Here’s a startling revelation: I love Craig, and other than my childhood haunts, I can think of no better place to live and grow older than Craig.
Oh sure, I’ve made more than my share of trips over the hill, which is why the sign was posted directly across from Lake Dumont on Rabbit Ears Pass that simply reads “it’s time to go home now, H. Neal.”
I know you’re either smiling or grumbling about what we have or don’t have, but Craig has a quality that you can’t quite put your finger on and that keeps us here.
This is why each time I read or hear about some organization spending money to make Craig a better spot for tourists, I let the weak side jump into Old Blue and we come into town from all four directions.
Both sides agree that coming from the West or due south from Baggs, Wyo., is the only way to enjoy downtown, and neither can remember why the one-way was such a grand idea to begin with.
But, that’s a done deal. What we need to do is fine tune what we have and add from there.
If we’re going to claim this is “Where The West Begins,” then let it begin here. If we want the universe to know, less the planet stupid, that this is the “Elk Hunting Capital of The World,” then let it be so.
Gather up what we have in hand and make it those biggest events possible, even to the point of combining Whittle the Wood and Grand Old West Days.
We desperately need to define ourselves in order to stand out and make a profit from the tourists.
Maybe we could use some of the tourist dollars to reopen the drive-in theater or the miniature golf course and as the tax base grows, perhaps a well-planned center for the kids.
Most of us agree that the world is changing faster than we’d like, but the small towns that don’t remember their roots and expand on them usually dry up and pretend there’s still a reason to be there.
Now for something completely different
One of the many reasons I love Craig are the second-generation stories I hear of the adventures Roy and I had during our misspent youth.
I’m often caught mouth open when I hear some of the things we did that were true when we did them but have now become almost legendary with only a word or two of truth left in them.
A good example would be the ride Roy and I took in the MG to pick up the minister on his wedding day.
Yes, we took the top down and the last of the minister’s hair got all messed up, and yes we were “about” an hour late.
But no, I have no idea, well a small one, how the three of us got so drunk that after the ceremony the minister made his own way home and Roy and I lived in household silence for a week and a bit.
Of course, I was to blame, as I usually was, but that’s fine.
Those stories still make me smile.
Hey, you be careful out there and stay to the light.
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