Two Sides of Calhan

Don’t overlook Calhan. Colorado’s highest non-mountain town covers a few blocks on a bench of land with clear but distant views of Pikes Peaks. 

On U.S. 24, the road connecting Colorado Springs to Interstate 70, Calhan is the first town of any size in northeastern El Paso County. Home to the county fairgrounds and a few other attractions, it seems an unexpected place for a Slavic festival. But for 17 years, people across southern Colorado venture to St. Mary Domitian, a Czech Orthodox Church at quiet crossroads north of town. The church, filled with Orthodox iconography, sits on an opposite corner from the church community hall, which hosts an annual Slavic festival that spun out of the church’s annual congregation picnic. 

We arrived right at the festival opening, and given the deluge of festivalgoers that followed, the timing seemed right. By noon, the line to pay stretched along the community hall and the food line extended out to the pay table. A meal, some Eastern European desserts and some lively music are all the festival needs. The bar stocked with domestic beers and eastern European delights such as plum brandy never lacked interest. 

My friend, who was born in the Czech Republic, was an able guide to the church. She had come in years past, and the thought of a festival geared toward Eastern Europe reminded me of Cleveland’s pockets of those ethnic groups, where in some cases the language is still spoken at home. While most of the names were unfamiliar, I knew the food well. For a reasonable $15, the church supplies a full meal of delights from central and eastern Europe. Kielbasa, sauerkraut, cabbage rolls, perogies and other delights filled that plate that never felt like too much food. A taste of every item did not lead to feeling stuffed.

The whole festival made for interesting people-watching. Numerous people sprinkled in the crowd and among the volunteers wore native outfits. The crowd was an interesting mix of Old World, city dwellers and country folk. A duo of accordion and drums ran through a series of polkas and waltzes, splashing a few popular U.S. songs among the European tunes (I heard “Sweet Caroline” in there somewhere). A trio of priests dressed in cassocks, from a younger one in a cowboy hat to a pair of white-haired elders, walked around the growing crowd. The younger priest led a tour of the church, which was small but bright due to the iconography adorning the wall behind the altar. A reporter for the local monthly paper milled around taking photos. 

 While it felt early for a beer, the meal was filling enough that I felt comfortable with a Krusovice, an easy drinking but flavorful pilsner the Czech Republic that they had on tap. From the dessert table, I bought a raspberry kolache and some poppyseed pastries. My friend bought bags of all three perogies to bring home. I contemplated the same but stay content with my desserts. More importantly, it didn’t make me sleepy on the short drive to our next stop. We headed downhill from the church on the Calhan Highway. On the other side of 24 sat the fairgrounds and a turnoff for a dirt road leading to a geologic gem hidden beneath rolling plains capped by wind turbines. 

The Paint Mines Interpretive Park protects the Paint Mines Archaeological Area, fantastic collection of hoodoos and rock formations tucked among the rippling land. The mines require a one-mile hike from the parking lot. In the severe clear of this day, the earliest formations were almost blinding due to their white stone. But the stone wasn’t merely white. As we walked a hill overlooking the Paint Mines, shades of gray emerged. 

Walking further into the maze of hoodoos, rocks cast in gold, reds, purples and other tones grew common. Among the High Plains and their tanned grasses, the Paint Mines administered a dose of color, adding hues that seemed otherworldly at times. Suddenly the plains produced a place of mystery, of ancient rock and formations more in line what one might see in Utah. 

For how thick the crowds ran along the entry trail, it didn’t take long to find solitude among the Paint Mines. Yucca and other desert plants thrived among the stone. Due to snow two days earlier, some of the rock in shadow was still wet. Patches of snow persisted where the sun didn’t strike. At one point, finding my thermos almost empty, I scooped a few lumps of snow from where it was still three inches deep and replenished my water. With the wintry remains spread around, it was easy to see how Native Americans had drawn the clay free of the formations; the top of some rocks riddled with clay turned muddy. 

One man did his best to not notice me waiting to take a picture without him in it. He kept wandering on the rocks and climbing among the formations, because of course someone was despite signs every 100 feet warning people to stay off the fragile rocks. As he climbed to a lower ledge, he lost his grip and slid down 10 feet on the slippery rock. That shouldn’t have been gratifying, but it was. I don’t understand people who see a geologic oddity and feel the need to traipse across it.

But the beauty of the Paint Mines is multi-faceted. If the colors of nature fascinate you, coming back at another hour, especially at daybreak, seems like a necessity. The banded rocks and little peaks of gold will shine differently depending on the hour. In Calhan, getting off the main road reveals new facets to the town, with places well worth repeat visits. The Paint Mines aren’t going anywhere, even if a year must pass before the next Slavic festival.