Remembering

When Roy and I first got married, we headed off into the sunsets of the Colorado Rockies. We adored our time there. On Friday evenings after I was done with a week of school and Roy checked off a week of teaching, we stopped by a gas station and grabbed a couple of sodas on our way out the door for an evening ride in the mountains. I remember gazing in awe as the sun dipped below the mountains, setting the sky ablaze in wonder. 

On weekends, we often headed to Estes Park, a tiny town nestled up in the mountains near a lake. A brook winds its way through the town, its icy waters bubbling over rocks scattered randomly on the path. Roy rode his bicycle up the mountain while I trailed behind. Usually a picnic was packed in the trunk and we met at a picnic table by the lake where we dined on sandwiches and potato salad — the very same recipe I still make today. (Thanks, Aunt Lois.)

Afterwards, we meandered the little shops along the road — homemade fudge, t-shirts, and those old-time photos proved some of our favorites. In fact, we have several of those photos that used to line the walls of our home and commemorated monumental moments of our first few years of married life: our one year anniversary, when Savana was 18 months old and I had just found out I was pregnant with Darian, etc…Since moving to Texas, however, they’ve not made it back up to their long-held spots on the walls.

Estes Park is, undoubtedly, one of our very favorite spots in the world. 

This past weekend, I flew to Denver to host an alumni event. Tami Condon and I flew out together, rented a car, and hung out before the event on Sunday evening. “Let’s see some sites,” Tami said while we were on the plane headed to Denver. “I love Colorado Springs or Boulder…”

“How about Estes Park?” I ventured.

“Yes!” She quickly agreed.

And so, on Sunday morning after a motel breakfast, we found ourselves in the car and winding our way up the mountain towards Estes Park. As I rented the car, I was the designated driver, while Tami oohed and aahed the entire way, pointing and exclaiming over various wondrous sites. Her phone was in constant motion as she clicked photo after photo thats finishing product paled in comparison to being there in person.

As we rounded the corner and entered the Estes Park city limits, a sign there to welcome us, the lake rose up before us and I immediately saw “our picnic table.” I quickly pulled into a nearby parking lot and Tami and I got out to gaze in wonder.

It was like going back in time thirty years — absolutely nothing had changed about that view. The same sparkling white motel jutted up near a mountain ledge; the same concrete picnic tables still dotted the park; the mountains still rose around us in grandeur and majesty.

After awhile, we continued on into town, parked our car, and meandered the stores along the street. This part of Estes Park had greatly changed. It still had the same charm; the crisp mountain air still felt energizing; the babbling brook still weaved its way through the town. But more shops lined the streets than before and crowds of people filled the sidewalks. 

Quaint little Estes Park isn’t so little anymore.

But Tami and I had an amazing adventure up there in the mountains, and when we headed back towards Denver, the backseat was filled with bags stuffed with t-shirts and other mementos gathered from the day, and my mind was packed full with nostalgia.

I will be heading back to Denver next year around this time. I am hoping that Roy and Jace can go with me. I know that Jace will decide that he’s going to move there as soon as he reaches adulthood, as if it involves winter and mountains, Jace is in love. Chances are, Roy won’t be riding his bicycle up the mountain as I trail behind since life has a way of slowing us down in a few areas…but that’s okay. Maybe we’ll pack a picnic, toss it in the trunk, and as we wind our way up the mountain, oohing and aahing over jutted rocks and babbling streams, we can find ourselves aglow, remembering.