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Perhaps it is somewhere required that every session of the Colorado General Assembly deal with a state symbol proposed by schoolchildren a class project. Thus we recently acquired an official state insect in 1996, the Colorado Hairstreak Butterfly, _Hypaurotis cysalus_.
It joined an impressive panoply: official state grass, Blue Grama, adopted in 1987; folk dance, Square Dance, 1992; gemstone, Aquamarine, 1971.
Nor can we ignore the official state tartan, adopted
just last year without my noticing it. It is a kilt
pattern which symbolizes Colorado's splendor and
history.
July 1 is the official Tartan Day
in
Colorado, when presumably we will see patriotic Colorado
guys swirling about in wool skirts. You don't even have to
worry about your pedigree, since the plaid may be worn
by any resident or friend of Colorado whether or not of
Celtic heritage.
Now, I'd like to say that as a hard-core Coloradan whose yard boasts an official state tree (blue spruce or _Picea pungens_) and several beds of the official state flower (Rocky Mountain columbine or _Aquilegia caerules_), I just knew all this stuff off the top of my head.
But honesty compels me to admit that, after searching my printed reference material and coming up short on butterflies and tartans, I found this information on the World Wide Web at link
Some of our many state symbols listed there do seem quite appropriate.
Our fish, the native greenback cutthroat trout, was long thought to be extinct because it could not compete well with trout imported from other states -- a fate approximated by other Colorado natives, too, who just aren't good at competing with the immigrants.
Our fossil is a stegosaurus -- a reptile 150 million years behind the times which weighed 20,000 pounds but had a 2.5-ounce brain. Perhaps any resemblance to legislators from El Paso County is mere coincidence, though.
Our state animal is the Rocky Mountain Bighorn, _Ovis canadensis_. It is a sheep. It appropriately symbolizes those Coloradans who care more about Gov. Roy Romer's relationship with a former aide than about his relationships with various millionaires.
We are so fully stocked on symbols now that the schoolchild agitators must turn their focus away from proposing new items and toward revising those we already use.
In Fort Collins, fourth-graders at Kruse Elementary want
to replace Where the Columbines Grow,
our state song
since 1915, with The Colorado Song
about the place
where I can walk a mile high.
But there's also
Johnson Elementary in the same city, now lobbying for John
Denver's Rocky Mountain High.
I must caution these children. Some years ago, I
observed that Where the Columbines Grow
was somewhat
un-PC now, what with its celebration of extermination
(The bison is gone from the upland ... The home of the
wolf is deserted
). Further, it concludes with may
the columbine bloom, Till our great mountain rivers run
dry,
a seditious sentiment in a state that has made an
industry of diverting its great mountain rivers.
This inspired a flurry of critical correspondence from the Colorado Music Educators Association, which considers Dr. Arthur J. Fynn, the composer and an educator, something of a patron saint. They take it very seriously when anyone proposes to reduce Dr. Fynn's historic stature.
But now that the topic has returned to the public
agenda, I'll have to take my chances again. Last time
around, I received a cassette from an elementary choir with
their proposed state song, whose chorus was Colorado,
Colorado, I'm so proud of my home state.
That is a
sentiment I seldom share, so I've looked elsewhere.
One contender is Colorado's Calling Me
from the
National Lampoon Lemmings
album. It's a riveting
account of frostbite and starvation for some
back-to-the-landers, and deserves fair consideration.
My favorite, though, is from the folksinger U. Utah
Phillips, whose best-known work may be Moose Turd
Pie.
On an album called Grubstake
by a Denver
trio of the same name, there is his Colorado State
Song.
It's more than 20 years old, but it holds up
well, and it's easy to sing.
I have less musical skill than the average bullfrog.
Even so, I have been able, after a few beers, to lead
campfire chorales with Phillips's inspiring words: Now
we've got a lot of trouble with the jet set, those lazy
no-good bastards love to ski. And they all want to fly to
Colorado, and buy up all our mountain scenery.
The chorus concludes with Bring your festivals and
dope, and we all sincerely hope, that you don't forget to
leave when you get through.
Inspiring sentiments, and I hope some grade-school class will take up this noble cause.
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