We explore a silky summer evening, airbrushed with cool mountain air and golden sinking light. Newly arrived in Steamboat Springs, we wander west. The river is gift enough, flowing like laughter between us. One of those rare series of moments when you feel so alive, so present to where you are, so thankful to love the people you are with. Our four kids skip rocks and play “Pooh Sticks” on a weathered wood bridge. Then we stumble on a gate hidden in a crook of the path. “Yampa Valley Botanic Park,” a humble sign declares. On the other side, brilliant colors beckon from deepening shadows. One of us lifts the latch and the gate creaks open. Just like that, we freely step into an elaborate secret garden. Paths laced with thriving green and flower bursts lure us deeper, all the more enchanting for being so unexpected.

I remember stumbling upon…