Yesterday I had a phone conversation with a guy from National Public Radio. It was in response to a long phone message I had left at their request — on Facebook they’d posted a bulletin saying they wanted to hear from people in rural areas to find out what we need. I called.

He had to look me up in order to contact me, and he found my email. He emailed to see if the email reached the woman in Monte Vista who had left the message and asked for my phone number. I sent it, then tried to reconstruct what I’d said in a rather impassioned phone message. I wrote down all I remembered (I don’t have strong aural learning skills even with my own words) and then found the sources that had informed my understanding of the problems in the San Luis Valley. I was ready.

I was surprised when he called and wanted to know how and why someone would move to the Back of Beyond from a place like San Diego.

It’s true that San Diego is high on the list of “most desirable cities.” When I lived in San Diego, it was NOT in the “most desirable” part. It was a barrio known to have the highest crime rate in the city. It was San Diego’s version of East LA, in fact, it was East San Diego. After 17 (happy) years there, I moved to a mountain community 35 miles east, 45 miles from the airport. I had a great house and I lived in the mountains. If I’d had the money to stay there after retirement I probably would have. It was a life that worked. I’d been in Southern California for thirty years and it was, kind of, home. But it was expensive to live there. The cost of living had shot up during the recession and just heating my house for one winter cost nearly $2000. I couldn’t stay.

Meanwhile, I had been out here. I had given a couple papers at conferences in Colorado Springs, reconnected with old friends and made new ones. I had not wanted to leave Colorado in the first place. That happened because of marriage… The moment I knew what I had to do, I was in Colorado Springs. I filed my papers and knew that I would make big changes soon and it would be terra incognita.

So I explained to the man that my choice of Monte Vista was actually random. I knew how much money I had to live on and there was a house here that I wanted to live in. I told him I’d never been here before, but when I came through the San Luis Valley on my way to see my house I knew I wanted to live in this beautiful place ringed by mountains. Monte Vista — as I saw on that first journey — seemed to be a livable small town not too far from hospitals and stuff like that.

I knew back then that I had to go somewhere. This place was beautiful. I’d meet people in the course of time, meanwhile I’d write, walk my dogs, shake off 35 years in the classroom and find my feet. I had friends 3 hours away. It was up to me if the thing turned out good or bad.

“How did you pick Colorado?”

“I was born here.”

“In that area?”

“No, no, I’m from Denver.”

“Did you find it hard to make friends?”

“No, not at all. Here I have a social life. Back in California that was difficult because I worked so much. People here are friendly and we need each other.”

“Have you and your neighbors helped each other out?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s how things work.”

I wasn’t very lucid on the phone because I was so stunned and I don’t do phone if I can avoid it, anyway. I don’t think of my decision as extraordinary at all and was a little taken back that he did, that he thought there was a story in my story. I found it very difficult to describe the beauty and wonder of this place, not just (just?) the landscape but the human scenes I witness — and am part of — often. The tiny congregation of the Episcopal church, faithful and lovely, my friend playing the organ in the golden morning light streaming through the stained glass window — a church built by English pioneers so their children could go to a “proper English village church.” My friend’s husband putting the blade on his AWD and pushing the snow out of the alley so I can get out of my driveway after a big snow. Getting a ride to the Ford garage 20 miles away in my neighbor’s 1955 T-bird that he’s had for fifty years!!! Three older ladies (my friends and I) standing in the cold, clear water of Medano Creek beside the sand dunes, laughing like children at how funny our feet look in the water, the cowboys on horseback in the distance with their dog who — I think — should’ve been named Shorty. Sunsets that defy both photography and description. 20,000 sandhill cranes hanging out against a backdrop of snowy peaks. Bald eagles flying over me, their shadows grazing my shoulder beside the Rio Grande where I walk my dogs almost every day. The guy at the post office who hands me a package and says, “What is it?” and I tell him it’s a cable to hook my computer to my TV and he answers, “Que suave!” The small herd of bison out by the hospital, munching grass at the end of a summer rain storm. Horses in a pasture, kicking up their heels in the snow. Snow.

I go with friends to a restaurant. There’s live music. The retarded guy who lives nearby is at the restaurant. He goes up to the singer and makes a request. The singer smiles. The retarded guy takes a seat on a stool beside the singer who strikes a chord on his guitar. It’s a song I thought was corny and stupid back in the day. I learn it’s been made the Colorado state song. The retarded guy sings with all his heart, smiling a broad smile. The friends beside me sing, too. As I watch that duet, aware of the gentleness and familiarity behind it, I can’t believe my good luck at landing here.

That feeling has not changed.


21 thoughts on “Outlier?

  1. Gee I love the way you write. Perfect descriptive words of Monte Vista. I’d want to live there too if I were much younger and liked snow and the cold. 🙂 I think you were extremely lucky when you found your home in that area. It fits your life style and from what I gather, your personality as well.


    Lol. Good job, ma’am. I’m sure if you spoke half as well as you write it came out brilliant. I hope I hear it played on the air soon.

    Wonderful written description of your town, too. As expected 🙂

    • I didn’t make the cut to be on the radio — to my relief. They let me know today. As a matter of fact, in high school I did a weekly radio show. I liked it, but I have the voice of a child and it was HARD to hit an ear-pleasing range.

      And I cannot speak as well as I write. I try, I’ve overcome the general terror of speaking in public, but I do not feel as free. Basically, I never feel like anyone is paying attention. (Thanks for that, mom)

      But I DO know someone who’s regularly on the radio and I bet he’s fun to listen to. I never asked him what kind of music he plays (or if it’s even a music station!!!)

      • Ahhhhhhhhhhh, too bad. As an inveterate NPR listener, I would have been thrilled to hear you.

        That was funny about your High School broadcast career! Funny how radio is somewhat voice dependent, isn’t it? What you should have done was move to Japan. That vocal range is the most desireable – you would have been a star. A star, I tell ya!

        Hmmm. Send me that guy’s name. I’ll see if I can find out what format he’s on. (I have it on good authority though that as a network announcer he’s not playing music, but rather doing newscasts, traffic reports, banter as part of morning shows, and other sundry sidekick duties. It’s become a weird business….)


      • Oh well. At least I will not be disappointed to learn he’s not playing Iggy Pop and Dead Kennedys mixed in with John Denver… :p I have a sneaking feeling he might play Dangermouse and Sparkle Horse, but not sure.

  3. “He’s the greatest! He’s fantastic! Wherever there is danger he’ll be there….”

    How could he NOT play the Dangermouse theme??

  4. This was a heart warmer for sure, Martha. Shame they didn’t use this on NPR. That is all I listen to; I’d have loved to hear this on the air.
    Main thing is you sound happy and at peace with your world. That is the best.

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