Sometimes I feel my house shuddering beneath the push of wind and I think about how the pioneers and early settlers were basically camping out in this wind. I feel sure that had I lived back then I would've packed up and walked back to Iowa. I'm not a big fan of roughing it.
I suppose outsiders might assume it's our majestic Rocky Mountains that most influence what it feels like to live in Denver, and inadvertantly that's true because the mountains are what put us so high in the sky. But really it's the thin air. The mountains are just those big rocks a few miles to the west, but the effects of the thin air are pervasive. Whenever I have out-of-town visitors I warn them to drink tons of water and to prepare for sharp, crusty boogers. The latter comment seems indelicate, I know, but it is so true. Denver drys you out, inside and out. My hands have never cracked as easily in the winter time as they do here in Denver. But after three winters I'm prepared now. I know this place and all of its blustering, moisture sucking, high altitude strangeness. And I've come to love falling asleep at night listening to the sounds of home.