Garden of the Gods

Earlier this month I was on a work trip in Colorado. Late on a Saturday afternoon, our work for the day finished, my friend Nate drove us to Garden of the Gods. “It’s a short drive — you’ve gotta see it” he said.

Boy was he right.

We drove through subdivisions towards the mountains and suddenly the Garden of the Gods came into view. Huge red and white rock formations. Some seemed thin and delicate - like you could scrape the layers apart with your fingernails until they were dust. Others were thicker and more substantial, with edges that had been softened by time. Clouds were coming over the mountains, moving fast and sputtering rain. Gaps of sunshine spotlit parts of the landscape. The kind of storm-sun sky that’s radiant and biblical.

None of these pictures do the place justice...

This magnificent landscape is, incredibly, a city park. The children of a railroad barron gifted it to Colorado Springs on the condition that it be “kept forever free to the public.” They put up a plaque and everything. Even the parking is free.

This plaque is taller than I am…

A road loops through the park and after a stop along the side of the road to admire the view and take a picture, we ventured further in and parked. We walked past a meadow and into the heart of the Garden.

Nate is one of my few union organizer friends who is a naturally gregarious person with every stranger he meets (I think many of us are outgoing for our jobs because we have to be, not because of our personalities). So hiking with Nate, in this beautiful and busy place, was a highly interactive and delightful experience.

We cut up a side trail and begin climbing a long series of broad and shallow steps turning around occasionally to admire the view. Nate greeted everyone we passed. Some people got extra attention — “Hello Minnesota!” he exclaimed to a man in a Vikings sweatshirt. “This is quite the hike” the man answered. “Tougher than walking the Lake of the Isles” agreed Nate, and everyone chuckled knowingly, our shared lake heritage forming a temporary bond.

The steps ended and we began a bit of a scramble up some rocks. I’m not known for my nimbleness, so we didn’t push any higher and instead enjoyed the view.

We climbed down the stairs, Nate greeting every person we passed, and walked back onto the smooth pavement and wended our way through some of the rock formations. A strong wind came whipping down from the mountains, causing everyone to shriek with laughter and hold onto their hats. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone, and Nate and I returned safely to his car.

The next day, I had the morning off and decided to visit the Garden of the Gods again. Nate and my visit was too short — I had gotten a taste for the place and wanted more. This time there were no storms on the horizon, just hot blue skies.

I pulled into the parking lot at the entrance of the park and took a pedestrian tunnel under the road and up a hill. A father and his small daughter, who was wearing a tutu skirt and a sporty sun hat, tested the acoustics of the tunnel, their little yelps echoing up the walkway.

I turned onto a concrete path and began climbing up to the central rock formations. I passed stubby oak trees, specifically Gambel Oaks. I’ve long had a special affinity for oaks (I think because my initials are OAK) and in my walks over the past year, they seem to be everywhere. Next to peat bogs in Scotland and on mountains in Spain and on the coastal hills in California. They’re hearty and stubborn and like to spread out a bit, giving room for other plants to blossom. Perhaps I share some of those qualities…

I walked higher into the central garden, past rock formations with names like “the Scotsman” and “kissing camels.” Time and weather had sculpted grooves in the rocks that looked perfect for rock climbing. I’m not the first person to have noticed this; rock climbing routes were mapped here in 1910 and the Garden is considered one of the birthplaces of technical rock climbing. In the distance, I saw a rock climber rappelling down the rocks, looking tiny against the giant sandstone formation.

There’s a climber right above the trees.

I also noticed tiny trees and plants that had somehow rooted themselves in the faces of the rock. They reminded me of the California poppies that grow out of sidewalks and parking lots. Life and beauty taking hold in the most inhospitable places.

Same vibe

It was a busy day, even busier than when I visited with Nate, but the scale of the place is so massive that it didn’t feel crowded. I’m not an outgoing person, so with the exception of a few hellos and nods and smiles, I didn’t talk to anyone. But I did eavesdrop.

Well I’m not sure if you can call it eavesdropping if the person walking behind you is talking very loudly. She was a motivational speaker (or something like that) from New Zealand who was recounting in loud detail her last trip to Colorado during which she got terrible altitude sickness. “I was supposed to go speak but all these ‘medical professionals’ were telling me I had to go to the hospital. And I told my team no, I’m doing this and so all of the energy healers got to work on me and I drank a lot of water that had been specially charged and I was fine.”

I had one thousand questions that I wanted to ask her, but that’s the thing about overhearing other people’s conversations - you’re an innocent bystander, not a participant. Though I hadn’t drunk any specially charged water, my pace was faster than this woman’s, and I soon left her behind and went back to enjoying the juniper trees and sage and Prairie Junegrass, turning every once in a while to look back at the mountains.

At the edge of the parking lot, I saw what looked like mini sunflowers. According to my phone, that’s exactly what they were - wild sunflowers basking in the final warm days of the year. Just like me.