Today is an anniversary for me ~ It's been 17 years since I packed up and left Georgia, one month before my 20th birthday. I was eager to get out of the south - I wanted the great wide open. I wanted it NOW.
I was naive. I was brave. I may have been a little scared.
My 1975 pink VW Beetle was the getaway car.
(Image taken from my teenage scrapbook - July 1990 - this car was my 16th birthday present from my dad)
My dad (and mechanic) told me my car would "never make it," as he attached a tow bar to the front axle. "Just in case you need a lift," he mumbled. That was his way of saying please, don't leave. I had faith in my bug. And in my myself. Though there were a few stops along the way when my car inexplicably stopped running. I'd stand on the side of the road and throw rocks into the fields until she rested and was ready to turn over again. And she always did. I loved that bug.
My mom cried that morning as I stuffed the last bag into the hood of my bug. It was early. So early that it was still dark outside. It was unusual for me to be up that early, in those days. Mom knew I'd make it, but her tears pleaded, please, don't leave. She quietly wrung her hands and chewed her cheek as the screen door slammed behind me. "I'll call you from the road," I shouted from the car window.
The bug's headlights cut through summer's morning fog as I pulled out of the driveway. I had a roll of dimes and $500 in traveler's checks in my pocket and I was outta there.
I called mom from pay phones along the way, just as I'd promised.
(Photo taken by Mom during her first visit to Colorado - November 1994)
I made it to Colorado in three days. Or was it four? My bug made the 1,412 mile trip, just fine. Fortunately, I never needed that lift.
In three years I'll have been here half.my.life which feels like an incredibly long time, when I say it out loud. When people ask me where I'm from I tend to pause before answering. I've always considered myself a Southern girl who fell in love with the Rockies, but that doesn't quite answer the question, now does it?
I guess what I've come to is this: I was raised in Georgia, but I grew up in Colorado. Half there. Half here.
Half and half makes the whole.
A Rocky Mountain Peach.