Weird history

I'm in a place that has been through a lot, in human and non-human terms. I'm at the foot of the wall known as the Rocky Mountains. I'm sure it's been called many things other than that which are now long forgotten. On this side, the Front Range, it's rolling hills covered in grass and stream bottoms with cottonwoods growing to massive widths. The mountains and hills and grass and the trees have been here for a lot longer than any person. That proves that land cannot be owned. Not by the first people to hunt mega-fauna here 13,000+ years ago, nor Dell Webb (motherfucker). This land is used and has been. And how it shows.
The first things here were the rocks and dirt being pushed together by the continental plates and forcing themselves to rise into the sky. Thankfully they did because they became the Rockies, the most dramatic feature on this continent. After them (as if they have stopped changing) came the plants and animals to occupy every niche therein. From the grasses down low to the spruce and fir of the treeline, to the aspens and ponderosa pine in the middle. The prairie dogs and bison on the plains, the magpies and squirrels a little higher, mountain sheep and hawks on the slopes far above. Then the people.
First, nomadic bands coming from the north (most likely) following game and warmth (during an ice age after all). After them more and more people. People on foot from every direction. Most roaming and gathering and hunting. Some people stopping to plant crops along rivers and streams. And for thousands of years it was just these people moving around the land doing what people do. They became native to the land. Then, not too long ago came people from the south, then the east and north. People who were nothing like those who lived here already. These people more or less destroyed the people who were native to the land and became native on the land.
Theirs is the history I saw today while driving between and through the solid string of towns from what is now Fort Collins to south of Denver. The front range is a place full of, shows a history of and defines development. From 13kya to now.
Evidence of the first development of this land is found in the land. Spear points, Folsom and Clovis fall out of stream banks and are tilled up by tractors (getting to that). Undeveloped development of hunting grounds. Then came the extermination of the bison to be replaced by cattle and the horrible romanticism that is the American cowboy. Then came the farmers who replaced the cowboys (sitting on their horses next to a barbed-wire fence looking at a farm house and windmill with a tear drop in their eye). Then came the miners. Looking for anything, anything. Then little towns sprung up. Then those little towns weren't so little. Then people decided they still wanted more towns, but less towns too (wait, what?). So they kept building towns, but in a “smart” way. More roads, more people. They decided that some land was more important to save than others and created (created!) open space so people could know what it was like before they moved into their “smartly” built and developed subdivision (78 miles of trails, shitty Mexican food, empty streets!). Here it is today.
This place now sees development and inevitable (place=people). Some areas are more important than others. “Well, if we want more people to come we have to have somewhere to put them, but we will make sure there's somewhere for them to go and feel better about owning a plastic box.”
What made me think of all of this was the drive I eluded to earlier. There are a few types and ages of development. My favorite and best example for me is highway 287. That means nothing of course if you've never been there. Driving through towns from north to south you see a lot. Mostly middle-class type towns with similar histories. Settled in the latter part of the 19th century many started out as mining towns or farming communities. When that all ended they became places for people to live who couldn't afford (or didn't want to) to live in Denver or Boulder. Downtowns are turn of the century brick. Behind them are houses spreading out in chronological order and building technique and integrity from then to now. You see the life changes in the facades of the buildings. Mercantiles to hardware stores to abandonment then “rediscovery” as a coffee shop, pizza joint (oh so hip), resale shop, boutiques of all kinds. In the neighborhood I am in now the last houses were built probably in the 1970s or so. But in between are older homes from the early 20th century, and old churches as well. The larger buildings are long gone (I believe) because even “old town” doesn't look so old. You see developments from the 70s, 80s, 90s, and today (radio station promo?). There's evidence of those who were here all over the place. In one town (Loveland?) there's a huge, huge, statue of a screaming native American wearing a loin cloth (loin skin?) holding a spear over his head (which sits on his perfectly sculpted 15 foot tall body) whilst standing over what appears to be one of his dead comrades (killed by the white man?). Really? I have no idea what this statue is about but it's so odd. I think it's funny enough that Arapaho is the name of a major road. Is this a reminder to the few native people who live in the area (Vanilla Valley) that this is where their ancestors were killed in the thousands and this land could very well still “belong” to them? Regardless, this is part of the history of how this place has become what it is now. There are also some funny examples of how recent developments have been incorporated into one another. There are strip malls and housing developments that have old farm buildings as parts of their entryways. Because every development has some sort of theme and they all have something to do with views (vista), ranches, ridges, or farms. Weird. So if there's a silo might as well plant some ivy at the bottom and build a sign in front of it displaying the name of the cookie-cutter housing block that sits directly behind it (Vista View at Table Mesa at Rio River). The classic days of American agriculture. “Dolores and I can retire better from selling our farm to get drilled for natural gas then developed into houses than giving the land to the kids ever will let us.” Rusty machinery and the root fans of trees are sold for top dollar to decorate the lawns and pond-sides of the rolling hills covered in box house hell.
It's a history of inevidabilities. From the driving out of native peoples and bison, to the driving out of cattle, to the closing of the mines, to the ceaseless building of stale housing tracts, to the development of “open space” (developing nature?). I find this place to be incredibly interesting, but know I could never really live here. There's too much blatant history that is too depressing. It's just an odd place to be and to see. And I wonder how many people here do even see it?

Only by the night

In recent times I haven't been much of a night person. I've grown fond of early mornings and early nights. My favorite time of the day is as the sun is coming up. I was lucky to have a lot of those this past summer. I used to like the night. I think that's because I drank at night and stayed up late being drunk and writing crazy ramblings. It seems that I don't need the alcohol to do that anymore. I've find that even though I don't stay up as late as I used to I still look back on events in my life and remember in what phase the lunar cycle was. Also, I have made some of the most important decisions and come up with the most profound ideas at night. I am always moving when outside at night. It's hard for me to sit still no matter which celestial beings are present in the sky. But there is nothing like being outside on a clear night. If it's breezy it's even better. Tonight was a great example of my night thinking. I rode my bike all over town, like I used to in my poorer college days (a very romantic time, I'll tell you about it sometime). I just rode. This town is not a great place to just ride around. Everything is somewhat of a hill and there are cars everywhere, but I make it work. I rode so that I forced myself to ride up the biggest hill in town and stayed in the highest gear I could. I made it hurt a lot and was sucking wind, a little. Amazing. Full moon, tons of stars, cold and breezy. I started out with two long sleeve shirts, a vest and gloves. By the time I got back I had on only my tshirt and rolled down my socks. I wanted to feel the night and lets the thoughts get out of me. I spoke to the air while catching my breath. I was reminded of all the time throughout my life where I have done this. Spoken to the night. By vocalizing to the dark I have found out a lot of things about myself. Confirmed beliefs, made more questions than answers, arguments, affirmations, laughs. I did this as a young kid in the summer chasing fireflies. I've done it drunk in the middle of winter as a highschooler in the blinding snow. I've done it as a lonesome college student with too much homework taking a break to hit every dumpster in town. I can only do it alone. Seeing people's lights on at midnight, 2am, wondering what is going on. Hearing crashes in alleys or hearing elk bugle close by, watching cats run under street lamps. There's nothing like it. Being out on a weekend in town, or any night in the woods. It's some of the most fun I've ever had. Melancholy fun. An odd concept. I suppose it's me letting things go, in, clarifying, understanding, coming to terms with. And when I get back to where it is I sleep, it all is the same, but I feel a little newer, a little more enlightened. Ready to sleep as the sweat dries and makes me shiver (never have enough money to keep the heat on too high). I'm pretty sure I haven't explained a thing. I don't think I can. Only I understand what happens on these nights, and even then I'm not sure. I'm just glad they happen.

If you could only see me now

First, I am selfish, very much so. I think about me a lot. That will be left for another post. Second, life is the coolest and most interesting thing I've ever been a part of. I'm not talking about evolution and whatnot, but the human experience. Everyday I am fascinated by it all. Third, I am damn lucky. Lucky to be able to make this post, lucky to have time and energy to think about and express "luxury complaints" (thanks e via k). Fourth, I'm damn selfish.
For those people that know me I am very active. In the physical sense, and in other ways too, I guess. I run six days a week, I do one of the most physically demanding jobs I could find, a lot of my personal goals have something to do with doing physical activities better. Where did this all come from? Very good question me. I've flirted with running since I was in my early teens (did I know what flirting even was?). I never really got into it, and as was posted earlier I got way more into smoking and drinking things, very very bad things. I like to tell people that once I quit smoking, drinking and began a plant based diet I was motivated to get into shape. That's sort of true. I realized that I haven't been honest, mostly with myself. The whole convincing yourself of a personal myth and then believing that when you tell other people it's the truth. I began obsessing about running initially to prove something. I don't think it really had anything to do with physical fitness. My change in lifestyle coincided exactly with the end of a very long and life defining relationship. It must be that i needed to prove to her that I could go on with my life. That meant pushing myself towards some goal that manifested itself as running and pushups. I gauged my success on how I though she would react to me. Of course it was never good enough. I pushed myself more and more. I still do. It's an odd realization that this is how I got into everything that consumes so much of my life now. That's almost besides the point.
I grew up with god. I always felt as if he was watching. I was always good, pretty much. Even after I realized there wasn't a god, I always did things as though someone was watching, as if someone cared. I have to say that has made me a pretty honest person. Mostly because I have realized that I don't do things I know would be bad if someone was watching me. Whew. Anyway, I still do things for people who aren't around, be they alive or dead, or even people who I haven't seen in years. I am still inspired by my grandmother who died over three years ago. I still talk to her gravestone when I am there. I suppose "doing things" for people makes it more worthwhile to try and do my best, to be a good person. It may not even matter, but I suppose it might.
Interesting.