Meet the Man on a Quiet Mission of Kindness
They say if you want to quiet your mind, get into nature. For me, this has always meant hiking Mt. Sanitas.
If you ever hike Mt. Sanitas in Boulder, Colorado, you’ll quickly discover it’s not just a mountain. Sure, the trail is steep in some sections, and walking up to the summit will get your heart pounding. But it also has a quiet magic to it—something unnamable that pulls you out of your head and into the moment.
At the height of the pandemic, I needed a little magic. My business was stretched to its limit. I was also going through one of the hardest personal chapters of my life. Mt. Sanitas became my lifeline. I’d hike to the top, take in the view, and remind myself of something my geologist dad might’ve said to me: This mountain will still be here in ten thousand years. The pain I’m feeling? It won’t matter then. So why let it matter so much now?
After the pandemic, I took a hike on Blacketts Ridge in Tucson, Arizona, where I saw someone wearing a great cap embroidered with the name of the trail. I asked him where he got it. After buying one for myself from him, I thought: Mt. Sanitas needs a hat like this. But not to sell—to give away.
When I got back home, I worked with the hat company, Fractel, to design something special: a breathable cap with “Mt. Sanitas Boulder, Colorado” on the front and its elevation, “6,863 feet” stitched on the side. I ordered 25 and planned to carry them in my backpack and hand them out to friends I had made on my beloved Mt. Sanitas trail.
The first time I gave one away, I met a woman and her friend coming down the trail. Her friend took the hat, stared at it, and said with teary eyes, “No one has ever randomly given me something this nice for free. It feels like Christmas in the summer.”
I quickly ordered another 25 hats. Then 50. And after a delay because of the tariffs, 400.
At first, giving out these caps was just a kind gesture; I didn’t expect much. What I’ve come to realize is this: This Mt. Sanitas Mad Hatter Project of mine isn’t about the hat. It’s about the brief moments of human connection in a world that’s incredibly complicated and often moves too fast. It’s a reminder that kindness is the best of what humans can be.
I’ve given away hundreds of hats now, and every time I do, I’m reminded that most of us are walking around carrying something heavy. A breakup. A job loss. An identity shift. A world that doesn’t feel quite right. I’ve met stressed-out college students, people going through divorces, and so many at the end of something hard or on the edge of something new.
After the recent act of violence against peaceful protesters in Boulder, I handed two women hats at the trailhead. One of them welled up immediately. “I’m a member of the Jewish community here,” she said. “You have no idea what this means to me.” I still don’t know exactly what it meant to her—but I know I had a tear running down my cheek as I headed to my car after the day’s hike.
All of us meet on the trail, talk for a minute, and sometimes the moment opens something for both of us. What I’ve learned is that this small gesture—simply giving someone a hat—often carries something much bigger with it: connection, kindness, hope.
That’s why I do it. In a time when anger and division feel louder than ever, I think small acts of generosity matter more than we realize. Holding the door open for someone. Letting an aggressive driver merge in ahead of you. Smiling at a stranger. Buying groceries for someone obviously in need. Any of these little acts of kindness can create a massive shift.
I’m not trying to fix the world. I’m just trying to do my part. And if I’ve learned anything—especially during my years running my business—it’s that overwhelming tasks become manageable when you take them one small, mindful step at a time. This is one of mine.
If I could bottle up what this mountain has given me and pass it out to every person climbing it, I would. But I can’t, so I hand out hats instead.
So, if you find yourself on Mt. Sanitas one day and someone offers you a hat, say hi. Tell him what the mountain means to you. Know that the hat comes with gratitude—for the trail, for the moment, for you. I hope it reminds you that kindness still matters and always will. And if you feel moved to pay it forward in whatever way you feel inspired, even better.
Curtis Jones co-founded and ran Botanical Interests Seed Company. Since retiring, he's been involved with the Pima County Extension Service and Tucson Village Farm.
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