A warm welcome
Published in the World Journal, March 12th, 2026 Issue
When I finally moved to Walsenburg I was 24 years old and recently engaged. Drawn by the mountains, art, and the air of connection I’ve always felt on my many visits before, I found my home here.
People speak fondly of the way that small towns welcome people with open arms. That was not my experience. Walsenburg welcomed me with a pile of binders, wild hair, and a raspy “thank you,” and that was even better.
My roles in this community—as a board member, volunteer, home-owner, program director, parent, grant writer, small business owner, and project coordinator—have been my teachers and I think I’m finally getting a sense of what it is to be from Walsenburg, of what it is to be a ‘Burger.
To be a ‘Burger is to pass a world-class view of the Spanish Peaks thirty seconds before being stopped behind a train for fifteen minutes.
To be a ‘Burger is your neighbors brawling on Facebook then pulling together, without hesitation, to face a tragedy or natural disaster. It is to love your community, then hate it, then depend on it, then yell at it, then love it again (time-lines vary).
It’s driving the better part of an hour for the luxury of a Walmart, people swerving their car to stop and say hello when you’re walking down the street, swerving your own to pass people catching up through a rolled down window, living in an old house with old house problems, enjoying free music, being surrounded by public art, patronizing long-standing local businesses that still don’t have a website in 2026, and to lose a couple hats in the incessant wind.
I did not “end up” in Walsenburg. I am not “stuck” here. I chose this place. I continue to choose it every day. When I reached out to this community, looking for a home, it grabbed me by the wrists and emphatically swept me into its current. I have learned to give. I have learned to be cared for—even loved—by people who I barely know. My son’s face is on a wall on Seventh Street. People who haven’t seen him since he was a newborn stop me in the grocery store and greet him by name. No place is perfect, we are no exception, but I can say with the truest love and care that I love living in Walsenburg, Colorado.
Welcome to To be a ‘Burger: Your local column about living, loving, and giving a damn in small town Colorado. Join me in cherishing the good, working on the bad, and—no matter what—sticking together.
