It’s quiet hour at the Colorado Chautauqua, that almost eerie, old-fashioned, two-hour step back through the decades between 1 and 3 p.m. when every summer resident at the vacation community returns to their cabin for a siesta. Some sleep; others play cards or read. The sounds of the mountain meld into a sonorous silence: a combination of faraway chatter, the purr of cars on the curves up Flagstaff Mountain, and the symphony’s tuneful cacophony as it warms up in the historic auditorium for the night’s performance. A tradition at this mountain playground in Boulder for most of Chautauqua’s 126 years—or at least as long as anyone can remember—quiet hour is honored as a sacred practice. “Don’t you dare scream during quiet hour,” says 78-year-old Mary…
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