What Would John Denver Do?

When my husband and I started planning our first “empty-nest vacation,” sans kids, one destination immediately leapt into my mind: Colorado. I had always wanted to see John Denver’s famous “cathedral mountains,” and what better time than autumn to explore the majestic Rockies?

All in all, the plan sounded perfect. Except for one, tiny thing.

I had been out west before—to Wyoming and Montana, specifically—but not since the fateful year of 2016. After the dawn of those “fraught times” (as I’m calling them), I’ve stayed mostly sheltered inside my blue-state bubble. With the entire country teetering on its tiptoes beside a perpetually sparking third rail, it seemed like the logical thing to do. The right thing. Or so my fear told me.

And then, there we were: Suddenly making plans to venture into the reddest parts of a purple state. I won’t lie: The idea made me a bit nervous. What would Coloradans think of us? Would we encounter hostility—or worse? Would Fox News hosts show up to chase us out of town with pitchforks? Should we abandon this idea altogether?

Finally, I asked myself the most important question: What would John Denver do (WWJDD)? I suspected he would tell me that America is great because of its differences. And that instead of avoiding them, I should celebrate them. Maybe even…seek them out?

Bubble be damned. It was time to paint the town red.

Our fish-out-of-water adventure started as soon as the plane touched down. We hiked until our toes bled. We spent a morning with a professional sled-dog musher and her family. We stayed overnight at a working sheep ranch. We hooted and hollered along with live country and bluegrass bands. We shot sporting clays. We slept in an isolated log cabin without electricity or (gasp) cell service. We rented bikes. We floated in an all-natural hot spring in the woods. We rode horses. We took in the arctic views from the Fall River Pass in Rocky Mountain National Park: 11,795 feet above sea level.

All along the way, we met people. Lots and lots of people. And each time a native Coloradan asked the innocent question—“So, where are y’all from?”—I momentarily held my breath. A few times, I considered lying, but I knew my accent had probably already given the game away. So instead, I just spit it out: “Boston.”

Usually, there was a pause after that. Then, a polite “Huh!” Or a, “You don’t say?” Or something equally neutral. Not once did someone blurt, “Wow, that’s awesome!” Or, “Hey, I’ve always wanted to go to Boston!” Not once did someone’s grin grow wider at the mention of my hometown. Perhaps they were as leery of us as we were of them. Like me, they were probably just believing the lie that politicians and social-media bots have been telling all of us for years: Namely, that it’s best to stay in your comfort zone and avoid the “others” who supposedly wish you harm.

So, no: I can’t report that these bluest-of-blue-staters were welcomed with overwhelming joy by every westerner we met. But I can say that most people were perfectly friendly, and that we never once encountered any kind of animosity. (Plus, not a single person asked us to “Pahk the cah in Havahd Yahd.” So I’ll take that as a win.) Did I convert anyone to my way of thinking about our current political maelstrom? Of course not. I didn’t try to, and I wouldn’t want to. Turns out, there are all kinds of other things to talk about with all kinds of people.

At one point, I started chatting with a young ranch hand when I noticed that she was reading the same book I’d just finished back at home. She was half my age, and a world away geographically and (maybe) politically, but we talked for a good ten minutes about our admiration for those pages. I also gabbed with plenty of people about their cute pets. About the drought. About encroaching development. About the yellowing Aspen leaves. About the best local bike path, the best local steakhouse, and the best local—Oh my God, is that a moose? Did you see that? Yeah, me, too!

On our last day in Colorado, an adorable cowboy-hatted toddler waved his pudgy fingers at me, and his mom smiled as I waved back. That kid didn’t care what state I live in or how I voted, and neither did his mother. In that moment, we were just Mom to Mom, human to human, American to American. And why not? Shouldn’t that be true of every moment? We have so much more in common than we think, and less to argue about than our “leaders” would have us believe.

Thank you, Coloradans, for the beauty, and the hospitality, and the lessons I needed to learn. And if you’re ever looking for a vacation spot, I’ve got an ocean view and bowl of clam chowder with your name on it. Anytime.

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Trisha Blanchet is the author of Murder Like Magic (coming August 25, 2026, from Crooked Lane), The Neath Trilogy (Herrick’s End, Herrick’s Lie, and Herrick’s Key), The Cow Crashed into the Moon, and more. She’s also the producer and host of A Mighty Blaze Podcast, a member of the Tall Poppy Writers, and the founder of Operation Delta Dog: Service Dogs for Veterans (OperationDeltaDog.org).

Murder Like Magic < Preorder here!

The Neath Trilogy (Herrick’s End, Herrick’s Lie, and Herrick’s Key) < Get your copies here!

Operation Delta Dog: Service Dogs for Veterans < Learn more here!

A Mighty Blaze Podcast < Great author interviews here!

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