah Park.
Stonehenge in Aurora.
Joe Weeg
I do love a weed. In A Guide to Nature in Winter, Donald Stokes writes: "There is really no difference between plants and weeds; weeds are simply plants growing where they are not wanted." Amen for the shout-out against tribalism. And who wouldn't want to be a milkweed — a strong stalk with beautiful pods shaped like small shrines to the Virgin Mother that burst with seeds flying away on delicate, wispy parachutes. Yup, I'd be a milkweed any season of the year.
On the other side of Overland High School, I see a creek running dark and slow. Chilled molasses on a wintery day.
Design Concepts was instrumental in rejuvenating Utah Park, along with the City of Aurora, Urban Drainage, Arapahoe County and Cherry Creek Schools. The park is described as essentially a "stormwater detention basin," which sounds a lot like the sewer drain located in that dark corner in your basement, which may or may not have the moldering body of a dead something on top of the grate. Yuck!
But who would guess? This beautiful creek flows into the park and down a glorious waterfall to an idyllic pond full of wildlife. Go figure.
And as I slug along through the snow, I see a vision. Yup, Stonehenge. Right here in River City. This prehistoric monument was built in approximately 2500 B.C. — probably before even REI came into existence. Even though I'm thinking this is not the original, it is still pretty darn fantastic.
Making it to the top, I see that lovers have left a few signs of their affection on the stones. I wish them well. I was reminded of my conversation with a young carpenter friend who has both forearms tattooed with Chinese characters. I do love a tattoo and asked the meaning. He said one arm was the name of his mother. Fair enough. And the other was the name of his lover. He smiled, "My ex-lover." He laughs. "That is why I did the Chinese characters." Wisdom at a young age.
I turn from Utah Park and head home. The snow falls. The big flakes stack up on the ground, making a large feathery pillow. My outward-bound tracks have vanished. It is a delightful world.
And the next day...I already know what will happen. Where did I put my shorts?
So enough with "urban sophistication meets outdoor adventure." Come on. Get real. The truth will set you free — or at least free up your wardrobe.
"Denver — No need to put away your shorts."
You heard it here first.
Joe Weeg is a retired criminal prosecutor reincarnated as a freelance writer and columnist who just bought a home in metro Denver. Email him at [email protected].
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