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.