An Ode to Crestone

A weird place that has challenged me, questioned me, loved me, and healed me. From this spring board, I’m ready to take on what’s next. I couldn’t have done it without you, Crestone.



A rainstorm over the Rockies in Crestone, Colorado. Author’s photo.

Six weeks ago, my wife and I decided that it was time to move back to my home state of Tennessee. After Covid, we wanted to be closer to family, closer to friends, closer to work, and surrounded by a familiar environment. But first, I must tell you about Crestone.

For a decade, we’ve lived and played in Colorado and it’s become home to us. Four years ago we moved to the magical town of Crestone, Colorado and I would be remiss to not thank her for the journey she’s taken me on.

Crestone is a tiny town tucked on the western side of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. The population, depending on the time of the year, is anywhere from 2,500 (during the summer swell) to just around 1,200 (during the harsh winters). We’re proud to have lived here full-time for all four years. Crestone has hardened us and softened us. It’s warn us down and built us up. Most importantly, it’s taught us to love ourselves and each other better.

Crestone has always been a place for dreamers. From cowboys in the early 1800’s to gold prospectors shortly thereafter. Once those two avenues didn’t work out, along came the military families seeking to claim out their little slice of this mountain paradise. That development quickly failed and spiritual centers took root and have remained, fairly successfully, since.

Spirituality fits this spot. It’s magnificent. Most people that travel here akin the vistas to those of the Himalayan mountains: awe-inspiring.

The first time I visited Crestone was in 2015, shortly after the death of my father-in-law. My wife and I were grieving and looking for a weekend escape from Denver. After a few hours scrolling through the AirBNB app, my wife found a cute, affordable house available in Crestone, CO.

“Where is that?” I asked, having never heard of it.

“Three hours south.”

We trekked. We spent the weekend making each other delicious dinners, hiking, and hanging out at the local Stupa sending…




Writing about what I see in this world. Amateur scribbler with a curiosity for new experiences.