Gunnison Valley Journal Excerpts

12th Edition of Local Magazine

In December, the 12th edition of the free Gunnison Valley Journal hit newstands around the Valley. Featuring stories, poetry, photos, art, and more from local artists, creatives, and just regular people, this publication gathers perspectives from current and past residents of the Gunnison Valley. Titled “The Community Issue,” it delivers on its name with stories about the characteristics that set the Gunnison Valley apart. Local musician Chris Coady’s song Here for Good helps set the tone for the whole piece.

“Do you have a song to sing?” asked Ron, the de facto leader of the Saturday morning summer picking circle in front of Kent Viles’ Dobrato guitar shop. 

As is the habit in a picking circle, the opportunity to lead a song for the group moves to the next person, in this case that was Charlotte—a retired school teacher with a strong voice, quick wit, and an unknown energy supply. She makes volunteering at the food pantry, leading a vacation Bible School, and serving on city council seem like what everyone does at 78 years. “This town needs to hear people who have been around the block,” she has said. And folks agreed. 

With a lively kick-off lick, we all came in on the down beat of Rolling in My Sweet Baby’s Arms. Charlotte played fast, expecting us to match her energy, but lagging just enough to keep us together. Having been around the block made for a good song leader, too.

Next up was Jackle.  No, not Jack—Jackle. He was a long-faced dispensary-owner with Mick Jagger hair and a predisposition to play every tune in a blues motif. Imagine I’ll Fly Away sung and played by B.B. King. Jackle could do it well, and we all loved his interpretation of old songs weeded and pruned into a new mood. People who used his product knew that excellence, service, and long-term stewardship were his credo. His blues guitar in a bluegrass jam session didn’t hurt either. He led us in a Joe Walsh version of the Beatles tune, When I Saw Her Standing There. Not exactly a Hillbilly tune but, hey, this is Gunnison!

Then came Patch, who passes through our valley each summer for a few weeks, his home on his back. In a raspy voice, he announced, “Had throat cancer. But I can still sing this one.” He led us in that old Carter Family tune, Keep on the Sunny Side. My favorite line was, “Clouds and storms will in time pass away. The sun again will shine bright and clear.”

The circle was unbroken. Each contributor, whether expert or novice, poured out his or her best in the spirit of making a joyful noise. Some could sing and play at an advanced level. Others could count to four, but not the same way each verse. Yet everyone, especially the spontaneous sidewalk crowd, loved it. The mandolins, guitars, ukuleles, banjos, and Dobratos vibrated each in their own voice, contributing to the bigger-than-them sound…making joy more important that perfection.

Four years ago, I moved from Guatemala to Gunnison. Like many others, I emigrated from a small town called Jacaltenango, where we speak Popti, a language derived from Mayan. Unlike many, I left my country in search of personal growth and to support my parents and sisters.

When I arrived in Gunnison, some family members were already settled here, sharing how this valley had become their home. I was eager for a fresh start, but my first year was challenging; I struggled with asking for help or support. Back home, it wasn’t common to feel entitled to seek assistance. As an immigrant, I wrestled with mixed emotions, fearing that my opinion wouldn’t be valued or my story would be dismissed, feeling isolated despite being surrounded by people.

In my second year, things began to improve. I realized that if I wanted a new beginning, I needed to adapt to the cultural and linguistic changes. As the saying goes from where I come from, “El que no habla ni dios lo oyes.” The message behind it emphasizes the importance of speaking up and advocating for oneself. It suggests that if you don’t express your needs or concerns, they will go unnoticed, and you may not receive help or support. I started making friends, and the people of Gunnison and Crested Butte were, and continue to be, incredibly welcoming. At this point, trust became mutual, and they extended their hands to help me adjust to this new chapter in my life.

Facing daily challenges often comes down to attitude. When I first moved, it was hard to stay positive amid obstacles, but once I tapped into my resilience, everything began to shift for the better. 

Hope was my lifeline, propelling me toward a brighter future, and I now consider this valley my home. I wouldn’t change a thing; the hardships I’ve faced have shaped me into the person I am today and have led me to incredible places like Gunnison.

Isadora Hernandez is a Guatemala native who loves the Gunnison community.

I passed through a lot of places while I was growing up: moving from one generic Texas suburbia to the next, then blithely trying on and discarding personas during my college years in Austin. 

As a kid, I figured I was maladapted, because I’d rather stay home and read than join the sugar-amped jollity of a neighbor girl’s birthday party. Then I learned the term “introvert” and knew I’d found my people. As I grew up, extrapolating from the behavior of other kids and even many adults, I harbored reservations about the human race in general, so keeping my distance seemed prudent.

I was still trying things on when I moved to Crested Butte as a twentysomething in 1981. But something slowly changed. I eased right into the creative hippie/mountain jock vibe here, but the mining-era oldtimers, who were still a visible part of the town, fascinated me more. They were just normal, assorted humans, but they had something I hadn’t realized I was missing. They belonged. Crested Butte was part of them, and they were part of Crested Butte. Because it was their home, they took care of it – and of each other, though bickering wasn’t out of the question. Observing them, I realized I’d never really belonged to a place. 

In Crested Butte, I became part of the small community by proximity, repetition and shared experience. In the 1980s, most people lived in the splintery old downtown, and I encountered the same faces on the bus, at the post office, at Donita’s Cantina and, years later, at our kids’ soccer games. The bank exploded; we mourned. Amax pulled back from mining attempts on Mt. Emmons; we celebrated. We volunteered, played and worked together.

Over four-plus decades in Crested Butte, I’ve built strong friendships. I’ve learned how to be a contributor to my community and a compassionate (if still sometimes skeptical) member of my species. I can still drift toward reclusiveness, which is one reason I’ve loved writing for the local newspaper and the Crested Butte Magazine; it’s like sending love notes from the seclusion of my computer cubby.

In 2002, my family bought the Old Town Inn, and I got to see this valley from yet another perspective. At the front desk, I watched guests arrive, beat up from workaday lives, and ebch day I watched them come back, smiling after their hours skiing, hiking, biking or boogieing to music. So many of our valley’s jobs are service jobs, but when I felt stuck working front desk instead of doing the writing I considered a “higher calling,”I remembered that beyond handing out room keys, I was helping other humans lay down burdens and rediscover joy. Our magic recharges a weary world; the trick is sharing that magic without ruining it.  It occurred to me that almost all jobs are better if we think of them as service jobs.

I’ve also connected to my physical place. Skiing, biking and wandering the mountains, I began to make friends with certain wild spaces. A favorite spot in the woods comforted me, a familiar vista inspired me, an annual ascent challenged me. I discovered the satisfaction of sweat and the richness of silence. 

My husband Michael and I had a kid, and I got to watch my somewhat free-range son grow up under the tutelage of nature and in the embrace of community. Running around town and in the wilds, young Chris developed imagination, judgment, responsibility, strength and confidence. 

Serving as the editor of the Crested Butte Magazine for 38 years kept me paying attention and asking big questions: Who are we at our best? How do we tell our stories? What’s keeping us real and true? The story lists almost created themselves and consistently relayed this message about our people: We are creative, generous, fun-loving, caring and strong.

These days, our local challenges can feel daunting – from housing issues to the infestations of entitlement and divisiveness. But at virtually every gathering I attend in the valley, I look around and think, “What an excellent group of people!” I see Crested Butte students designing and building affordable homes on Town land. I see celebrants bonding – by dancing, playing softball, pedaling sparkly townie bikes for Adaptive Sports fundraisers. I see generous cooks making food for local cancer patients.

So much of my hope comes from the power of belonging. Nurtured by a forested trail, I’ll take care not to harm it. Interwoven into a community, I’ll try to give more than I take. How do we invite people to belong? Well, the oldtimers inadvertently pulled me in just being themselves – for the most part open, honest, nonjudging, kind.

I have no blueprint for the challenges of the day. But I have a wish. May we truly connect with our wild surroundings and our human communities. May we let ourselves be changed by nature and by the ghosts of our oldtimers, who knew how to belong.

Sandy Fails, a 43-year resident of the valley, is the recently retired editor of the Crested Butte Magazine and former innkeeper of the Old Town Inn.

On January 23, we’ll gather at the Mallardi Theater in Crested Butte to hear excerpts from the Journal, break bread (Norwegian Lefse from the recipe on page 27), listen to music, and build connections with our community. Doors will open at 5:15 p.m. The program will start at 5:45 and County Commissioner Laura Puckett Daniels will be the master of ceremonies. You’ll hear from Roman Kolodiej, Marcie Telander, Naomi Treadway, Leath Tonino, Mimi Mather, Holly Hunter, Emily Mirza, Yamel Aguirre, Polly Oberosler, Sandy Fails, Mark Reaman, George Sibley, Ian Wrisley, Mike Horn, Sue Navy, Chris Coady, and Dave Pinkerton. There may be a few other surprise guests as well! We hope to see you there!