this land, part iv

One of the most striking impressions of our trip was how remarkably homogenous rural America has become. We set out to find the charms of each of the towns and cities along our route, only to be disappointed again and again. Where once there were Main Streets and unique histories, now there are bland copies of one another, each with its Target or Wal-Mart, Starbucks, and MacDonald's. I want the Mom-and-Pop experience.

Hays, Kansas is a Mom-and-Pop kind of a town. Red-bricked streets and original storefronts bring the charm, and Gella's Diner & Brewing Co. dishes up great local food (that's Steve's fried bologna sandwich and veggies in the photo below). We grabbed gourmet popcorn salts at an adorable home goods shop next door and treats at a little candy store across the street. It was everything I would want out of a tiny Midwestern town, including a sordid history. In the nineteenth century, when it was still the Wild West, Hays had one of the highest murder rates in the USA and its own boot hill for all the cowboys who died gun-slinging (i.e. with their boots on).

 

Later, we met up with friends in Denver, on loan from Moscow. We meet every summer, here, there, and everywhere, and we love to eat and talk together and see our kids rediscover one another. This time it was tangy watermelon gazpacho and artisan cheeses at eat+drink in the urban revival neighborhood of LoDo (apparently this is a thing now), preceded by a day at a park and a walk along the river.

After a couple days' rest and company, we were ready for Rocky Mountain National Park, where we drove through the clouds at 12,500 feet and saw yellow-bellied marmots (that's Townsend's scream of Take me back to the marmots!, below), deer, and herds of elk. As we descended to beautiful Grand Lake, it started to rain, then sleet, then hail. We laughed and told Violet our respective stories of childhood hailstorms, and retrieved a tiny piece of ice for her to hold. It kept coming, getting larger and larger until it started making thunks on the hood of the car. We spotted a lone scraggly tree and pulled under it just in time to escape serious damage to the car as hailstones the size of small plums rained down upon us.

Those last two days offered the most incredible scenery, between Boulder and Steamboat Springs, Colorado, then to Utah. Green and blue mountains, few people, lots of cattle. A stop in Vernal at the Utah Field House Dinosaur Museum was the perfect place for running around indoors and engaging with prehistory.

Then more mountains, and dinner at lovely Sundance, ten minutes from where I grew up. It was the perfect ending to our road trip, and the beginning of our last six weeks of native life, at least for a while.