The moment that I found out I had to cut gluten from my diet, my heart sank.

It was a Friday afternoon last May and I had recently started working with a nutritionist to address some longstanding gastrointestinal issues. The results of my GI Map test suggested I had a gluten sensitivity. That was the last thing I wanted to hear.

Not only are bread and pasta my favorite food groups, I have been a beer journalist for more than a decade. It seemed incredibly unfair that I would have to give up all my favorite things and even more than that — what would become of my career?

Perhaps seeing the horror on my face, my nutritionist encouraged me to try living gluten-free for just one month to see if it made a difference in how I felt. I committed, hesitantly, and left our meeting to eat a piece of leftover pizza, giving myself until the end of the weekend to start detoxing.

Since going gluten-free more than two months ago, I’ve learned a lot about myself and my eating habits. For one, I miss beer a lot. Of all the things I’ve had to refrain from consuming, beer is by far the hardest to resist.

So when I realized that cans from had traveled from the Golden-based brewery to my local liquor store on the Western Slope, I was beyond stoked.

Opened in 2016, Holidaily Brewing Co. makes certified gluten-free beers using alternative grains, such as buckwheat and millet. Recipes like the Favorite Blonde Ale and Fat Randy’s IPA enable people who are allergic to gluten or reducing their intake to indulge in beers with similar body and carbonation as those that use barley.

That may not sound like too much to ask, but when founder Karen Hertz first decided to start the brewery more than a decade ago, choices for celiac and gluten-intolerant drinkers were slim. Most gluten-free beers at the time were made with sorghum syrup, which did little to satisfy beer drinkers’ palates, she said.

“These beers were really thin, they had a really weird aftertaste. It just didn’t taste great,” Hertz said. “That got me looking into ingredients — like, why do these suck so bad?”

For Hertz, starting Holidaily Brewing Co. was a deeply personal endeavor. In 2007, she was diagnosed with melanoma, and the following year, she was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Hertz treated — and defeated — both by undergoing surgery and radiation. Doctors then advised her to work with a nutritionist in hopes of addressing underlying causes.

“I couldn’t understand how a healthy 30-year-old with zero family history was getting back-to-back cancer,” Hertz said. Turns out, gluten was the culprit.

Her transition to a gluten-free life sounded strikingly similar to mine. There were decent replacements for some things, and there were foods that Hertz could live without. And then there were things like beer, which “seemed like a really big barrier to feeling normal,” she said. As a native Coloradan and former Coors Brewing Co. employee, the beverage was ingrained in her lifestyle.

“The beauty of beer is moderation to me. I didn’t want to be the vodka queen at the tailgate party. I really wanted to be able to have beers with my friends,” Hertz said. “That kept coming up as a social issue and feeling awkward and feeling left out.”

That cemented her ambition to reinvent what gluten-free beer could be. Hertz started working with in northern Colorado, which malts gluten-free grains including millet, buckwheat, quinoa, oats, rice and corn, to pinpoint which best mimicked barley. She landed on a combination of buckwheat and millet that today serves as the base of each beer Holidaily makes.

Getting the taste and mouthfeel right out the gate was imperative, Hertz said. That’s why she hired Wayne Burns, who had previously brewed for Bell’s Brewery and Wynkoop Brewing Co. and would go on to open his own spot, the now-closed Burn Family Artisan Ales, to develop what became the first recipes.

“I knew that if we were going to put anything gluten-free on the market, we had one chance. If someone’s going to give a gluten-free beer a try, it has to be good or they’re never going to drink it again. Because there’s already this stigma around gluten-free,” she said.

That strategy appears to have paid off. At a time when , Holidaily is thriving. In 2021, the brewery made 3,434 barrels of beer for drinkers in Colorado and four other states. This year, Hertz said production will hit 7,000 barrels — an increase of 104% in five years — and Holidaily now distributes to 13 states in the U.S.

Hertz attributes the company’s growth, simply, to supply and demand. Of the approximately 9,500 existing craft breweries, a fraction are dedicated to making gluten-free beer. Hertz estimates it’s about a dozen companies. At the same time, the number of people who are reducing their gluten intake is rising.

An estimated 3 million Americans are affected by celiac disease, according to the . Millions more are believed to be gluten-intolerant or have a gluten sensitivity — as many as 1 in 20 U.S. residents, .

Since the beginning, Hertz’s mission has been to get beer to people who can’t have it. That����ap proved a worthwhile goal not only for the company’s growth, but also for the personal stories that come along with it. Hertz said visitors to the Golden taproom have started crying when they see 14 different options on tap that they can drink.

Holidaily’s distributed retail selection is more modest with five different packaged options, but drinkers in Colorado usually get access to newer innovations before they go to other states. The , which hit store shelves in May, is a flavorful new addition to the lineup that competes with the likes of other hazy beers on the market. And the , also released in May, is a 4.5% ABV beer apt for pairing with hot summer days spent outdoors.

I know because I’ve tried them both on my recent quest to live a happy gluten-free life. Next, I plan to try Holidaily’s , a luxury of flavor diversity in a traditionally slim pickings category.

As Hertz looks toward the future, she’s optimistic that the now 10-year-old Holidaily can be part of a broader effort to renew consumer interest in beer after many difficult years for the industry.

“We have fun brands and fit into a beer category, but also a ‘better for you’ category, which I think intrigues a younger generation. We have a cool story, we’re a woman-owned brand. I think all that plays into Holidaily getting to help be a part of bringing people back to beer,” she said.

Few sights are more welcome to hungry people than a 24-hour taco stand after a night on the town. Metro Denver has a few of these, but I was first introduced to the concept in San Diego, where there is a particular style of Cali-Mex cuisine that still doesn’t exist anywhere else.

Examples include enormous hand-held burritos stuffed with everything from grilled carne asada to smoky adobada-marinated pork to simple lard-flavored refried beans with heaps of guacamole. One distinct aspect of San Diego-style burritos is that many also include French fries. Then there are the fish tacos and burritos that come with fresh lime, avocado, salsa and cilantro.

The go-to spots typically end in “…berto,” as in Alberto’s, Rigoberto’s and Roberto’s.

Sure, these same dishes can be found in Colorado and just about anywhere else, in some form, but there is a magic that simply hasn’t been replicated. Maybe it����ap in the cooking technique or the specific ingredients, or maybe it����ap just the sense of place. Whatever it is, San Diego-style Mexican or Cali-Mex food is hard to find in Denver – surprising in a world where we can have just about everything at our fingertips.

But that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried. In particular, I’ve searched for rolled tacos, or more specifically, three (or five) rolled tacos with guacamole and cheese.

In San Diego, they are a staple of every taco shop, and it����ap almost impossible to leave without a Styrofoam plateful – even if you’ve also ordered something else. Corn tortillas filled with beef, tightly rolled and fried, they are almost entirely covered in guac and melted cheddar. Small plastic containers of red salsa (rarely green) complete the picture.

But here, rolled tacos are few and far between. Some restaurants serve them, but they are often loosely rolled, closer to flautas or made from flour tortillas. Or worse yet, overcooked to the point of not even being able to crack them open with your teeth.

The closest I’ve found come from Raliberto’s Mexican Food, which has two locations, including the one I went to at 4020 Wadsworth Blvd. in Wheat Ridge; Taco Star, with multiple metro Denver locations, including the one I visited at 6151 E. Colfax Ave.; and Viva! Burrito, 6990 Leetsdale Dr.

All helped to sate the cravings, but none quite lived up to expectations.

Don’t get me wrong. I love all aspects of Colorado’s Mexican food scene, from the upscale versions of regional cuisine found at places like La Diabla Pozole y Mezcal, Alma Fona Fina, and Xiquita, to the Colo-Mex classics like Tacos Jalisco, El Taco de Mexico and La Fiesta. And of course I love green chile.

But there is something about those San Diego taco stands that I’ll just have to keep dreaming about.

We used to be . So why have so many of us forgotten practical solutions to the bugs of modern technology?

I use “we” because this was me a couple of weeks ago: on the couch, remote in hand, scrolling through Netflix’s latest offerings for a movie as the clock neared midnight. One carousel of options bled into another, until I finally settled on a mid-series episode of “Breaking Bad” because, well, I had already seen the entire show three times through and was starting to get sleepy.

But there are better — and cheaper — ways to watch movies from home. It takes a digital TV antenna, the kind one can find at hardware or retail stores for about $20. Hook it up to the television, mount it high on the wall or roof and scan for channels. Then flip to channel 26: it’s Movies!

Fox Corporation and Weigel Broadcasting launched the Movies! network in 2013, offering round-the-clock programming of films from the 20th century. It is transmitted in Denver through a low-powered digital station that broadcasts in grainy, standard definition. The westerns, noirs, dramas, action movies and comedies of yesteryear screened on Movies! are so unpredictable, so hit-or-miss, yet mostly always admirable as the products of bygone eras of film.

It’s the offbeat, occasionally off-putting cousin of Turner Classic Movies, with commercial interruptions.

That’s not to say it doesn’t have class. My last couple of peeks dropped me in the middle of the salacious 1954 noir “Mildred Pierce,” starring Joan Crawford; the steamy “Key Largo” from 1948, with Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall and a memorable Edward G. Robinson; and “A Stolen Life” from 1946, in which Bette Davis plays twins through impressive special effects for the period.

The channel designates special time slots throughout the week to specific movie stars: Audrey Hepburn, Robert Redford, Roy Scheider. It’s how, one Saturday morning, I caught “The Seven-Ups” (1973), starring Scheider as a brazen NYPD detective. A lengthy car chase building up to the movie’s climax riveted me, all roaring engines, screeching brakes and vintage shots of cars speeding through New York City thoroughfares. The action felt fresh and urgent. New York City looked iconic in its grey splendor. “The Seven-Ups” would’ve likely remained in the film vault for me had this channel not screened it.

For every surprise discovery, however, there are one or more duds.

Some of those duds would file nicely in a “so bad it’s good” category. I saw Frank Sinatra in the only movie he directed, 1965’s “None but the Brave,” whose anti-war message was bogged down by poor acting and stage sets. Then I watched Tom Hanks in one of his earliest film roles in the comedy “Bachelor Party” (1984), full of groan-inducing dialogue. (When someone asks Hanks’ character who he is, he replies, “Bond. James Bond.” Gag.)

Others are just plain offensive when seen through modern eyes, serving as reminders of the rampant whitewashing of the early film industry. One period movie, whose name I can’t remember, had actors in makeup playing the roles of Asian characters. “None but the Brave” was lauded at the time for using a Japanese cast for the roles of Japanese soldiers. The inclusion mattered. It wasn’t always that way.

But the truly bad flicks are few and far between. Take it from someone who has watched broadcast television since middle school, and has seen it devolve from general programming to dusty reruns of “The Andy Griffith Show” and new shows with names like “Police,” “Ambulance” and “Fire.” While viewing audiences have migrated away from broadcast television to streaming services, the offerings on some of those platforms aren’t any better. Sometimes the act of scrolling up and down, left and right on a streaming app’s home page can sound more interesting than any of the digital titles on the shelf.

The movies on Movies! are usually worth your time. If you think otherwise, at least you’ll have an antenna to watch live sports, award ceremonies and dating competitions without the fear of a stream buffering or crashing. No subscription necessary.

Shane Endsley can feel the weight of the Denver Municipal Band’s history, and that only motivates him to carry it higher.

The son of former DMB director Gerald Endsley, who led the band from the mid-1990s through his death in 2015, the younger Endsley is a nationally touring trumpet player and director of education and outreach for the band. Along with current , Endsley is still pushing forward an elastic, accomplished group that’s playing more than 20 free shows this year in addition to school visits and other performances.

That includes a free, at 6 p.m., another nonprofit that itself is celebrating 40 years. Amid that, Endsley remains one of those rare music lifers that offers a link to the past while pushing the next generation of musicians forward. And he’s a dad himself.

“They are musicians, too,” he said of his son, 17, and daughter, 20. “They’re really good, but it’s not their focus. They didn’t zero in on it like I did when I was a kid.”

Endsley, like his father, began playing music before he turned 10 and was performing on stage by his teens. He made his bow with DMB at age 17, and has since toured and recorded widely, including with Grammy-winning names such as Ani DiFranco and Jason Mraz. The 51-year-old is also a lecturer in and coordinator of the school’s innovative studio and performance space at 800 Kalamath St. in Denver.

In other words, a busy dude. Did we mention his wife’s also a professional musician?

Along with the decades he’s put into his craft, he’s always encouraging new recruits.

“If you’re willing to take time and work at it, it feels attainable for everybody,” he said. “Don’t get too discouraged by somebody who’s rocketing ahead of you, because we all learn at different paces.”The

Denver Municipal Band is evidence of lifelong music love in general. They play as a 40-piece concert band, 20-piece jazz band, and contract act for show bands, a brass quintet or smaller ensembles, according to their website. “Because of our flexibility, we play everything — orchestral, rock, soul, and funk,” they wrote.

DMB’s relatively modest, $200,000 annual budget is cobbled from a variety of funding sources, but donations continue to play a huge role in its underpinning. That’s especially important since many of the musicians play in other top-notch groups such as the Colorado Symphony, Colorado Ballet, Central City Opera, Denver Brass, and the Queen City Jazz Band. They need to make a living, and while you may be shocked to hear this, the local performing arts scene isn’t exactly the most lucrative gig out there.

Band members carry the soul of Denver, and they haven’t dropped the ball. For its free, July 4 and 5 shows at Washington Park and Cheesman Park, respectively, they’re playing Aaron Copland’s “Lincoln Portrait” alongside a recitation of the Gettysburg Address, amid other tunes.

“It’s going to be really powerful for right now,” he said. “With everything going on in politics and in this country, it’s a really patriotic statement, and we’re proud of Joe Martin for programming it.”

See more shows from Denver Municipal Band at .

As a kid growing up in Colorado — hiking with my parents or taking field trips with middle-school science classes — I learned a lot of fun facts about the state’s flora and fauna and about the weather patterns that affect it.

I learned that ponderosa pines have long, soft needles and that the sap running down the sides of the trees smells like vanilla if you dare to get your nose close enough. I learned that indigenous people chewed on aspen leaves to help with headaches, that elk bugle in the fall, and that you shouldn’t hike on exposed ridges in the lightning-prone afternoons.

I also learned how to follow rock cairns, how to tell the difference between a chipmunk and a ground squirrel, and that you never pick wildflowers. Leave them for others to see.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t touch them. One of my favorite ways to get close to these flowers, aside from taking pictures, was to find a clump of , reach down and gently pull out one or two of the delicate corollas, which are shaped like tubes and have green tips and whitish sides. The bit inside the flower is the part that hummingbirds and bees — and humans — like, because it tastes like nectar or honey. It was always a tiny drop of a sweet treat on a long hike.

Of course, foraging shouldn’t be taken lightly, and there are plenty of warnings out there about how Indian paintbrush can be toxic if consumed in great quantities. So read those before you suck any nectar.

The red wildflower, which is often one of the first to bloom in early summer and one of the last to stop blooming in late summer, also has some of the most evocative names. While its Latin name is Castilleja, I grew up calling it Indian paintbrush, a name that comes with various forms of lore. As with many plants, animals, rivers and mountains that are named for Native Americans, however, this name can be interpreted by some as being derogatory. Something I am sensitive to.

So many people just call the flower paintbrush or red paintbrush or scarlet paintbrush. Other names include painted cup and prairie fire. Its many monikers aren’t surprising since the flower, and its many subspecies, can be found all over North America.

Columbines are our state flower, and they deserve to be. Rare and delicate, but also stunning and hearty, they are a favorite find during the summer months. But paintbrush will always be the one I look for when I need something sweet.

This is not a traditional Staff Favorite; nor is it a farewell column.

In my last week before retirement, it’s a personal indulgence, a tribute to some journalists who left their marks over my more than 40 years in the profession. Many of the names won’t really matter to you; some of their stories might.

On the front lines

I have a T-shirt that reads: “We are putting out a damn paper tomorrow.”

People who read it tend to laugh. They think it’s merely a boast by some determined journalist to get the job done.

But it’s more than that. The words below read: “Capital Gazette, 6.28.2018.” That was the day a gunman forced his way into a newsroom in Annapolis, Md., and shot and killed five newspaper employees, then fired at and injured two others who were trying to escape.

More than staff reductions and newspaper closures, that event (and others like it) shook many journalists I know, leaving us wondering if anti-journalism rhetoric and threats would bring violence to our own newsrooms. That we were being made into targets.

The quote on the T-shirt was from , who — despite the murders of his peers hours before — promised to keep doing the right thing: covering stories and reporting the unbiased truth, no matter the hate spewed against journalists by those who would rather reporters keep quiet.

It also made many of us more determined than ever to keep doing the job we were trained to do: fight for and protect First Amendment rights every day, to be accurate and unbiased, to continue to shine a light on both the beautiful and the ugly in our community. Like we’ve always done.

Like Helen H. Richardson, a Denver Post photographer who was assigned to an Oct. 10, 2020, protest at the state Capitol in Denver, and recorded the shooting death of a demonstrator just feet away from her.

Like Ann Schrader, who knocked on parents’ doors shortly after the Columbine killings in. At the time, her 10-year-old daughter was in a classroom just blocks away from the scene. She later admitted just how traumatic it was. But not in the moment; then, she gritted her teeth and did her job.

Like Virginia Culver, one of a legion of female reporters who fought her way into the male-dominated field and paved the way for so many more to come. (Think “His Girl Friday” of the 1960s, but Culver was way cooler than Rosalind Russell.)

Like Denver Post reporters — Carlos Illescas, Kieran Nicholson and Jordan Steffen among them — who diligently covered the Aurora theater shooting trial in 2015, sitting in court every day to record the horror of that event.

Like the deaf reporter at the Springfield Morning Union in Western Massachusetts who fought for and won the job of TV critic well before closed captioning. (“I can read lips, and want to try,” was all he would say about the matter.)

Like Sue O’Brien, editorial page editor at The Denver Post, a critical thinker and persuasive writer who had the gift of making everyone around her feel like they were the most important person in the world. When she was diagnosed with cancer, conservative activist and Taxpayer Bill of Rights author Douglas Bruce waltzed into the office unannounced with a huge plant for her, a sign of respect for a worthy adversary.

Like Fred Brown, the conscience of The Post and later of the Society of Professional Journalists. “Ethical Fred,” who died in March, was much-beloved, and known for his honesty, integrity and compassion.

Like assistant city editor Rob Hiaasen, one of those killed at the Capital Gazette, and reporter Wendi Winters, who gave her life in an . She was credited with distracting him long enough for others to escape.

Like Serge Kovaleski, an investigative reporter for The New York Times who by President Trump in 2015.

Like political cartoonist, who won two Pulitzer prizes but still had time to make a young copy editor in Miami feel important by asking her to check his glorious work.

Like the copy editor and IT chief who braved at the Stanley Cup celebration in LoDo in 2001 to collect copies of the early edition of The Denver Post because delivery trucks couldn’t get through. The papers were being used to feed bonfires. (OK, that was me and superhero Erik Strom. I just wanted to boast.)

In good hands

Why bring all that up now? Because after decades as a member of the Fourth Estate, it’s not the work or the accolades or the mistakes I will forever remember; it’s the people with whom I toiled and others I’ve met along the way — world leaders (like John McCain and Madeleine Albright); celebrities (like Harry Connick Jr. and ); sports figures (Don Shula and Richard Petty); and a few unsavory characters as well.

(Well, maybe I will never forget one mistake: I got to scream “HOLD THE PRESSES” when I let a Page 1 headline go with the “L” dropped out of the word “public.” In 84-point Helvetica.)

Journalists constantly find themselves having to defend their profession. We’re unfair. We’re hacks. We’re crooked. We make mistakes. (Of course we do; who doesn’t?)

It’s exhausting to read stories about members of the press being denied access to public institutions, of them being attacked for asking pointed questions of a politician who would rather not give the truth, but instead criticize the questioner to deflect and avoid the subject.

The Fourth Estate is a noble profession, one necessary to preserve a free society — and must stay that way for years to come.

-30-

(That’s an old-time journalism sign-off; it was done to signal editors that the story was done. As am I.)

It����ap difficult to imagine a more perfect fish and chips than the shatteringly crisp platter sold at in Broomfield.

I’ll entertain an argument for a newsprint-wrapped bundle eaten while overlooking the River Thames, but for hungry Anglophiles who want to avoid a 9-hour flight from Denver to London, the cozy pub near Rocky Mountain Metropolitan Airport sells a fish and chips that����ap the best I’ve had this side of the Atlantic.

There’s the stunning visual: a filet of Icelandic cod bigger than your head, battered and fried to deep golden brown perfection, served piping-hot over a bed of hand-cut chips (also known as French fries, for the uninitiated).

And then there’s the sensory experience: the beer batter coating is like biting into a kettle-fried potato chip, crunchy and light at the same time, substantial without being overly thick or dense. The cod is flaky and succulent, falling apart at the lightest touch. Crispy, thick-cut chips and tangy tartar sauce play a beautiful supporting role.

Fish-and-chips is common enough in restaurants across metro Denver, but it����ap also a meal that����ap often so-so. At Burns, it����ap not just standard pub fare, shuffled in alongside plates of fried appetizers and happy hour pints. Rather, it’s the star of the show.

And as proven over my own repeat visits – and through customer raves on review sites like Yelp and TripAdvisor and a feature on – the fish-and-chips is not a solo act.

Burns’ salty-savory-tender corned beef, brined in-house, challenges diners to choose between the corned beef poutine or the Reuben sandwich. (I vote for both.) The menu features a rotating savory pie of the day along with perennial favorite shepherd’s pie, which I have labeled in my mental restaurant rolodex as “ultimate comfort food.”

That����ap not even touching the desserts (sticky toffee pudding that I will not admit to getting misty-eyed over), occasional special features like beef Wellington, the staggering 500 whiskeys on deck or the Celtic music jams every Sunday night.

There’s not a lot I can do when the travel bug strikes and a trip across the pond isn’t in the books. But just a few miles down the road, Burns promises a balm of British comfort food, no passport required.

The Burns Pub & Restaurant is located next to The Hilltop Inn at 9009 Metro Airport Ave. in Broomfield and is open Tuesday-Saturday, 11 a.m.-9 p.m. and Sunday from 4-8 p.m. More information at or by calling 303-469-3900.

They say laughter is the best medicine, but it can be easy to forget to consume a daily dose when all that seems to come across the endless scroll is news about war abroad and injustices at home. Heck, even chores like grocery shopping and filling up on gas are enough to send me into a tailspin after looking at the bill.

Recently, though, I’ve found an anecdote to ensure I get the prescribed amount of belly laughs to balance my media diet.

The podcast is a must-listen for folks craving something both light-hearted and deeply entertaining. Hosted by the “Saturday Night Live” alum and “Parks and Recreation” comedian and actor, Poehler welcomes a steady cadence of funny famous friends into the studio to talk a little bit about their recent work and a lot about their personal lives.

Fans get to know actors, musicians and directors beyond surface level because Poehler approaches each conversation from a more personal perspective, instead of strictly professional. The vibe is jovial; topics are served with a smile and, more often than not, a laugh. The good vibes are simply contagious.

I’m not alone in singing the show’s praises: In January, “Good Hang” won the inaugural Golden Globe award for Best Podcast.

Since it debuted in 2025, Poehler has interviewed people like , , , and . A recent episode featuring was a standout, in part because I learned so much about the singer that I probably never would have read in a music-focused profile. For instance, Eilish is an animal lover with a pet dwarf hamster named Tomato Bisque Soup.

Is this profoundly revelatory information? Of course not. But it is a charming aside that endears me further to an artist whose music I love.

I guess it����ap also worth mentioning I am a Poehler superfan, having followed her television career and read her memoir many times. Over the course of the last year, it����ap been hilarious to learn about her obsession with fake food; it����ap also been cool to hear her refine her style as an interviewer. Early episodes are somewhat chaotic, with many unfinished questions and sentences interjected by giggles. These days, she is more concise and complete, which ultimately makes for a better listen.

One thing I love about Poehler’s interviewing style is how she uses random questions to disarm guests and get deep about silly subjects. One she returns to often is sleep, asking interviewees what their bedtime routines are and if they catch enough zzz’s. It����ap actually fascinating to hear about the timing and tools celebrities use for that ubiquitous human experience. Poehler also has candid conversations about aging with many of the women who join her, which I can appreciate as a 38-year-old Millennial.

If you listen to podcasts to develop new skills or study a new subject, “Good Hang” may not be an apt pick for you. But when I feel the need to tune in and drop out, I turn on this podcast and tap into a bottomless well of joy.

“Good Hang with Amy Poehler” is a weekly podcast, part of The Ringer network, streaming on Spotify and Apple Podcasts, among other platforms. Fans can also watch Poehler interview her guests on .

A couple of previous experiences in the mountains have shaped my comfort level camping and lodging in Colorado.

On one hand, I had no issue sleeping in the back of my camper truck — when it still worked. (Rear-wheel-drive vehicles and ice don’t mix very well.) On the other hand, one weekend without Wi-Fi at a resplendent lakeside cabin had me climbing up the logs trying to get in touch with civilization.

Earlier this year, I found my sweet spot at Castle Mountain Lodge, a roadside inn with cabins and hotel rooms in Estes Park on the way to Rocky Mountain National Park. The lodge had almost everything we needed for a calming weekend getaway, whether our plan was to venture into the park, stroll the town or lie low and let hours go by.

Our excursion ended up being more of the latter. My wife recommended Castle Mountain Lodge as a destination for our “babymoon,” a getaway before our child is born, and a sort of redemptive opportunity after our last trip to the “Cabin with No WiFi.”

The lodge began with a single dwelling, purchased by architect Igor Polevitsky in the early 1950s. More cabins — including the Little Pines studio with kitchenette and fireplace where we stayed — were built by the adjacent Fall River.

Castle Mountain Lodge is now owned by Chris Wood and Michael Hodges, according to the website. It has 29 units, a playground, a hot tub room and picnic area, said Joel Tramel, the inn’s manager.

It has not changed much over the years, according to Tramel, who did single out the addition of the laundry services and hot tubs to some cabins. “It has always been a very family-focused collection of cabins.”

The lodge is on the doorstep of Rocky Mountain National Park, where many of the guests head for the day, he said. Others stay near the lodge, casting for fish stocked in the Fall River, watching for grazing elk or walking by not-so-wild turkeys that roam the grounds. Black bear sightings are possible, though we did not come across one.

Since we are expecting, we were not looking for excitement, so we splurged on a babymoon package that included a couples massage. Our room came ready with a vase of roses, a basket of treats, a box of chocolates and firewood dropped off by the front door. In the basket was also a gift certificate to Bird & Jim, an American restaurant in Estes Park, that did not go unused.

While that package is no longer available, there are others: The “Sweetheart” deal comes with roses and chocolates, a snack basket, a certificate to Bird & Jim and extra firewood. The “Spa and Pamper” package adds a one-hour couples massage performed on-site by professional massage therapists.

Truly, I would’ve been fine just enjoying the serenity of the outdoors out on the deck, or streaming a baseball game on the television, or reading from inside our warm room, as we did.

The lodge is open year-round. Rooms and cabins are still open despite the busy summer and fall season, Tramel said.

Many longtime guests are familiar with Wanda Bauder, who has worked there for about 20 years and now assists at the concierge desk. Tramel has an even longer history with Castle Mountain Lodge, having worked there while attending college in Kansas between 1989 and 1993. He is now two years in to what he considers his “third act” in life as lodge manager.

“I had been coming to Estes Park since I was a little kid and always loved it,” he said. “I worked summers in college here, made friends and kept coming back out year after year.”

I don’t have the same history with this area as Tramel does. I can definitely see myself coming back, though.

Castle Mountain Lodge is at 1520 Fall River Road, Estes Park. Check online at for bookings and availability.

“Making memories” is one of those cheeseball phrases, but it has a solid core: You can often detect, in real time, events that will stick with someone for a lifetime.

That’s easy to see in my kids, who are constantly trying something for the first time, be it a scary movie, a rock concert, or an unfamiliar food. That includes a recent Colorado Symphony performance of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue,” itself part of a program of early 20th-century American music at Boettcher Concert Hall in late April (and also featuring Britten’s Peter Grimes: Four Sea Interludes and Debussy’s sublime La Mer).

My wife propelled us there on opening night, having long ago linked the song with the romantic days of mid-20th century aviation (the 102-year-old “Rhapsody” is ). It seemed like the right play to introduce my kids to the world of feel-it-in-your-chest orchestral beauty, provided they wanted to go there. Symphonies and the fine arts in general can seem intimidating, but people who embrace them often have a formative, positive experience they can point to.

We had seats more or less behind the soundboard at Boettcher, which ensured a balanced mix in a venue that has occasionally been knocked for its acoustics. The energy in the room crackled compared with some other, also-great early-20th century showcases I’ve seen there (hello, Rite of Spring!) as conductor Peter Oundjian shared his infectious joy in revisiting and leading these iconic pieces.

Grammy-winning pianist Michelle Cann tore up the keys with equal parts passion and precision, tackling Rhapsody’s twisting piano lines like roller coaster turns: fleet and firmly on track. I’d steal looks at my kids and delight in the fact that their faces hadn’t turned to stone; if anything, they were pitched forward, their eyes scanning the dozens of expert players on stage.

“I loved it!” my daughter said afterward. “It was cool,” my son reported, which is about as close to a ringing endorsement as he gives.

Success?

We’ll see. It often feels smug to me when I hear parents crow about introducing their kids to high-level activities (i.e., ones with knowledgeable and refined audiences, be they fine-arts or fitness-related). And certainly, my goal was not to pat myself on the back.

But I also try not to take anything for granted, and I’m thrilled with how engaged the kids were, potentially setting them up for a lifetime of supporting and benefiting from live performing arts.

It’s easy with the Colorado Symphony. The orchestra’s range, enthusiasm, skill and good taste all combined during the “Rhapsody” show to remind me how stage performances can cut through the clutter and connect directly with one’s soul — however young and new to the experience it may be.