Homespun Goodbyes.

When most people think of Colorado, they tend to picture Red Rocks, skiing the lovely Colorado Rocky Mountains or the bustling metropolis of Denver proper. For some however, Colorado is much more than just a tourist destination. Steeped in a rich history and made up of a hardy kinfolk, the eastern plains, to many, has become a hidden gem to those who wish to live a simple life within driving distance of a big city.

Located just to the south east of Denver, lies the small town of Kiowa, Colorado. Named for the Native American Tribe the once settled the land, Kiowa is made up of 800 people, two gas stations, a pizza place, a school and a prairie museum.

Kiowa was my hometown and while many hated this nothing to do town, I enjoyed the rolling prairie lands and the quaint atmosphere. Maybe it was the fact I had never lived anywhere else or maybe it was the fact that my family was proud of what they had built in that quiet little town, but Kiowa was home and I never had plans to permanently move away.

While I spent most of my days as a child running free on my grandparents ranch just outside the town of Kiowa, the evenings were spent riding my bike with friends amongst the town streets. Nothing was better than gathering with four of my closest friends at the park and eating ice-cream while laughing at what stupid jokes we could come up with until the street lights came on or one of our parents came looking for us.

As I grew older it turned to riding around town in a beat up car with our learners permits. Kiowa was a patriotic town and nothing was better than gathering at the fairgrounds to watch the local fireworks after grabbing a pizza at the local pizzeria. Kiowa was the definition of small town living and I wouldn't change my hometown for anything. From its famous rodeo that happened every summer to its small town politics, it was an idyllic town located in the middle of nowhere in a beautiful state known for its scenery.

I idolized Kiowa up until I was a senior in high school. I began to become weary of the small little town and needed a way out. I applied and was accepted to a state college in a different state. So when I graduated in 2013, for the first time in my entire eighteen years of life I was leaving my hometown, my friends and my family. Granted, I was only going to be 293 miles away, I was a little heartbroken but mostly excited to see what else the world had to offer me and it wasn't like I would never be back, right?

That summer was spent working on my grandparents ranch and mentally preparing to leave home. As summer came to an end and I packed my little Jeep Grand Cherokee up and headed down the road towards Kansas, I knew I'd be back but I didn't know what my future would have in store.

My first few weeks at college were tough but I adjusted fairly well. When I would go to sleep, I would dream of my hometown and all my friends. I could picture the town park and its lonely evergreen tree. I could hear the wind blowing through the Colorado plains and I could feel the lively atmosphere that could only be felt at a Friday night football game under the bright lights, overlooking an open prairie. I missed home and the way it made me feel.

As my first college semester dragged on, I met the man that would become my husband. I was more than ecstatic to bring him home and show him around my hometown. He was from a small town also and I knew he would feel the same way I did about Kiowa and so I brought him home to meet my family. However, Kiowa wasn't the same. My friends had moved away and the town now looked haggard and run down. It just didn't have the shine it once did. It also wasn't quite as rural as it once was. As Denver grows, people tend to move to the smaller towns that are still within an hours drive. There were many new faces and several new homes and I had come the realization that it was no longer just our town.

Time moved on and so did my feelings for my once loved hometown. The boy I had met at college was now to become my husband and in the summer of 2014. We hosted a beautiful wedding at my family's ranch. While I knew that we were choosing to settle down back in Kansas, Kiowa and my family's ranch would always be considered my home base.

Fast forward to the summer of 2018, early one morning as I was preparing our two young boys for the day ahead, I received a call from my grandmother. She was calling to inform me that her and my grandfather were planning on selling their ranch and moving to our new hometown of Hays, Kansas. The decision was not easy for them, but they had decided they wanted to be closer to their great-grandchildren and were ready to retire. My heart stopped.

My home away from home, my home base and my sanctuary was no longer going to be there for me. The family ranch meant everything to me and it was like loosing a loved one. And so, my husband, the boys and I prepared to travel to the ranch back in Kiowa. My mother planned to stay in Kiowa and eventually move to Kansas when my two little sisters finally graduated from high school. This would be my final goodbye to my family's ranch but I could at least still visit Kiowa even if it didn't feel like home any more.

For the next two years Kiowa remained my mothers home. As much as I loved my mom, visiting Kiowa became less enjoyable and more dreadful than I had ever dreamed possible. In the fall of 2019, we received a call that nobody ever wishes to receive. My mother was in the hospital and was being diagnosed with stage 4 lung and brain cancer. We knew then we would have to make our final trip to Kiowa to move my ailing mother back to Kansas with us, as my two younger sisters were not yet of age too care for her.

Driving into Kiowa along the lonely stretch of highway 86 for the final time was bittersweet. I knew once my mother was gone, I would most likely never visit Kiowa again unless absolutely necessary. As we packed my mothers belongings and looked around her empty house, it was hard not to feel tears welling up inside. While growing up in Kiowa was not always easy, it was always worth it. Not many people get to experience the rise and fall of small towns and their uniqueness, but I was one of the lucky ones.

I took my first steps in my grandmothers home in Kiowa. I wrecked my first tricycle in Kiowa. It saw all my bumps, bruises, tear and fears. It was the place where I played my first basketball and softball games. It was where I shot my first archery target. It saw friendships blossom and relationships burn out. It was where I learned to drive and where I had graduated from. It was the place where I first told my husband I love him, it saw me marry the love of my life and it welcomed the birth of my first child.

Kiowa was my hometown and it will always hold a special place in my heart. While my children and so many others may not get the joy of growing up in a tiny, nothing to do town, I will be forever grateful for the lessons it taught me, the relationships it brought me and the solstice it provided.

There is not a day that goes by where Kiowa does not cross my mind. While it may be simple to say I miss Kiowa, that would not be the full truth. I miss the past Kiowa and the memories that were made there. In the sense of where I grew up, yes, Kiowa will and always be my hometown. However, I am firm believer in home is where the heart is and for that, my hometown will always be where my loved ones are. So, while towns and faces change, memories will always stay the same. The memories of Kiowa will always be with me and for that Kiowa will forever hold a special place in my heart.