arch

I shrugged off the folks in the Midwest who had never heard of Arches National Park, when I mentioned I was headed that way over Christmas. It's not unusual for folks around here to know little about the American West. Maybe it's because they think of it as one lump sum of mountain ranges and cowboy hats; maybe it's because they don't think of it much at all.

But when we mentioned it to the executive chef at our Denver hotel (who prepared an exceptional meal for us that I really need to Yelp) and she'd never heard of the lovely little gem of a national park just six or seven hours distant, nestled into the red rock canyon country just outside of Moab, Utah, cousin to the marvelous expanse that is Canyonlands, I got nervous.

This is all ours, America. This is the land we wrestled away from the folks who had it first, with gunpowder and infectious disease. This is what we fiercely claimed we could never live without. This is the country we abducted like a young bride from her kin. This is the land we killed for.

And while none of that is right, the very least we can do it pay our respects.

For god's sake go see it.