A Drive Down a Colorado Country Road

On the Way Out series

Vol. 5

Part 9

I took a detour today.

It wasn't really a detour. It was just an exit along I-70 between Grand Junction and Glenwood Springs. There wasn't a sign letting the driver of the vehicle know how far the next town was-- only a winding road ahead, which first went south along the Colorado River, then west...then a short stretch north...and then back west again.

I slowed down. A farmhouse was directly in front of me. There were flowers on the porch, and wind chimes swirled to and fro. I could hear the chimes talking to each other as I passed.

Suddenly, a sharp curve in the country road -- a wild turkey, with its feathers fluttering, crossed in front of me and made its way across the two-lane road, disappearing into the clearing below. 

I continued, adhering to the 35-mile-an-hour speed limit. . . slowing to 20 mph around the next curve and the next. Small ranches to my left. . .more farmhouses with more chimes to my right. . farm equipment spread around the confines of the properties -- awaiting the owner to climb aboard and do whatever the machinery is supposed to do.

 The city boy behind the wheel of the pickup that just rolled by owned not one ounce of mechanical ability. He could only imagine what a day in the life of the ranch/farm owner was like. What did they go through to keep their little spread running smoothly? 

How early are they up in the morning? When do their chores end? What do they do when a blizzard blows through? What does a country breakfast taste like?

I suddenly wanted to be a ranch hand or a farm hand. More importantly, I wanted to meet those Coloradans -- those interesting people who lived inside the walls of those dwellings.

Did the fireplace crackle and pop every night? Was there a bearskin rug in the den, covering a shiny wooded floor, and was there a four-legged critter comfortably napping at the feet of its owner?

Who are those characters that live such a life?

I wanted to pull into the driveway, walk onto the porch, knock on the door, and find out.

There was a story there. I was sure of it.

I moved on, reaching the plateau to the south. Then, looking north, I saw the town of Parachute, Colorado, below.

It was a short journey, but this time, I was left with only my imagination. I had no characters to write about and no solid evidence to report. 

Now, it's time to turn out the lights. Another Colorado day has come to an end. The moon is shining through the bedroom window. I'm still awaiting the first winter snowfall.

I can only imagine.

Photo: Priceless Captures Photography by Amelia