Be where you are…

A second homeowner neighbor pointed out when he saw me walking a few weeks ago that he figured I must still be too injured to ride my bike. “Your editorials are really long this summer. You must have a lot of time on your hands,” he said. I couldn’t argue with that as I looked at the summer and most of my Page 2 pieces have spilled onto page 3. Ouch. I’ll try to keep this one shorter. That means no talk of the second home tax or corridor plan or Lower Verzuh or Whetstone or the county’s shift on ICE cooperation or…

Instead, after a week with my kid’s two-year-old kids, I don’t have the energy to write onto page 3. A different kind of smile-induced tired comes with grand toddlers. They were not only a reminder of the energy flowing from their curious brains, but they were also a lesson that they are where they are. They don’t fear what will happen if they do something, they just do it and accept the consequences. Sometimes the consequence is a bruise but more often it is a smile. These two anyway are more laughter than crying but there is some of both every day, sometimes within the same minute.

In an “accident” of synchronicity, I had stopped reading my latest library book before the twins arrived and so I needed to take the now overdue book back to the Old Rock on Monday. I decided to take the long way from the office to Crank’s Plaza around 6 o’clock. I went via the perimeter woodsy route and given that the title of the book was Comfortable With Uncertainty: 108 Teachings, a Buddhist tome by Pema Chodron, I figured I should randomly open it up for one of the lessons as I strolled. It opened to #41 —“Be Where You Are.”

Okay Universe.

So, I decided to listen and continued the walk even though it was 82 degrees. And not only did I remember where I was, I remembered why I love where I am. I skirted the great summer mingler, Alpenglow, and the hundreds and hundreds of people from babies to seniors, hanging out together as music filled the park. I made it to the library where the book return was pretty full, telling me people use one of the greatest tools of government conjured up by one of my favorite founding fathers — Benjamin Franklin. Love that guy.

The feeling I got of town in my evening wandering was one that while still busy, we have crested the summer hump. There were people around, but it wasn’t shoulder to shoulder. Families were strolling the streets, dogs were being walked, friends were sharing cocktails in the backyards. A young mom talking to a neighbor was corralling her kid. It was perfect small-town Americana.

I saw friends heading out and heading back from after-work rides. Where the two-year-olds ran into a bear on a trail last week, it was wonderfully cool, shady and a place to be all alone on Monday evening. The tables on Elk Avenue were being used but there weren’t big lines anywhere. Of course, there will still be some big weekends, but it feels like we’re in the big wind down before we settle into off-season and ready ourselves for a winter of Super El Niño. Having said that, I know more than a few people are at the end of the summer season sanity burn-out rope. Hang in there and use this step back as a time to breathe.

Crested Butte is still different. It’s not perfect and it can be frustrating, but it is different. From what I’ve seen and experienced, it is still a place where small-town experiences and values matter. We watch out for one another. We step up when called. We argue and fight and disagree but know enough that we can’t be over-the-top mean because we understand that we will find ourselves in line at the PO or sharing an aisle at the Majestic together. When the sirens blare like they did Monday morning, everyone tightens a bit and hopes no one they know was in the accident and whoever was involved, is okay (There were no serious injuries in the crash by Brush Creek Road BTW). I appreciate the tourist and second homeowner elements of CB since they add diversity and depth to our little community but then leave the locals time to experience the even smaller town. It’s a good deal for everyone. I don’t want to live in Parlin.

Yeah, there are some who only see dollar signs in this high mountain valley with a resort, but most people don’t seem to want the typical resort experience 12 months a year. I know I don’t. Those that do can move to Breck since their dream is already there. Most appreciate our pace and our amenities and our place in the world. I would be lying if I said I didn’t like and take advantage of some of the shifts that have changed life here at the end of the road. But the retention of real community where you can greet everyone whether you know them or not, is important. That changes with numbers and there are several tipping points that have scooted people out, but I haven’t seen it yet.

Now hopefully, as I end these thoughts with still too much time on my hands, it doesn’t bleed over to page 3.

While I consider myself more of an armchair Taoist than a Middle Way Buddhist, I appreciated lesson #41 written by that Tibetan Buddhist nun and that was embodied in the two-year-old twin granddaughters and sent to me by the Universe on the way to the library — Be where you are — and I for one, suggest you might love it as well.

—Mark Reaman