Boulder: My Sweet Hometown

Tucked away where the Rocky Mountains meet the eastern plains, Boulder, Colorado, is an outdoor-enthusiast's paradise, a college party town, and a New Age mecca. More recently it's been known as a place where six-year-olds compete in beauty pageants.

When I was growing up there in the 1980s, though, it was just my sweet hometown. Every time my dog jumped the fence, the neighbors brought him back and lingered for a chat and sometimes a chocolate-chip cookie. (I'm serious.)

When I moved away 10 years ago, I found myself wistfully recalling moments like the snowball fights that erupted as neighbors dusted their cars off for work. But a recent opportunity to return home transformed nostalgia into anxiety -- what if all my fond memories dissolved in the face of a built-up town packed with harried, brusque people?

Massive Sandstone Slabs

On my drive west from the Denver airport, bits of Boulder flashed into view, then disappeared behind the rolling hills. When I came to the last hilltop and looked over the Boulder Valley, there stood the Flatirons -- massive slabs of sandstone jutting out of the ground, propped against the mountains, their tips pointing diagonally into the blue sky. On the plain before them, dusted with snow, lay a familiar hodgepodge of clapboard, stone, and brick houses. Everything looked beautifully the same.

From afar, everything looked the same, but when I strolled the four blocks of the outdoor Pearl Street Mall, I didn't recognize most of the shops and restaurants. Fred's family burger place -- which I remembered for the crayon-colored menus on its walls -- had undergone a chic makeover. It was now Café Antica Roma, an Italian date-spot complete with candles, a fireplace, and a large brick oven.

A little beyond the mall I came upon an old standby, the Trident Bookstore and Café. The wood floor still groaned under the patrons' Doc Martens, and the aromas of espresso and books mingled -- just as they had when I was a teenager and this was the hot place for the angst-ridden to hang out. An entire bookshelf was dedicated solely to Buddhist literature, a sign that Boulder's spiritual plurality remains intact.

The Bear in His Stocking Cap

In the café, I ordered a cup of chamomile tea. Whenever I see someone with a cup of Celestial Seasonings, I'm quick to point out that it's made in my hometown. But as I looked at the package with the familiar quotes and the bear in his stocking cap, I realized I'd never seen the Celestial Seasonings tea factory.

The highlight of the facilities tour was the peppermint room. The smell was so overwhelmingly fresh that I immediately started sneezing and coughing. "This is the best place in the country to go if you need to clear your sinuses fast," said the acclimated guide. Elsewhere in the warehouse, bags of tea from all over the world were stacked high, separated into herbal, green, and black leaf areas.

We passed five workers in lab jackets standing around a table with a dozen or more steaming teacups, sipping a bit from each with the utmost seriousness. "Tea tasters," whispered our guide. "They can reject a whole batch if they think there aren't enough rosehips in the Red Zinger, or the ginger's too strong in the Bengal Spice."