Yes, Durango, ever since moving here last year, I’ve been meaning to write to you, tell you how it’s going. Having spent 84 years in Ohio, you’d think, Durango, it would have been a tough move, emotionally wrenching.
It wasn’t bad. Right away, I loved the mountains. That’s one important thing. I felt their presence, always looking over us, fiercely protective.
The aspect of life in Durango that next captured my attention was the unaffected niceness of the people.
In my first month here, I was driving slowly over an endless-seeming two-lane, no-passing road, looking for a friend’s house. I’d missed a turn; I was lost. When I spotted a place where I could, I pulled over to permit the line of traffic behind me to go by.
One pickup truck, though, pulled up, and a fellow leaned across the dog in the middle seat and yelled, “Ma’am, do you need any help? What can we do for ya?” In the urban areas of Ohio, given the same scenario, I would have expected anger from every driver I’d held up.
Instead, I got a helping hand.
That set the tone. I’ve encountered good people, kind people, helpful people. They’re folks who hold open a door for me, and smile. They’re young couples with children, who make room for me as I maneuver through a crowd at the Farmers Market. And the young folks who are Durango’s future? They move by me like golden natural athletes, radiating health and high spirits.
There’s much I am thankful for, Durango … the intensity of the single- minded bicyclists … the way the moon rides the sky … the river, that graceful ribbon that sparkles when the sun hits it, and lights up the city …the quirky little houses with Tibetan flags or outsider folk art … the trees … the sun … Fort Lewis College, and its artistic and intellectual life …
And, more than simply loving the Durango Public Library, I about worship it, with its botanical garden and Animas River, the building’s architecture, the flashpoints of artwork, the fine, deep, book collection.
Can you feel me, Durango? All those books! Yet, every author is resigned, knowing words may not convey what you want. But sometimes, it just takes a few right words.
For example, I was in the library, ready to leave, books in hand, and noticed a young girl staring at me. Her mother stood nearby, watching as her daughter came toward me and in a tentative, soft voice, asked, “Where did you get your hat?”
I had on a black beret, pulled down at an angle. Clearly, this youngster was intrigued by the rakish tilt of my hat. Moving closer, she whispered dramatically, “Did you get it in Paris?” “I actually got it in Cleveland, Ohio!” I said, laughing. “But I’ll bet you guessed Paris because you learned that from a book!” We grinned at each other.
I could have hugged her, that little girl, questioning a stranger, curious about the world.
So anyway, thanks for everything, Durango, and for everybody in your protective embrace, from the guys in the pickup truck to the darling child in the library, and to the many in between – every manchild and every womanchild – every clerk, every blissed-out athlete, every server, every visionary artist, every hiker, every brilliant musician, every mom and every dad, and every happy smiling dog and well-loved cat.
Durango, it’s about time I told you. “Thank you!”
For about 20 years, Jo Gibson worked as an adjunct faculty member in the English Department at Cleveland State University teaching composition and writing. As a freelance writer with the Cleveland Plain Dealer, the major newspaper serving Cleveland, and a major national newspaper, she wrote book reviews and articles. She holds degrees from Kent State University and Cleveland State University, and loves her new home in Durango.
