MORRISON — The full-time residents of Tiny Town, Colorado, are small, peaceful folk. They mind their own business, staying loyal to their bite-sized community. And yet they remain warm and welcoming to the giant visitors that pass through their front gates, day after day. 

On a calm, sunny morning in early August, I received word from the mayor of Tiny Town (great guy) that the entire municipality would be taking their tiny Greyhound bus for a trip to The Little Village in Pleasantville, Pennsylvania, for a “meeting of the tiny minds”— but he’d leave me a tiny key to the tiny gates, so I could explore Tiny Town myself that weekend. 

This is all a joke, of course. Anyone can visit Tiny Town, and there are no permanent, miniature residents. 

Just south of Indian Hills, off U.S. route 285, lies an old-timey western village that would make most toddlers feel giant. Its history is as rich as the human-sized mountain towns that surround it. 

In 1915, George Turner—the founder of a moving company in Denver at the dawn of the 20th century—was looking to bring joy to his daughter, who had become very sick. Turner went big (or small). He constructed countless miniature-scale buildings, erecting Turnerville, the original name for the fabled village. 

Some five years later, it opened to the public, with over 100 structures. The rest is a small part of Colorado history. Tiny Town has survived floods, fires, pandemics, and closures across its lifetime. In a perilous, ever-changing world, the “smallest” town in America has stood tall, leaning on the backs of Coloradans through nonprofits, general fundraising, and foundations that want to see its survival persist. 

I can’t tell you what I expected from Tiny Town as I weaved through the mountains and arrived at the destination in question, but try to imagine a 27-year-old man paying $5 for entry, and immediately entering a state of awe for the next 30 minutes. This place was overwhelming, even for an adult, boasting over 150 replicas, as well as a mini train that runs along the edge of the park. 

To my right, there’s a “Tiny Tribune” newspaper office and a little motorcycle shop. To my left, gorgeous replicas line the forested hillside, including a prairie schooner wagon with “TINY TOWN OR BUST” painted on the side.

Further back in the park, there’s a number of buildings that are slightly bigger, allowing for little tikes to enter and exit their confines during their day on the town. There’s a tiny town jail, which they couldn’t fit me in even if they caught me, and a quaint little greenhouse named “Welby Gardens,” showcasing a rainbow of flowers. I could go on for hours about each and every abode that wowed me, but seeing it for yourself is the only way to encapsulate its magic. 

In a time where drab modern architecture whose goal is efficiency is pushing up against the colorful Victorian homes and structures of yesteryear, Tiny Town remains a testament to patience and detail as virtues. George Turner labored countless hours between shifts at work with a sole goal: to add some brightness to his beloved daughter's darkest days of illness, to which she would eventually succumb. 

As I bid farewell to Tiny Town, a child no older than seven was entering the park with her family. You should’ve seen the smile on her face. I imagine it’s exactly what Turner saw 112 years ago.: the big legacy of Colorado's smallest town.