Fall has definitely arrived in Central Colorado. Most of the aspen trees have shed their golden leaves, pickup trucks full of orange-clad hunters are making their way through town into the high country, numerous political signs are visible in yards throughout the city and the mountains are beginning show evidence of snow.
It’s a shoulder season in Salida, which means the streets are quieter and downtown is more subdued, and it will probably stay that way until the ski season gets under way. It’s also a time for chimney cleaning, rolling up the lawn hoses, getting the snow tires mounted and breaking out the winter clothes.
Here at Colorado Central, there is no shoulder season. Articles still have to be written, fact-checked, edited and proofread; deadlines still have to be met; advertisements solicited and designed and subscriptions updated – all the business of putting out a monthly magazine.
We do have some fascinating content this month. For some time now I’ve been wanting to run an article on musician Bruce Hayes, whom I’ve seen perform around Colorado for at least 20 years. As a dabbler on the mandolin myself, his musical abilities never fail to leave me marveling; plus Bruce is just a nice guy and has been a great asset to the local music community in many ways since his arrival here.
We also have a firsthand account of some locals who were negatively impacted by the government shutdown brought about by a small minority of useless politicians (including our own illustrious congress-critter, Doug Lamborn). Elisha McArthur – also a fine musician in her own right – tells a tale of being stranded at the put-in for a long-anticipated river trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. Park rangers there had to endure the anger, frustration and sadness of multiple groups of adventurous boaters whose dream vacations were dashed by the temper tantrum thrown in Washington.
Abby Quillen discusses the upcoming release of an anthology of her late father Ed’s work. Many of our readers donated to the Kickstarter effort to publish Deeper into the Heart of the Rockies, an anthology of Ed’s work which will be available for purchase this November. An excerpt from that book is also included in this issue.
While enjoying a hot soak at Joyful Journey a little while back, I stumbled upon a book in the lobby that caught my eye. It was authored by one of our past contributors, photographer Bob Seago. It is a series of “now and then” photographs of the historic town of Creede, which he compiled into a handsome hardback book. Bob gave us permission to publish excerpts from his book beginning on page 22.
Finally, a fun little story to share: Earlier this month I was on the Salida to Denver bus, headed to DIA for a flight out to see my family. Next to me sat a college-aged fellow who seemed content to look out the window, and across from me was a young girl entertaining herself on a Mac laptop computer.
About two hours into the trip, I began chatting with the fellow. Turns out he was a student at Adams State University in Alamosa and was heading back to Lakewood to see his father. Hearing the name Adams State, the young girl piped up, “My Dad teaches at Adams State!”
We both thought this was somewhat coincidental, but it turned out to be even more so.
“Which department?” The student asked.
“He teaches in the English Department,” she replied. As a business major, the fellow did not know him, but I decided to chime in.
“What’s his name?”
“His name is Peter Anderson,” she replied.
My eyes lit up as I realized this was the daughter of one of our regular contributors. Peter resides in Crestone and had made mention of her in his most recent October column.
I always travel with extra copies of the magazine and was pleased to present her with a copy of the current issue.
“Did he mention me by name?” she inquired.
“No,” I said, “he only mentions his nine-year-old daughter.”
“He never mentions my name!” she blurted out to the amusement of the passengers around us. So I’d like to give a shout-out to fellow traveler Caroline Anderson. — Mike Rosso
