Seeking Grace in Every Step

John Denver once wrote about the Rocky Mountains as “Coming home to a place he’d never been before.” My entire life in Texas, from the time I was eleven, I felt like that. Like I was born in Texas but Colorado felt like home. Now that I live here, and although I’m thrilled to be where I am, I still feel like I’m not quite home yet. I’ve traveled all over this state in the past 6 years and the place that feels most like home is the San Juan Mountains, especially Ouray.

Hippies and New Agers frequently toss the word “vibe” around to describe that indescribable aura that attaches to different places. Vibe is the only word I can use to authentically explain my attraction to Ouray. The air is different there. The sky is bluer. The quality of light is unlike that of any other place I’ve been.

Ouray is a Victorian mining town with her feet firmly planted in the 1800s. There’s one grocery store, Duckett’s, and if you decide you want a steak to throw on the grill and it’s 7:01 p.m., you can forget about your steak dinner. Duckett’s closes promptly at 7:00 p.m., as all local groceries once did before the “Open 24 hours” signs were hung on the doors.

Ouray is not “on the way” to any other place. Everyone in Ouray is there because they purposely and determinedly chose to be there. You don’t accidentally just find yourself in Ouray, because the route there, over Red Mountain Pass via the Million Dollar Highway, is one of the most harrowing and treacherous roads in North America. You don’t drive a road like that unless you really want to be someplace.

As a result, everyone in Ouray shares a common bond – they want to be there. Townies and tourists co-exist peacefully in line at Duckett’s. In Ouray people talk to one another as if they’ve known each other quite a lot longer than the 15 minutes you shared at La Papillion waiting for your egg and bacon sourdough breakfast sandwich. You talk about the amazing scenery, the architecture, or the parade the entire town turned out for. The people who live there seem proud and happy to talk to you about their town. After all, you braved tight switchbacks and hairpin turns to be there.

When I’m there, I feel absolutely giddy. It takes 5.5 hours to drive there from my home and the entire trip I am so excited. When I pull into the Riverside Inn and unload my gear into a camper cabin on the Uncompahgre River, I just stand there and do a 360-degree turn, surveying the red cliffs that tower over the town. I listen to the river. I listen to the aspen leaves rattling against each other in the autumn breeze. I breathe in what must be the sweetest, cleanest air I’ve ever drawn into my lungs. Soon, other campers arrive and the scent of charcoal briquettes wafts across our little community of camper cabins. We sit on our front porch swings and greet the latecomers, who pull in, get out, stretch and start their own 360-degree turn.

Spending time in Ouray is like being in love as a teenager. It happens fast, before you realize what’s happening. You never want to be anywhere else, and when it’s over, your heart breaks into little pine needle chards. I get cramps in my neck as I drive away from Ouray. I am constantly tossing one last look over my shoulder at Mount Sneffels, the grand dam that towers over the San Juan Mountains. A queen and her court. The San Juan Mountains are the most beautiful and precious sight I’ve seen. They make me smile when I see them for the first time as I drive into town and I drink them in with one long stare as I leave, like a diver drawing one last sweet breath before I disappear into the murky depths of real life. Life is clearer and richer in Ouray. No place has affected me as profoundly as this little nugget of a town. It’s my hometown, my heart.

In seven days I will be there -- greeting my fellow travelers, listening to the river, spinning slowly, heart open, waiting for clarity.