Just before I went to bed last Monday night, my half-half-sister, Hannah, called me. Well, she actually Facetimed me, and her call scared the shit outta me. After all, why was she calling me? My brain immediately thought the worst, and I quickly picked up.
“Hello?” I began, frantic, “Hello?”
I was met with silence and a black screen.
“Helloooo?” I asked again, “Hannah? Is everything ok? Han-”
Suddenly, the call disconnected. Immediately, I sent her a text, “Hey Hannah! Did you mean to call me?”
Several long minutes later, my phone buzzed. Hannah had texted back saying, “Hi Maya! I meant to Facetime ‘Mum’ but accidentally hit ‘Maya’. Sorry! I miss you and think about you lots. Hope all is well. Let’s talk soon!”
I breathed a sigh of relief. My worries about something having happened to Clarke (my half-brother, Jack’s, dad) or Ryder (my half-half-brother) instantly went away. But I didn’t want to leave Hannah on “read”, so I responded, “I’m just about to go to bed, but we should talk sooner than later. I will say I’m doing very well, and so is Jack. I just started my first semester at the University of Colorado Denver and am studying BioTech. I’m very busy and working on getting an internship this summer. Love and miss you, too!”
That night, as I was falling asleep, I thought about the last time I’d seen Hannah. I felt a chill run down my spine when I realized I hadn’t seen her since the summer of 2018, way back when Clarke rented a basement on a five-acre horse-property in Elizabeth, Colorado.
2018 was seven years ago. Seven. Years. Ago.
Seven. Fucking. Years. Ago.
Needless to say, a lot has changed in seven years.
Clarke moved from Elizabeth to Bennett, Colorado with his roommates in 2020. But, a couple years ago, due to illness brought on by alcohol and opiates, Clarke moved to Canada to live with Ryder and Hannah, and I haven’t seen nor heard from him since. I’ve also lost touch with Clarke’s former roommates, Ryan and Gabby, who owned horses, goats, and farm dogs that made the mini ranch… well… a mini ranch.
In the late summer of 2020, I sold my dirtbike because my mom wanted to move us to Gig Harbor, Washington for the worst of the pandemic, and we had no place to keep it. However, on the bright side, my dad fully restored the old Jeep YJ that once sat in Clarke’s front yard in Elizabeth for years. Nowadays, my dad loves that Jeep more than I do.
Driven by a bit of nostalgia and a desire to check out the Paint Mines, Dad and I drove that Jeep down roads I haven’t seen since March of 2020, which was the last time I stayed at Clarke’s house.
I remember it so well, because that was when the first Covid lockdowns were being imposed, and the news had stirred up people into a panic-buying frenzy. But while Walmart and Tractor Supply were as chaotic as could be in downtown Elizabeth, as soon as I got east of the ponderosas guarding the rangelands from town, it was desolate. Nothing but the sound of the wind and the occasional passing truck or sneezing horse, interrupted the ambience of the mini ranch.
Oh, how I miss the ambience of the wide open prairie.
Unfortunately, it’s not so wide open anymore.
Last weekend, while driving down once-familiar roads, I scowled at all of the new neighborhoods that have infested the land since I left Elizabeth in 2020. Those houses are huge and packed in like sardines, blocking the views of Pikes Peak to the west, and rolling, golden hills to the east. The Elizabeth Walmart parking lot was somehow busier than it was when people were panic-buying in 2020. And a few more chain restaurants had cropped up on once-empty fields where the county fair was held.
As we broke through the ponderosa forest east of Elizabeth and the old mini ranch was visible from the highway, a huge sign on the pasture by the road read “DEVELOPMENT LAND FOR SALE: SOLD”, and construction equipment was already being piled up near the barbed-wire fence.
Five years ago, that pasture had beef cattle on it. One time, a black angus cow had escaped from that pasture while Clarke was driving us to Southlands Mall to see a movie. He rolled down his window and asked that cow, “Hey! Do you want to go to the mooooovies?!” while me, Hannah, Ryder, and Jack howled with laughter.
Five years from now, that land will be yet another cheaply-built, cookie-cutter neighborhood, blocking the mini ranch's view of Colorado's picturesque prairie. Worse, people from all over the country (but not Colorado) will lap that shit right up, and swallow Elizabeth up along with it. Elizabeth will lose its small-town charm, and become yet another yuppified suburb of Denver.
Damn… that makes me sad. Really sad, actually.
My sadness from seeing Denver expand its tendrils further and further east didn’t get much better as Dad and I drove through Kiowa, then banked south towards Calhan. Ignoring the GPS, we took some random dirt roads that looked just like I remembered them. But, as we got closer to Calhan, we got in a line of traffic, all of which were headed to the Paint Mines with us. I’d hoped the Paint Mines were relatively unknown. But, when I saw just how full the parking lot was, my hopes were dashed.
Still, I did my best to have fun and get immersed in one of God’s many unique creations. And yes, the Paint Mines were beautiful. Spires of pink, white, yellow, and orange clay had been carved out of the prairie by a creek over thousands of years. However, there were people everywhere, including some very disrespectful “influencers” who were crawling around the fragile rocks, ignoring signs saying not to do just that. And that pissed me off beyond words.
“If they don’t get the fuck off that rock before I get there…” I growled to my dad as we approached some pink and white rocks where those assclowns were perched upon, taking pictures of someone who was literally dressed up like a clown.
“Don’t you even think about it.” Dad interrupted me, “There’s nothing you can say that’ll get through to them.”
“So we’re just gonna let ‘em fuck shit up?” I hissed.
“At least make sure there’s no little kids ‘round.” Dad said as he gestured towards a nearby family, who were definitely within earshot of us.
I sighed, angrily, and figured I’d scream into my pillow (then write about it) when I got home. But, in the meantime, I did get some decent pictures. And I found a couple remote spots away from all of the other people, where the familiar, high-plains wind hissed through the yucca and dusted my boots with colorful sand. However, I couldn’t shake the sadness, anger, or utter disappointment I felt starting at the hordes of people in the Paint Mines below.
“Y’know…” my dad began, interrupting my lamented trance, “The land around here’s not as expensive as I thought it would be.”
I glanced up at him as he stared down at his phone, scrolling through nearby listings on Zillow, “As of now, buying a property out here is not that expensive. I mean- it’s still expensive- but there’s a place just a few miles that-a-way that’s about as much as my house is, and it’s got 40 acres stuck to it.”
I turned to stare northeast, where my dad was pointing. Barns and ponderosas peppered the wide open grasslands for as far as the eye could see. Straight to our east, huge wind turbines towered over the land, generating electricity.
“But how long till Denver gets out here?” I asked.
“Good question.” Dad replied, “That’s a very good question. But why not buy somethin’ out here? Just to preserve the land?”
“Good question.” I echoed, smiling, “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
“There ya go!” Dad shouted over the wind, slapping my back, “Finish your studies so you can buy a ranch out here and make your dreams come true!”
“I like the way you think.” I mumbled to myself, underneath the wind.
