The South Platte

“Hold me tight,” he said. A cool breeze blew over us. He sat on my lap and the South Platte ran beside us. A beautiful Spring day, sunshine glittering on the shallow water. “I’m cold,” he said.

I pulled my arms around him even tighter, gently rubbing him for warmth. We didn’t speak. We listened and watched the beauty of this moment together; the white noise of the running water, the smooth rocks, the trout, the glimmering sunshine, the gentle wind, the mountains beyond. Spring in Colorado: I couldn’t fathom Michener’s distaste for the South Platte in “Centennial“. He’d never been to this part of the river.

I started to sing “Rocky Mountain High” in his ear. I sang it like when I was 5. It wasn’t a cliche then or another Rick Astley-style meme. It hadn’t been coopted by environmental groups, made into a State Anthem, or sang at bars and Colorado stadiums filled with drunken johnny-come-latelys. It was my song and I gave it to him.

“Talk to God and listen to the casual reply… Rocky Mountain High…”

“Is that man Jewish?”, he asks.
“Ha, no. He was Christian,” I said.
“And he died in a plane crash?”
“Yes”, I said.
“I’m half Christian. I’m half Jewish”, he says.
“Yes. Maybe someday you will be all Jewish. I would like that. But it will always be your choice,” I reply.
“Maybe when I’m a grown up I’ll be all Jewish.”

We sit for a while longer in the quiet of the white noise. I love this about my son: he can be so still, calm, and present. He can be stimulated by nature.

“Look! Gold!”, I exclaim.
“Where!? Where!?!!”

I get up and move both of us to a sand bar. There are gold flakes throughout. Even more in the riverbed.

“Wow, real gold!” He’s so excited now. “I want to keep it. How can we keep it?”

We retrieve a jar from the car, it’s previous contents a precious collection of animal bones and the skull of a small mammal — booty from our last adventure at the abandoned cabin in Cordillera. We scoop a bunch of sand into the jar to bring home. Then we marvel at the gold in the river, how small the flakes but how common now that we look closely. They’re everywhere.

Elliot dreams of different ways to separate the gold.

Eventually, we head to the next destination down the road: the abandoned South Platte Hotel from the 1800s. Max and I were there on Bastille Day 2019, and Elliot has asked to see an abandoned hotel. Why did he think of that specifically? I don’t know. I immediately thought of the South Platte Hotel near Deckers.

But I like this destination more. We will return. Maybe I’ll get gold panning equipment first.

When I’m afraid, I will take refuge in this memory. I love being a dad.