As many of you know, we moved back to Denver in mid-July. Our rental house boasts none of the squeaky wooden floorboards or unopenable ancient windows of the old. Of course that's only because nobody rents a house that needs fixin'. This one is completely move-in ready, painted, recarpeted and the works. Smaller with a tiny fenced yard, no garden, no basement storage. It's all very dull but with a view of the city from high on Green Mountain.
I got lost a bunch of times trying to find a shortcut out of our neighborhood. This was before looking at a map and realizing there were no shortcuts. I was trying to avoid the winding road with speedbumps that takes us up the hill, but there is simply no skipping it. The farmers market here is thick with stalls of nonfood items (public back massage, anyone?), adoptable pets wearing orange vests, and expensive, organic fruit. I can't help comparing prices with dismay to my much-missed midwestern vendors. Oy. Also, no one sells pie. I'd open a booth if I could possibly manage the work involved in setting up around my watermelon belly. Plus I'm really not missing the swollen feet of my last few weeks baking in Kansas.
I am sad to see this blog go. It's been a lovely outlet for my reluctant adventures in rural living, some of which I am surprised to miss.
Yesterday I saw a man riding his bike while smoking a cigarette and wondered for a moment where I was. It seems so very Kansas and yet, nope, I was walking toward the open space of William Hayden Park, where deer graze on the hillside. I finally waved at him. It's what we small town folk do.
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