We slept through our continental breakfast at the Crapiday Inn, so we crossed the street to Dennys. I know, I know, it’s a chain, but dang, I love those Grand Slams where you can mix and match 5 items. It’s my idea of breakfast heaven, since I’m always wanting a little of everything.
We filled up so we would have plenty of energy to hike around Mesa Verde, the country’s first National Park and the only one to protect the ruins of a human civilization. The park is a series of ancient Pueblo dwellings, from pithouses dug in the ground to entire cliffside villages, predominantly 13th century settlements, though some of the oldest, more primitive structures are as early as AD 600. We had planned on camping there that night, but camping was closed until April 17, so we missed it by scarcely more than a week. Add to that when we arrived, the National Park ranger who sold us our ticket informed us that the park didn’t fully open until April 11th, so two of the major attractions – The Cliff Palace and The Balcony House were closed to guided tours (though you could see them from a lookout). Since one of the loops in Mesa Verde is closed until May, it left us with only one set of ruins – the Spruce Tree House – that we could actually wander through. While Derek and I have had a great trip, if I were to recommend a time for people to do a similar tour it would be late April or early May. Then, everything would be blooming and more would be open, (plus slightly warmer), without the crazy summer crowds. The main benefit of being in Mesa Verde when most of the park was closed is hardly any people and the comfy temperatures.
Driving through, we noticed that many of the trees were burnt and dead. It reminded me of the Black Hills, in South Dakota, and I have been meaning to see if a fire raged out of control here recently. Ok, I just read up about it. 80% of the forests in Mesa Verde are burned, due to nearly 100 years of a total fire suppression policy that have only created unhealthy forests and an increase in forest fires in the past few decades. The original point of the policy was to prevent important archeological finds from burning, but obviously the plan isn’t working, so they’re trying to adopt new fire policies that might help turn the tide and save both the ruins and the forests.
We wandered through the Mesa Verde museum, marveling at the models they had created to represent three types of ancient Pueblo society in miniature. It was complete with babies, turkeys and nursing dogs. The museum was one of my favorite parts – they display many of the archeological finds from the area – weapons, utility stones and blades, the atlatl (the precursor to the bow and arrow). bows and arrows pottery, baskets, shoes, mats, blankets, even a pair of crutches, and of course my personal favorite – jewelry. Some of the pottery in particular was quite beautiful and intricately decorated, and the baskets so finely woven as to be watertight. It was interesting to think of people a millennia ago crafting these.
After the museum we took the switchback trail to Spruce Tree House. It is built into the wall of a cliff face, near a stream. We arrived at the shadowy ruins, mostly the bottom halves of walls, and walked among the homes of people from the 1200’s. Especially interesting were the ceremonial gathering places, called Kivas, built in the ground. Circular structures dug into the earth and then covered with only a tiny entrance whole, Kivas developed from pithouses, the popular abode of an even more ancient people. Pithouses were prone to fire, and archeologists believe this is why people began to build their living spaces above ground, and retained a version of the pithouse as their places of ceremony. Eight of them were on site, along with 80 plus above ground rooms, though we could only see into the front layer of rooms and kivas since a good portion of the ruins is closed to guests due to archeological research and/or preservation.
They also had reconstructed a Kiva for people to enter and experience what it might be like. They have tiny openings with ladders leading down – barely room for one person to go up or down at a time, though the hole now is still bigger than it would have been 1000 years ago, since humans are bigger (and fatter) now. Derek and I climbed the 7 or so steps down, and ended up in a round underground building that I counted as 17 paces around, enough to hold a dozen people comfortably (for a meeting at least). . It was comfortably cool, and we were surprised at how much light the one opening let in. It was also dusty, and I know they also used to build fires that would vent through that hole, and potentially another hole they created for ventilation. Between residual fire smoke and the dust, the Pueblo peeps must have had strong lungs.
Since there was no reason to stay, we continued on our way, happy at least that we now knew we would have enough time for the Great Sand Dunes National Park further east in southern Colorado.
As we drove on our way we saw plenty of mountains. They seemed alive to me, each individual one containing its own personality. I know I anthropomorphize, but what if there’s more to it? What if each mountain does have its own sort of soul? An ancient being that sees and experiences the world differently, ages differently, dies differently. Does the mountain cry out when we blast a tunnel through it? Does it feel badass when the ridge on its head gives it a mohawk? Does it like its Crazy Horse tattoo? Can a mountain be proud or haughty, kind or indifferent? Some seem graceful, others imposing, yet others almost inviting. Perhaps they have their own form of existence or experience that is unimaginable, but no less valid than you or I. Perhaps the feeling they give us is a reflection of this other existence. It’s nice to wonder anyway. As you can see, I’ve spent a lot of time looking at mountains, with nothing else to do but think about them.
My fingers are roughening, hardening. I like it. I wish I were harder. Both Derek and I have lost weight, and toned up a little on this trip (not that you could tell this of me from Derek’s pictures, with my super baggy pants and six layers). I want to be tough!
What sealed the deal for staying in Durango was the Strater Hotel, one of America’s historic hotels, late 1800’s décor, aged yet elegant. Derek was hoping for ghosts but no such luck. For some strange reason our room reminded me of my grandparent’s house. Perhaps it was the small wooden furniture and the colored rug. We liked the stay very much. We drank a pint of beer each in the Diamond Belle burlesque bar that’s part of the hotel, then called it a night.
1. Derek's beard growth in the reconstructed Kiva at Spruce Tree House
2. Spruce Tree house reconstructed Kiva
3. The Cliff Palace from the overlook
4. Hike to the Balcony House overlook
5. Square Tower
6. The cute dating couple at the Ore House in Durango, CO
7. Strater Hotel (and the first blog pic I'm in!)
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