September 1989 was the year Gary and I took our first vacation together—to Vail, Colorado. We had been dating for a year already and had illusions of moving to ski country to carve out a new life together.
Well, it’s thirty years later—almost exactly to the week—and we find ourselves walking the same streets, checking out the same restaurants, brewpubs, expensive shops, and the beautifully decorated, flower-filled town of Vail. It’s a charming place, a Bavarian-themed wonderland full of activities for every season. We never did move to Colorado, but we did live in New Hampshire near New England’s ski country. Neither of us has skied in years, but we still love ski towns—any time of the year.
Today we had the joy of visiting a dear old friend, Wendy, and her husband, Harvey, who live here in Colorado. Gary and Wendy used to teach skiing together in New Hampshire. It’s good for the soul to catch up with friends who have known you for a long time. Isn’t it great when you can reconnect with someone and instantly pick up where you left off, as if no time has passed? There’s something grounding in those friendships, and Gary and I are lucky to have a few of them—especially given how often we move.
I often think friendships are born out of a shared interest, convenience, or proximity. But the ones that last—those that endure time and distance, that see you through your best and worst, through all the tides of your life—those are the friendships to treasure, to nurture, and to be truly thankful for.
As we leave Colorado, we climb to nearly 11,000 feet in elevation. The RV strains up the winding mountain roads. We remain in the right lane most of the time—just us and the tractor-trailers—while cars eagerly zip past us on the left.
Through the rear window of the RV, I catch one last glimpse of those gorgeous Rocky Mountains, knowing that for the rest of our trip back east, it’s mostly flatlands ahead. No more deserts, giant sequoia trees, mountains of rock and glaciers, or basins and mesas. We’re heading back into the land of wheat and grasses, of wide, flat spaces—the heartland farms and the towering wind turbines.