Rocky Mountain Public Media, the home of Rocky Mountain PBS, KUVO Jazz, and The Drop 104.7 has developed a partnership with Colorado Ethnic Media Exchange to launch this monthly essay series, as part of our vision to co-create a Colorado where everyone feels seen and heard. These stories are sourced from community members across the state—told in their own words and selected from our 64-county community ambassador program. They are not editorial products of our journalism team, but are first-person reflections on life in Colorado – building bridges through empathy. To learn more about all of our brands and content, check us out at https://www.rmpbs.org/about.

The Community Aurora Taught Me

By Maureen Maycheco

I love Aurora. I say that without hesitation, without apology, and with a kind of deep pride that feels rooted in my bones. Aurora is home, not just because I live here, but because it has taught me what community truly means.

In Aurora, community is a lived experience. It is exchanged through a bag of tomatoes over the fence, through a knock on the door to check in on a neighbor, through the unspoken understanding that we are looking out for one another. My neighborhood is stitched together with people from all over the world, refugees, immigrants, and families, who carry with them stories, recipes, music, languages, and traditions that make Aurora one of the most diverse cities in the country.

This diversity is not something I observe from a distance; it’s what I participate in every day. I have a food-trade system with my neighbors: herbs for eggrolls, squash for eggs. We share abundance, and in doing so, we share pieces of ourselves. It is a quiet, powerful act of belonging.

Serving on Aurora’s Immigrant and Refugee Commission (AIRC) has given me another vantage point on this truth. I’ve seen how Aurora becomes both a sanctuary and a launchpad for families who have crossed oceans, borders, and hardships. I’ve listened to their concerns about housing, health care, schools, and safety, and I’ve seen how, despite obstacles, they continue to give back, to contribute, to weave themselves into the fabric of this city. Aurora doesn’t just welcome, it absorbs, transforms, and reflects back the richness of the world.

But loving Aurora also means understanding the challenges we face. Our diversity, our collective strength, and the way we care for each other are all things that challenge systems built on exclusion and control. Too often, Aurora is spoken about in headlines that reduce us to crime statistics or deficits, instead of celebrating us as a model of shared humanity. What they miss is that the very thing they point to, our difference, is our power. It’s a power we must protect and nurture, a responsibility we all share.

That power goes beyond city borders. Today, as I sat in an Indigenous tattoo shop in Denver, my partner getting his first tattoo as part of a fundraiser for the Colorado Immigrant Rights Coalition (CIRC), I felt it again: community is expansive. The people CIRC serves are my people. The families COLOR (the organization where I work) stands alongside immigrants, Latine, young, low-income, LGBTQ+, and are my people. When I show up there, I am showing up for Aurora, too, because community is not a zip code. It is a responsibility. It is love in action.

There are versions of “community” that are about individualism and ego, about curating the right neighborhood, the right coffee shop, the right school. But the kind of community Aurora teaches me every day is different. It is ancestral. It is energetic. It is about what is shared, not what is owned. It humbles me, and it calls me to keep giving.

When I stretch my arms wide and think of Aurora, I don’t just see my street. I see the vast web of neighbors who check on each other, the families building new lives with courage, the children running between backyards, the elders passing down knowledge, and the organizers fighting for dignity and rights. That web stretches outward into Denver, into Colorado, into every place where care outshines ego and solidarity outlasts division.

And right now, as I walk back from my garden, arms full of tomatoes and herbs to share, I feel it: this is community. Aurora taught me that when we give, we are never empty; we are woven tighter together. That is why I love it here, fiercely, endlessly, with all of me.

*Maureen Maycheco (she/they), is the Vice President of Strategic Partnership and Growth at COLOR, and an 80013 resident.

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We Want to Hear from You
We’re inviting community members across the state to share their own stories of living in Colorado —of identity, discovery, and what it means to belong.

Tell us about a moment or a place in Colorado that changed how you see yourself or your community. Share your reflections at ambassador64@rmpbs.org

This is part of Ambassador64, our statewide listening initiative to ensure public media reflects the voices of all 64 counties in Colorado—starting with yours

Notes from The Arkansas River Valley

This submission is written by Phil Helfrich of Salida, CO where he muses about hiking in a canyon with his dog in early fall; “having fun, riffing to myself on what I see on the wonderment of this hidden place.”

A stone’s throw from the Arkansas River, the Howard Colorado Cemetery awaits its next tenant. The cemetery rests under the snowy shoulders of the Sangre de Christo Mountains. These serrated fourteeners knife into the sky across the valley. Rumor has it a chest of 1880’s Spanish gold remains stashed in a secret cave in those hills.

A dirt parking area is empty when I arrive. Sticky burrs are the dominant plant species. Latino and Spanish names headline many of the gravestones. 1867 was the earliest date I saw on a marker. That was a big stone with HOWARD–the Town’s founder– etched into it.

There’s a pea-gravel walkway to a large monument near the back fence. A bench and an elm invite a visitor to sit and ponder the Fates. Homemade remembrances decorate some graves. A black and white period photo. A wooden wagon wheel. A weathered handmade doll. Some graves say their piece on flat bronze nameplates fastened to the ground. A number of monuments honor World War 1 and 2 veterans, rank and branch of service noted. There’s a trail behind the cemetery that leads to a dry stream bed. Follow it and you’ll be flanked by monolithic volcanic rocks sanded flat and smooth by the elements–unmarked headstones for critters who have perished here.

Horse droppings decorate the stream bed. I like to think the horses are descendants of the steeds the Spanish rode when this area was a Spanish land grant. Footprints not mine indent the sandy trail. One stands out. Big foot lives. Headed back and up the canyon, rock art decorates the trail. There’s stacked rocks. Rocks in tree limbs. Rocks balanced on end. Small concentric rock circles within larger rock circles. Enthusiasts train here. There’s a televised competition in the fall.

Ascending as you go into the canyon, rock climbing and scampering skills are rewarded. So too biking gloves, hiking boots and a Moses staff to deflect face-gouging spring-loaded tree branches. Both sides of the canyon are sheet-rocked by flat slabs of monolithic volcanic boulders, deposited here 300 million years ago when Mount Aetna–60 miles northwest–blew and shot a monster fireball fifty miles into the sky.

I learned this from an online geology course taught by a local geologist. She said when the volcano exploded, all life east of the volcano to what is now the Kansas border, was obliterated. When the fireball came crashing back to earth near present day Buena Vista, it rolled down valley, scattering fiery chunks of itself everywhere as it re-arranged the valley furniture. Equilibrium punctuated by sudden catastrophe. Nature’s way.

“There…how’s that look?”

In the most romantic story I ever heard, my friend Matt proposed to his gal in this canyon. There’s a cove twenty minutes in. Matt hid the engagement ring beforehand, had dinner cooking, then popped the question. “Honey, do you mind cleaning up the dishes?”

Leaving the hideaway, me and Ms. Molly trudge up canyon. The creek bed narrows. Discoveries expand. Twisted barber pole dead cedars advertise a shave and a haircut ahead. Climbing up one last ledge, golly Bill, it’s a flat smooth sandy walkway. Matt tells me just a tad further–two week walk tops–a side passage opens on the left where a boy and his beagle can return to the cemetery via a parallel canyon. We abandoned the search for that passage when the sun started to set. The hike back down is easy except for ankle sprains and cartilage tears. Those don’t seem that big of a deal when the last landmark you see is the cemetery. There are 167 marked graves in the cemetery, including that of Jonah Peregrine, who’s believed to be the first settler in these parts. He arrived from Tennessee in 1871. Built a house here on 16 acres.

The cemetery was once a stagecoach stop on a wagon road that led to Leadville. That was back when this area was called Nice Valley.

Still is.

Rocky Mountain Public Media, the home of Rocky Mountain PBS, KUVO JAZZ and THE DROP 104.7, has developed a partnership with Colorado Ethnic Media Exchange to launch this monthly essay series, as part of our vision to co-create a Colorado where everyone feels seen and heard. These stories are sourced from community members across the state—told in their own words and selected from our 64-county community ambassador program. They are not editorial products of our journalism team but are first-person reflections on life in Colorado – building bridges through empathy. To learn more about all of our brands and content, check us out at https://www.rmpbs.org/about.

We Want to Hear from You

We’re inviting community members across the state to share their own stories of living in Colorado —of identity, discovery, and what it means to belong.

Tell us about a moment or a place in Colorado that changed how you see yourself or your community.

Share your reflections at ambassador64@rmpbs.org

This is part of Ambassador64, our statewide listening initiative to ensure public media reflects the voices of all 64 counties in Colorado—starting with yours.

Afrik Digest is proud to announce its participation in Ambassador64, a monthly storytelling initiative launched in partnership with Rocky Mountain Public Media (RMPM) and the Colorado Ethnic Media Exchange (CEME). This groundbreaking collaboration reflects our shared commitment to co-creating a Colorado where every individual, regardless of origin, background, or zip code, feels seen, heard, and valued.

Rooted in the belief that empathy builds bridges, Ambassador64 highlights personal reflections from community members spanning all 64 counties of our state. These essays are sourced directly from local voices through RMPM’s community ambassador program, bringing first-person narratives to the forefront of public dialogue. Though distinct from traditional newsroom reporting, these stories offer authentic glimpses into everyday life in Colorado, from struggles to triumphs, cultural pride to civic engagement.

As a founding member of the Colorado Ethnic Media Exchange, Afrik Digest is honored to uplift these diverse perspectives. By sharing these experiences with our readers, we deepen our collective understanding, foster cross-cultural connections, and affirm that every story matters.

Stay tuned for the first installment of Ambassador64, and join us as we continue to celebrate Colorado’s vibrant, resilient communities. We’re starting the series with a piece written by one of our team members, JJ Caric, who relocated to Grand Junction 2.5 years ago for a job with us and found so much more…

To learn more about all of RMPM’s brands and content, check them out at: https://www.rmpbs.org/about.

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Notes from The Western Slope- By JJ Caric

I was born in May of 1997 in a rural town in Southern China. Time unknown, weight unknown. Length unknown and the first fifteen months of life- also unknown. In August of 1998, I was adopted by Italian and German parents from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. My parents were and are the best parents that could’ve adopted me. I found support in every corner of my life growing up.

However, a timeline of my childhood, teen years, and still sometimes in my adulthood is the resistance and refusal to acknowledge my Chinese background. Jokes were made to my friends that I was 100% Italian and 0% Asian. Arguments were had between my mom and me about not wanting to go to Chinese dance class and instead go to cheerleading, or gymnastics, or any other activities like all the other girls my age attended.

Growing up, I also only surrounded myself and became friends with white kids, thinking that was popular, mainstream, accepted, and beautiful. Not accepting my natural hair, I dyed it blonde from the age of 13 until this past year, when I was 28. During this time of life, I also resisted and hated living in Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh wasn’t a “real” city… I was destined for Los Angeles or New York City, which were the only cities where I applied to college. I ended up going to New York for my first year. Maybe it was the movies I watched as a kid, but ever since I was little, New York was like a fever dream. It was exciting, fast, entertaining, glamorous, and full of energy. Quite honestly, up until recently, the past three or four years, I think I was chasing what everyone else considered beautiful or “the dream.” It’s glorified on social media, magazines, and celebrity culture to look a certain way and live a certain lifestyle.

Little did I know that two and a half years ago, my impulse decision to accept a job and move to Grand Junction, Colorado, would have everlasting and profound positive effects on the way I see myself and the world. To have a chance at happiness in Colorado, I decided to say yes to everything. Mountain biking, climbing, skiing, hiking, camping, you name it.

I also decided to make friends with anyone and everyone I had a connection with. My first Asian friend was someone I met in my first week in Grand Junction. She’s still one of my closest friends today, and funny enough, she’s in New York now getting her Master’s.

My time so far in this beautiful Rocky Mountain state has been beautiful, messy, confusing, and peaceful, and it has made me discover and meet myself for what seems like the very first time. Who knew, I do enjoy camping and skiing, and large city crowds actually give me anxiety. Who knew, I felt the most comfortable in my skin for the first time, so I decided to change my hair back to black. My Colorado journey is not over yet, but so far, my time on the Western Slope has been transformative in the most budding and blossoming way.

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We Want to Hear from You:

We’re inviting community members across the state to share their own stories of living in

Colorado —of identity, discovery, and what it means to belong. Tell us about a moment or a place in Colorado that changed how you see yourself or your community. Share your reflections at: ambassador64@rmpbs.org

This is part of Ambassador64, our statewide listening initiative to ensure public media reflects the voices of all 64 counties in Colorado—starting with yours.