Sure Ways to Tell a True Coloradan ...

[image is acrylic on a 100 year old cedar shake salvaged when replacing the shingles on a roof]

The following doesn't just apply to Coloradans, but to plenty of other folks as well.

It's a response to an article published by Out There Colorado which consisted of a list the likes of which, while newcomers to our state might heartily endorse it, is cringeworthy.

I cut this list off at fifty although I could have kept going and going and going.

You might be a true Coloradan IF ...

1. You learned what a buzzing rattler means at age two.

2. The first taste you remember loving is home made ice cream, have tasted the cold salty water, and turned the crank handle.

3. As a little kid, you've tromped around the house in Grandad's boots that come up to your thighs.

4. The first lesson you remember learning is to NEVER go out to check the cattle and horses without certain things.

5. You've found your way out to the remains of the homestead of your great-great-great grandparents. (what generation you're in determines how many *greats* you use)

6. You know what a kiva is and why they're important.

7. You know the value of high ceilings.

8. You've watched your town's beautiful old buildings go empty.

9. Seeing outsiders riding high and sassy kind of gets your goat at times.

10. Some of your friends' families have been here literally countless generations while yours is still *new* with only seven.

11. Your grandmother kept the ranch while your grandad went off to find paying work during the Great Depression.

12. You know that Santa Fe Trail Days are a celebration of conjoined cultures, people who have made it work despite (perhaps because of) differences.

13. Your horse, of his own volition, cut a troublemaker out of a *herd* and wouldn't let that boy get back to his friends - and I'm talking people here, not steers.

14. The power of a 360 degree sunrise or sunset makes you stop whatever you're doing and just absorb it.

15. You laugh at stories told by your dad and uncles about drunk hogs and a cow's leg coming through the ceiling of their bedroom.

16. An old rancher from clear across the state immediately *adopts* you because he knows who your grandfather is.

17. There is no better water in the world than what comes from the well at the *home place* that a water witch pinpointed way back when. A close second is a mountain spring coming out of the ground at about ten thousand feet.

18. You know the taste, and the smell, of fear - and you do what you have to do anyway, since quitting just because you're scared ain't an option.

19. The palms of your hands are well-calloused and you still get blisters sometimes.

20. You know what those glass gallon jugs covered with burlap are for, the ones hanging on some of the fence posts out in the middle of nowhere.

21. Turning your boots upside down and whopping them a couple of times before you put them back on is second nature.

22. Wiping sweat out of your eyes makes you cuss and smile at the same time. The cussing is because it kind of burns; the smile is because, if you have to wipe the sweat, that means it's not evaporating immediately so you know the weather's not as hot and dry as it *could* be.

23. You fully comprehend and appreciate the concept of *siesta*.

24. The dangers of green chili are to be respected, and you know to have a dish of ice cream with it.

25. You can't remember the last time you didn't cold camp.

26. One of your favorite activities is driving up and down a canyon, or an open road for that matter, at different times of the day, just to see how much it *changes* between full dark, dawn, and dusk, and from opposite directions.

27. You've had to figure out a way to turn around at a crick crossing because a flash flood made it impassible.

28. You know that day and dark kind of ease their way in, out on the prairie. In the mountains, it's more of an abrupt transition. Plan accordingly.

29. When you're out in the wide open spaces, it's harder for weather to *sneak up on you*. You'll feel it coming a good while before you actually see it in the distance.

30. Orienting yourself in terms of time and direction by using the sun, moon, and stars is automatic. Otherwise you'd need a watch and a compass.

31. You know how to cope with just about any type of situation, and fix any number of unorthodox problems, mainly because you've had to figure so much out the hard way, all by your lonesome, when there was nobody else around at the moment and it had to be done. 

32. You're fiercely independent but totally love everyone around you.

33. Self-sufficiency is a survival tool.

34. You tend to prepare ahead of time for countless eventualities, because you never know what's around the next bend so to speak. So you've got Plan A, Plan B, Plan C, Plan D, Plan E, Plan F, Plan G - and can mix and match them at will if need be.

35. You fret about crops, calves, and coyotes - not about how much powder the ski slopes have or whether someone's hat matches their snowboard.

36. You smile and wave at everyone you see - because they either have been there when you needed them (and vice versa) or will be if necessary.

37. The people in your immediate vicinity are of at least four different colors (and blends thereof), have a wide variety of personal lifestyle choices, diverse income levels - and none of those things matter so long as you pitch in and have a decent attitude.

38. Your work vehicle is liable to carry multiple scratches, dents, dust and/or dried mud, along with a wide assortment of tools, a bunch of rocks, extra gas, oil, coolant, and a gallon of drinking water. Also probably a bedroll just in case.

39. You've fallen into a cactus and learned to WEAR your gloves, not just keep them hanging out of your back pocket all the time. This will also teach you the value of wearing sturdy jeans and boots, even if they're hot.

40. You've dipped a hatful of water out of a stock tank and dumped it over your head.

41. You know full well that dogs and horses understand you better than you do.

42. You know which soapweed buds are going to taste like garden peas and which ones are going to taste like soap.

43. Too many people in the same place at the same time for too long gets on your nerves.

44. You have a deep pity for urban-dwellers, but draw the line when they get obnoxious for no good reason.

45. Your grandparents taught you that if you really need to talk to God, the ranch is the best place for it. Church is good, but if you want that *alone time* with God, go out to where there's nobody else around except for maybe a few of His other critters who aren't going to tell anyone if you cry.

46. You have a legacy to live up to. So you do your best, don't give up when you hit the dirt, and keep on keeping on no matter what.

47. You wear your hat to keep the sun out of your eyes and your head halfway protected, or maybe to swat somebody with, not as an accessory to your outfit.

48. Good Mexican cuisine is beyond compare, and when you find someone who can make a proper tortilla you've found a treasure. Get them to teach you how.

49. You know the way to your favorite mountain places, and they probably aren't on the Front Range.

50. You know to slow down BEFORE the pavement ends.

2019 SANTA FE TRAIL DAY LAS ANIMAS COLORADO

This year's theme was TRAILBLAZERS & STARGAZERS

For 85 years this has been an annual celebration on the last weekend of April in this little town on the Arkansas River in Colorado.

Celebrating the cultures of the area makes for a fun day. Indigenous Folk, Spanish/Mexican, Mestizo, Black, Traders, Homesteaders, Ranchers, Farmers, Town Folk ... and somehow it all just worked.

If you take a drive in this area now, you'll see cattle of all types, goats, sheep, llama, horses, lots of dogs, some cats, hog operations south of town, crops of corn, wheat, oats, sorghum, melons, onions, peppers, alfalfa, beans, and who knows what all else, people who represent all of the above list and some new-comers, plenty of churches, folks who open doors for one another and say "How ya doin'?" to all and sundry ... and watch out for each other. 

The emergency response teams are top of the line. We had a fire east of town recently that started in the river bottom of the Purgatoire River (called the Picketwire locally) and burned its way south to the Arkansas River bottom and then east along it. Took about 600 acres and would have been so much worse had it not been for all the area firefighters coming to help, and the National Guard's helicopters dumping water on it in strategic spots. When push comes to shove True Colorado Folk stick together and get the job done.

Our family's ranch was run by my grandparents; before that our great-grandparents homesteaded down south of town too, east of where Grandma and Grandad ranched. Before that, there were a couple of generations in west Kansas. Our lineage came to America in the 1600s (Quakers) and followed what has come to be known as the Traditional American Westward Trek. We had to stop going west when we got to Alaska and Hawaii.

Las Animas has been 'home' to us for six generations now. Most of us have gone in all the directions of the compass from here - but we know our way home.

Here are a few photos of the parade - there were many many horses and riders, too! 

For a Small Town USA event, it was mighty fine! 

"We have seen His Star and come to worship Him"

A homestead couple

This group later danced in the intersection

Bent's Old Fort was first a trading post

A man and his horse

Just a few of the MANY riders in this parade

Gotta love the Hereford cattle !! 

Yes Plein Air Painting Is An Adventure

And it all started years and years ago ...

For almost twenty years now a little town up in the high hills of the Colorado Rocky Mountains has hosted a great annual Labor Day Weekend event: a plein air painting competition.

Plein air means the artist paints on site in the outdoors.

For all this time I have wanted to participate in this event - not to win anything mind you, because the artists are professionals and I am not - but just to be there and get to see their work.

Every year I've tried to get together the money to be able to go, and tried to get the time off work so I could go.

Every year, something happened that kept me from going.

Until this year.

I still couldn't get the time off to attend the introductory weekend before the 'week of painting', but luckily for me my sister Bev lives up there and got me checked in.

Working the weekend night shifts that weekend before Labor Day left me comatose as always after being up working all night Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights (two twelves and a fourteen shift, getting off at eight on Monday morning). Then I stayed up all Monday night packing up everything except the kitchen sink as I wasn't sure what might be on my sister's agenda and wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.

I finagled the two foot by four foot box of the prototype mini-covered-wagon into the back seat and couldn't just leave that big empty box in there so filled it up and then added more stuff on top of that, including lots and lots of cans of stews and other ready-to-open-and-eat foods.

Then I overslept on Tuesday and had to wait until I wouldn't be driving straight into the westering sun-glare ... time to finish filling every nook and cranny of my vehicle with stuff, leaving only just enough space for me and Duke to sit.

And so up into the hills we went, driving in the moonlit night.

The moon was just coming off full and was spectacular, especially once we got up into the mountains.

Watching it was mesmerizing.

Clouds drifted and sometimes roiled up there in the sky, all lit up by the moon.

The landscape picked up the moonlight and shimmered with highlights on peaks, trees, rocks ...

It was truly magical, and at times a little creepy it must be admitted.

 


I told Duke to hush when he noticed an odd noise before I did.

Should have listened to him because it was a flat tire.

We were a mile at most from our destination and I had to get that vehicle off the road, which I did at the closest intersection, which happened to be a road that leads up behind the gold mining district of the area.

Yes I could have just walked, but was really quite very tired and would have had to hike uphill for a way before getting to go downhill. I wasn't going to make that trek in the middle of the night, nope. Even with Duke along.

Duke got tethered with enough lead to be able to circle the vehicle, and was having a fine time sniffing around in the moonlight to see where we were and who/what else was around or had been around recently.

Keeping an eye on the moon the whole time I proceeded to unload all the stuff I'd so heedlessly filled the trunk of the vehicle with - wooden box filled with fabrics and peaches (Colorado peaches from the Western Slope), and cantaloupe (world famous Rocky Ford cantaloupe, grown down right where I live in the Colorado Lower Arkansas River Valley), and sewing machine, and tools and other bits and pieces for putting together a covered wagon, and my medium-sized wheeled bag of clothes, and another bag just like it filled with paints, and what not all besides.

All that unpacking was because the emergency donut tire and jack were under all that stuff.

Most of it went into the already-stuffed back seat.

Got out the donut and jack.

Realized it was the middle of the night (almost midnight by then) and that I wasn't going to be able to see to change a tire by moonlight.

So ...

I set everything up where it would need to be when I could see.

Then I ate one of those incredible peaches, smiling at the moon as I wiped the juice from my chin.

Duke and I shared some pretty good beef stew.

Some folk stopped by to see if I was okay, which was reassuring. One woman asked if I wanted her to point her vehicle lights onto my rear tire so I could get the donut on. I was so tired by then that I don't think I could have done it anyway, so she smiled and drove off to let me sleep. Others came by, checked, and onward they went only after knowing I was fine (Duke's presence reassured them that I had a good strong companion).

Since his seat was reclined (so I could get the mini-covered-wagon box in the back seat) I pulled out my thick plaid heavy blanket and my old woolen trade blanket (the kind they make coats out of, with red and yellow and blue stripes on one end) and reclined myself across Duke's seat and mine - and went to sleep with Duke just outside where I slept.

As the sun started bringing some light, of course I woke up.

The sunrise on the mine tailings just across the road from me made my eyes go wide. The crushed stone was stunning - glowing golden in the early light.

Then the light changed and the heaps went back to their usual drab selves.

For the record, while I don't mind folks taking the gold from them thar hills I surely do wish they could do it without disturbing the topography ...

Stretching and yawning, I went to trying to get that tire changed.

More folks stopped by as by then it was shift change for the mining company and others were on their way to wherever they worked otherwise. I smiled and waved and told them I was fine and they'd best not be late to work on my account.

And along comes a young couple headed for a day of fishing up at Skagway Reservoir, which is kind of just up the hill and around a curve or two from where I was.

The young man, being a lot stronger than me, got that donut into place in practically no time flat (no pun intended).

Onward they went, with a couple of peaches and a cantaloupe - and words from me about driving Phantom if ever they wanted a beautiful day trip, and the recommendation that they stop for water at Gillette Flats on their way back the way they had come after their day of fishing.

People are truly amazing.

We have among us more Angels than we know.

Then I had to get everything back into the vehicle - had to take that wooden box apart as the actual tire takes up more space than the donut - and did I mention that vehicle was filled to the gills? There was flat no room for it in its 'box' form, but the boards fit nicely once I got it apart. I put it together in the first place and had a screwdriver handy so took it back apart. Had to warm my hands up a time or two or three as it gets COLD up there of a night and stays that way until the sun heats things back up.

The aspen were beginning to turn, a sure sign it was getting down below freezing at night, so ... anyway ... chilled hands and cold-stiff fingers had me a mite concerned about being able to actually paint anything outdoors up there. That early morning's temperature was giving me pause, no two ways about it. Having fingers functional enough to hold a brush was a vital part of the whole plein air event (or so I thought at the time). If I couldn't even keep a grip on a screwdriver, how in the world was I supposed to produce anything that looked even remotely like art?

All packed back up, I was on the road again, not that I had very far to go at that point to get to my initial destination.

Swapping the donut-wheeled vehicle for a big tough one that could take Phantom Canyon, on that Wednesday morning I loaded up what I figured I'd need to get started on what I was there to do: plein air artwork.

The moonlight already haunting me, what better place to look for a work-site than Phantom Canyon, right?

Right!

My sister had told me about a place that was toward the outer limit of the required ten mile radius from Victor's City Hall (she'd made the drive and counted the miles already) and it was there I headed, thinking to turn around there and make my way back up looking for possibilities and options for painting sites. Just so you're aware, Phantom Canyon is a narrow mountain road with not many places a large vehicle (or a small one for that matter) can turn around.

So I got turned around all right, sat for a moment contemplating, and then realized what I was looking at as I sat there in that conveniently large turn-around space.

In front of me was the inspiration for the main piece I was going to submit.

Being as it was mid-day on Wednesday by then my production-week was already more than half gone so seeing that picture-perfect layout setting right there in front of my eyes was a Gift from Above.

This was my spot.

Tethered Duke to the pickup on his long lead, gave him food and water, and set up my stuff.

I started to do a warm-up painting and realized it would be a waste of what precious little time I had.

Instead, realizing that I wasn't going to produce anything creative when I was utterly exhausted (my few hours of 'sleep' hadn't done me much good) and shaking with hunger, I set up my little tent, stretched out for a futile attempt at a power nap, and ate a big can of I can't remember what but I needed the calories.

Just as I was finishing up I got a hail from the road: 'Halloo the tent!'

'Hey!'

And out I came.

'Whatcha doin'?'

'Eatin' - want some?'

'Are you camping?'

Followed by a spiel about how this is private property you know and can't you see the sign - which was a blank board up above and over there, whatever it might have once said long since weathered away - and the who what when where why and how of this turn-around place coming into being. Also that he himself was a property owner nearby and had been since his grandfather settled there in 1861.

Man.

The guy was quite a bit younger than I am and my grandfather hadn't even been born until 1901.

When I could get a word in edgewise I told him no I wasn't there to camp but to paint and was going to stick around until the moon came up so I could see the place in the moonlight - that's assuming the owner didn't show up and shoot me. I asked him three times if the owner was going to shoot me and never did get an answer - being as I'm obviously not shot dead for trespassing I'm figuring said owner didn't want to shoot me.

At any rate, I got the texturing done on the one event-stamped piece I had.

A bit of event information:  Every piece has to be stamped with the special event stamp before you start working on it. I had one stamped base piece, blank of course except for a base coat over the wood. You can get as many blank pieces stamped as you choose, in case of start-overs or just wanting to do enough so you can pick your best efforts to submit. Because I hadn't been able to be there for the first weekend's check-in my sister had gotten one blank stamped for me. So at least I had that.

Once the texturing of that one piece was as done as I needed it to be, I headed back to town with blank canvases to get stamped. I took Duke along of course, but left the empty tent where it was so nobody would snag my spot before I got back.

Went to the place I had been told.

Nobody there.

Went across the way to a place somebody might be able to direct me.

Someone was there and did direct me.

Went there.

Not open.

Out of town I went in a different direction - this time down Gold Camp Road where my sister had shown me a couple of possible places.

I had been up several times earlier in the year and we'd gone driving the area scoping out possibilities.

Being as the possibilities in that vicinity are countless, the choice was impossible for me to make - so I went with my comfortable and familiar Phantom Canyon to begin.

Next on the comfort list was Gold Camp Road.

Off I went to pick my spot there.

Back into town I went, still hoping to find someone who could help me get a couple of blanks stamped. Wednesday was essentially gone and I was supposed to have four completed pieces in by one p.m. on Friday.

No luck.

Back down Phantom.

There I fiddled with the texturing and worked half-heartedly on a couple of other practice pieces.

I was waiting for moon-rise because that piece was going to represent Phantom at night under the moon.

Now, it's not like I'm not completely familiar with what Phantom Canyon looks like by moonlight. I've seen it hundreds of times.

But this was a competition piece, to be done on site and in 'real time', not from memory.

So I waited, and knew it would take a while.

The thing about waiting for moon-rise down in a canyon is that there are high sides to said canyon (by definition) and the 'horizon' the moon has to clear isn't exactly the same horizon you've got if you're standing out in the wide open prairie. It's way up there over your head somewhere.

However - since I had to be there anyhow I took a bunch of phenomenal photos of my chosen site.

And I painted the whole textured piece solid black, before it got too dark to see all the tiny nicks and nooks in the texturing, so I could be sure of a complete coverage. That took up a hefty amount of my remaining daylight time.

As the sky deepened and stars started peeping, I got a smattering of stars scattered across the black sky of my painting.

Finally finally I got the look I'd been waiting for. Moonlight did exactly what I knew it would do and onto the texturing went silver highlights touched into place with fingertips.

And I was essentially done in Phantom Canyon.

Unless I could find a way to get more canvases event-stamped I was essentially done with the pieces I'd be able to submit.

It was probably about one in the morning when I left that site, and about two when I pulled into my chosen site for Gold Camp Road.

Time for a power nap.

Duke on his tether soon had the place sniffed out and settled in.

So did I, as best I could.

Next thing I knew the sun woke me up.

Although I had no event-stamped canvases I set up my gear in the back of the pickup (my mobile studio) and started on a practice piece.

People drove by, waved, maybe stopped for a moment ... and the sun got hotter. So I took off my jacket and was down to my tank top.

Didn't even feel the resulting sunburn ... until later.

A lady stopped across the way, rock-hunting for a path or something she was putting in, so I helped her load up her choices and off she went.

Put texture on a couple of un-stamped pieces ...

Being as I couldn't submit a practice piece, back into town I went, picked up my sister, and off we went to find out what we could find out.

The shop I had been directed to the day before was now open but they didn't have a stamp.

*sigh*

Thursday was passing right on by and I was supposed to have four stamped pieces to submit in well less than 24 hours. I had one.

The lady in the shop thought she knew who might have a stamp so we walked down the block and looked around the corner to see if said person's vehicle was home.

Didn't see the vehicle.

She said, "Let's go look," so I grabbed a few blank pieces and got into her vehicle while my sister followed us in mine.

We found the person home, but no stamp.

*sigh*

However, said person suggested we try a different shop and so we did.

BINGO!

Got several pieces stamped and bought a new canvas that we hoped would fit the frame my sister was making.

Thursday being almost gone I was resigned to not getting four pieces done that night (I'd already done a night piece) so relaxed about it.

Friday I looked out the window to see an aspen and a pile of rocks - they're everywhere as you'd expect - and textured the new (stamped) canvas.

While that was setting up I finished up the textured pieces I'd gotten done - black on white instead of white on black this time.

As noon passed and the one o'clock deadline powered closer my sister discovered that the frame she'd made for the Moonlit Phantom piece wasn't going to work. Being as it already had a small frame we just left it as it was and gave that frame a coat of black.

And then there was the textured piece, still not quite set up.

'Leave it,' she said. 'Call it Study in White.'

And so I did.

She snagged a frame that fit over the front of the canvas, which actually worked out well as the texturing then had a sort of shadow-box frame, screwed it on, added wire to hang it, and off I flew to town with my two pieces in the nick of time.

Out of breath from the stairs, I sat and panted for a bit while waiting my turn.

A lady was working on getting centerpieces put together for the show so I helped her a bit with them.

When we attached the frame to the canvas, we'd not taken out the little staples that had held its previous occupant in place.

'Let's get them out,' said one of the organizers.

A pair of pliers and a screwdriver (I think) showed up and we rassled those little staples out of their places. Only nudged one little place on the texturing, which I covertly fixed as it was thankfully still not quite done setting up.

Having forgotten my bio sheets I had to run back down those stairs and back up them.

Recovering from that, and feeling suddenly at loose ends with nothing in particular I had to be doing, I went back to helping the lady with the centerpieces.

I was supposed to use hot water as the flowers were fresh, and wild.

At the kitchen sink I turned on what they told me was the hot water faucet and waited.

They'd warned me it would take a while as the hot water heater was two floors down.

So I waited.

And waited.

And watched the flowers begin to droop.

Finally I told the lady it would be quicker to heat a kettle of water on the stove.

Which it was.

Mixing that hot water with tap water worked great and we got the job done.

Then I thought what the heck and tried the other faucet.

*laughing*

Yeh.

That night the show was closed to the public; only certain folks attended that function.

The next day it opened up to the public, though, and lots of people showed up.

My sister and I went to see what was going on there and found out a few things I hadn't known.

One was that the little red circle stickers by my pieces meant that they had sold the night before.

Surprised but definitely pleased by that discovery off I went to see what everyone else had produced.

Wow.

The professionals well deserved their status, believe you me.

Because it was a plein air thing, there were lots of aspens in the paintings and I looked at all of them. I was looking for a specific feature, one that I want to use for a series, and was relieved to find that none of the artists had used it.

In the process I was thoroughly impressed with the work of the 'real' artists.

When came the time for folks to pick up their pieces, I realized that I had no photos of either of my completed works.

I wasn't technically supposed to be there as I had nothing to pick up, and the guards were fierce.

But finally they let me in and I got a couple of shots of my pieces.

If you perchance think there's not really all that much to either of these pieces, you'd be correct.

If you think they're different from what a person might expect, you're correct there too. That's what made the difference for them I'm pretty sure - that they ARE so different from all the rest. They look like exactly what they are: interpretive pieces. And apparently somebody liked them well enough to buy them!

Several similar (but not event pieces) ones sold privately, too.

Next up on my agenda is to try yet another experiment: adding tint to the texture.

And, of course, doing a series using that aspen characteristic I mentioned earlier. You'll see what I mean when I get some done and posted.

Also some non-experimental pieces (if I can manage to not make every single thing I do an experiment) with more 'traditional' colors and what not all. People like those too, you know.

In between trying to get the next part of RICIMER written and into print, and making an 'actual living', and figuring out how to get that covered wagon design thing the way I want it ...

I've got eight pieces of various sizes done and either framed or ready for it, six blank pieces prepped and waiting for me to do something with them, and only one work in progress at the moment. Unless you count the half dozen cedar shake pieces that are half-done. All but two of the done pieces are slated for the mountains. I'm getting ready to start on some for down here in the high-desert plains so wish me luck on that.

Christmas is a-comin' oh yeah ... !! So it will be time to get the skyscapes fronted by silhouette landscapes done, and the Star of Bethlehem pieces.

Yeh.

All of life is an adventure, I tell you true.

I'm finishing writing this a good six weeks after the time I'm writing about, and the between-time has NOT been boring (else I'd have done this long since). The car with the donut tire is still sitting up there while I drive the big strong pickup truck (gas hog).

The main street window space working studio I badly wanted fell through (not literally but still closer than I liked) and I have a load of my things still up there waiting for me to retrieve them, including all of my smaller frames and a bunch of my tools. And my woolen winter coats, brrrr ... ! It doesn't get AS cold down here as it does up there but I still want them. So I'll be making a trip up there ASAP, to deliver the done pieces to their new homes, pick up all that stuff, and bring the car back down where I can use it (after I get an actual tire back on it and the donut back in the trunk where it belongs).

The adventure goes on!!

Middle of the Night Plein Air Painting

Yes I know plein air painting is not typically a nighttime activity ...

But ...

Y'know ...

I am still me ...

And yes I also know that this is not exactly the best photograph in the whole wide world. Cope as best you can.

I didn't TAKE a photo of this piece before it was hanging for the plein air show - and of course once it was there photos were forbidden. I had to go at pick-up time and hope whoever bought it hadn't already picked it up, then had to almost sell my soul to get into the place to take a picture (that I should have already had but ... it's a long story).

At any rate, the back story of this piece is plenty long and I'm not going to relate it all here.

The pertinent bit is that on my drive up to Victor, Colorado for this event I was driving in the night and thoroughly distracted by the moon.

If you know me at all, you'll know my love for a particular place in the Colorado Rockies. It's a thirty mile drive called Phantom Canyon.

The moon as I drove up into the hills that would take me to the top of Phantom Canyon wasn't about to turn me loose.

And so ...

The next day I drove Phantom, at least the top ten miles of it due to the ten-mile restriction of the Victor plein air event I was there for.

My sister and a friend had driven the distance and told me there was a good pull-over spot just before the outer ten-mile limit - so that's where I went.

Pulled into the pull-over.

Turned around to look where I was.

And there was my painting site.

Boom.

Haunted canyon?

Maybe.

But it was the moon haunting me right then and I knew the look I wanted.

Realizing there was no way I would be able to see the details I would need once dark fell, I got the texture-work done and took a lot of photos just because that's what I do when I find myself in a beautiful place (which happens frequently I have to admit).

As the sun went down the silhouettes became more and more striking, at least in my eyes.

And then the moon showed up.

There's a thing about being down in a canyon ... it takes a while for the moon to actually rise enough to be able to have moonlight.

I knew darned well the look I was waiting for - heaven knows I've seen it thousands of times - but for THIS night I had to WAIT FOR IT so I could finish the piece.

Yep.

And there it was.

The piece is called Moonlit Phantom.

If you want to see it for yourself, head down Phantom eight or nine miles (can't miss the pull-over as there are few of them) at about two in the morning when there's a full moon.

And of course you're right ... there's a LOT more to this story than this ... it will be told in due course.

Colorado 101 : Sunset Time Into Silhouette Time on 26 July 2018

Late this afternoon I did NOT go straight home from the store after I got my Rocky Ford Cantaloupe.

Nope.

I was going to, truly I was.

But ... y'know ...

Sometimes ya just gotta do what ya gotta do.

Yep.

Filled my vehicle's tank with gas and headed South on 101.

The place my great-grandparents homesteaded is down that way, but that's not where I was going as I don't have a big tough pickup truck.

Further south, past where the pavement ends, are some pretty awesome rock formations, the broken lands filled with scenery straight out of the old Westerns.

That's not where I was going, either.

I was just headed out on the Ranch Road to look for some sage and to see if I could locate some of the plants that grow those little round gourds that are about the size of baseballs or tennis balls.

I didn't get very far because we've had some gully-washers just lately (storms that drop heavy rain pretty fast and are often the cause of flash floods) and sure enough a gully was washed out a couple three miles onto the Ranch Road. I might have made it past that spot, but it looked iffy to me - and I didn't want to get stuck on the other side of it if it got worse (all I had along to eat was my cantaloupe, you know) - so I backed up along the Ranch Road until I got to a safe place to turn around.

Back to 101 I went, but back to town I did not go.

Nope.

Headed south on 101 to where the pavement ends.

The pavement's end is toward the bottom of this photo, the part of the road that's a little darker.

What with one thing and another I figured that I'd best stay on the pavement.

And so I did, for the most part.

Taking my own sweet time as the sunset hours approached, stops along the way back to town were frequent (sometimes only ten yards down the road at a time) and photos many.

Here are a few.

Minutes apart ... 

There truly is no light quite like sunset light.

A few minutes later looking the other direction ...

A few minutes later ... 

And the next few minutes take us from sunset time to silhouette time ... 

Meanwhile, in the east ... 

West ... 

East ... 

And back to the west ...

The east becomes even softer ... 

The west begins to relax ...

While the moon rides the coming night back to town ...

Colorado - These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things

Quick pics from an exploratory day trip.

Sometimes taking an unfamiliar road to a place you've never been 

is a good idea after all.

I will take this road again

and again

and again

until I know it.