There was one time in my life when I didn’t live in Colorado. I realized other places are nice, but not Denver-nice. Other places are pretty, but not Denver-pretty. Other people are cool, but not Denver-cool.
Like so many delicate flowers spoiled by 300 sunny days a year, and living in the closest place to Heaven, I came back as soon as I could. While I was away, I missed Denver so terribly that I started drinking Coors Light, (which had never interested me before) out of nostalgia. I also started listening to John Denver. It made no sense how many random things I missed. I missed everything, even things I never liked in the first place, but at the top of the list was Washington Park, a place worthy of being desperately and viscerally missed.
Name your Denver neighborhood and there’s someone who feels the same unhinged passion for the park of their childhood, whether it’s Cheesman, Cranmer, Cook, Observatory, Confluence and on, and on, and on…