tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61561091851900804812024-03-14T03:18:28.532-06:00Crow Hill AlmanacUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-48024837042417926432013-08-17T15:20:00.000-06:002013-08-17T22:09:52.604-06:00Summer Tea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTxkhAQihZonOcFrZ7Tv564yzbfAY0AXfw_Jd14lW-wvtm6QUaAFPdTDb4hkZ73vteDWOG7BkfRNf9GbNF2dQK7jbX06MLYNM8SwoFkXKoELAJrWWQrx-5hkXDHJW_oZHt7DM9R4MArmbb/s1600/teabuttercupmarigold640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTxkhAQihZonOcFrZ7Tv564yzbfAY0AXfw_Jd14lW-wvtm6QUaAFPdTDb4hkZ73vteDWOG7BkfRNf9GbNF2dQK7jbX06MLYNM8SwoFkXKoELAJrWWQrx-5hkXDHJW_oZHt7DM9R4MArmbb/s1600/teabuttercupmarigold640.jpg" /></a></div>
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Buttercup and Marigold had tea on a mid-August afternoon. They gathered their meal from the forest and field~ dandelion, rose hips, sumac berries and a mushroom. To the song of a nearby meadowlark, they recalled what they loved most about summertime.
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Buttercup tended her garden each morning. Her strawberries, tomatoes and herbs were the very taste of summer! Some lazy afternoons, she sat with a book next to the rosemary, catnapping to the buzz of grasshoppers and daydreaming with visiting hummingbirds.
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Marigold rested contently against a mossy boulder, nature's bounty spread before her. She had watched patiently as the field greened at the start of summer and delighted at the early, dewy blooms. She now savored the late wildflowers~ hearty broom, cutleaf daisies and nodding sunflowers. She was grateful to have seen another season turn, to have felt its sunny blessings, and for the sweet summer memories made with loved ones.
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These little rag dolls (and others) are available in my <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/wagonwheel">Etsy shop</a> and would love to have tea or adventures with you! They and I hope you have a wonderful last few weeks of summer~ these lazy, crazy, dreamy dog days.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-91262530068649283152013-06-29T09:58:00.001-06:002013-08-17T17:39:47.729-06:00For the MadnessI've been working on some super-fun collaborations lately, and I'm so excited to share this first one! I've painted a few posters for my friends <a href="http://themilemarkersband.com/">the Mile Markers</a>, but this spring they asked me to create artwork for their second cd, For the Madness. They wanted linocut prints, a medium that is still a challenge for me (I have so much to learn!), but one with a handmade quality that works well with their folky-Americana sound.
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The girls already had wonderful images in mind evoking madness~ a full moon, bare trees and crows~ and some possible cures.
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They send me recordings of the songs for inspiration. So, to the poetry of broken hearts, rambling free spirits and a medicine man, I carved five blocks in all for the cd and packaging.
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Looking good so far... and a few weeks later
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it came to life! Graphic designer Blake Denney worked magic with color and texture, giving the prints depth and an enchanted feeling~ moonlight shines from the medicine bottle and whiskey jug!
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I feel so honored to have helped Julie, Bevin, Sal and Nicki bring this beautiful project to realization. These women are so very, very talented and kind, with a future brighter than the brightest full moon. Please give them a listen!
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-33193030869837392092013-04-06T23:09:00.000-06:002013-08-17T17:40:41.997-06:00This week in an artisan and vintage market in my town, I found a wonderful old postcard for only $2! I have it hanging on the refrigerator right now where I can see it all day long, because I am in love with these two~
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The United Photo Stores Co. once had three studios in Denver where one could have their photograph made in this prop automobile, with a choice of mountain backdrops and witty(?) captions on the front. The photograph was made into a
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This card was never mailed, so it has no stamps or written clues to its date. But did you know that postcards like this one can sometimes be dated by the design of their stamp box in the top right corner? I sure didn't until today! :) I'm still researching the photographer but not finding much, and nothing for these addresses today. I need some help from Denver old-timers! By her hair and hat, I guess this was taken between 1910-1915~ a hundred years ago.
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Now, I suppose this fashionable couple's message could be interpreted as full-on snark, an early sarcasm meme~ a regrettable decision to motor through (what appears to be) Garden of the Gods in a suspicious-looking horseless carriage. The roads are rough, it could be either hot or cold, there are rattlesnakes, maybe they have a flat tire?
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But looking closely at these two, I believe this is a proud announcement, a joyous declaration that We are Having a H-L of a Time today! Look at her sassy smirk, eyes confident behind the wheel. He is close at her side, enjoying the ride, rakishly cool with a loosened collar and smokes in his pocket. This young couple commemorated this day out on the town, probably just on a whim while walking by, and the image captured that day is beautiful and timeless~ they will face any hard road together with humor and adventure and a love for life, Having a H-L of a Time!
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-70661388399372447982013-03-20T21:09:00.000-06:002013-03-20T21:10:07.655-06:00Happy Springtime!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Two sisters went for a walk in the woods on the first day of spring. They saw tiny new blades of grass, fresh, soft and green, just barely poking through the dry fallen pine needles. "It won't be long now", they rejoiced~
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-3974429067496734062013-03-11T07:42:00.000-06:002013-04-06T23:01:20.149-06:00Rag Mama<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I made this little rag doll on Saturday during a snow storm. When the sun came out yesterday, she was ready to play. Now she needs some (spring-inspired) sisters! Have a beautiful week~Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-49775802591394700812013-02-27T12:52:00.002-07:002013-08-17T17:44:24.413-06:00Oconee Bell
As much as I honestly do love winter, I admit that by about this time I start longing for spring. Heavy boots and woolen scarves and hats sounded so fun back in September, everyone loves sweater weather then! :) Since the beginning of January, there's been a few inches of snow almost every week. Eleven inches last Sunday and two more yesterday! But warmer days aren't that far away, a lesson from a little wildflower~
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<i>The fairest bloom the mountain knows</i>
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<i>Is not an iris or a wild rose</i>
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<i>But the little flower of which I'll tell</i>
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<i>Known as the brave acony bell</i>
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<i>Just a simple flower so small and plain</i>
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<i>With a pearly hue and a little known name</i>
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<i>But the yellow birds sing when they see it bloom</i>
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<i>For they know that spring is coming soon</i>
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<i>Well it makes its home mid the rocks and the rills</i>
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<i>Where the snows lie deep on the windy hills</i>
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<i>And it tells the world "Why should I wait</i>
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<i>This ice and snow is gonna melt away"</i>
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<i>And so I'll sing that yellow bird's song</i>
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<i>For the troubled times will soon be gone</i>
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<i>~Gillian Welch & David Rawlings</i>
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Oconee Bell, <i>Shortia Galacifolia</i>, is one of the rarest wildflowers in the United States, found in only six counties in the southern Appalachians of North and South Carolina and Georgia, blooming in early spring along shady stream banks.
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A partial specimen was first collected in 1788 by a French botanist, Andre Michaux, found somewhere "in the high mountains of the Carolinas". Fifty years later, an American botanist, Asa Gray, saw the specimen in Michaux's collection in Paris and realized the unnamed plant was new to science. He led expeditions to find it in the wild, and the rediscovery of the lost wildflower became an obsession for many botanists of the day. Nearly a century after it was first noted, a 17 year old boy named George Hyams found a patch growing along the Catawba River near Marion, North Carolina. By following descriptions in his journals, botanists and historians then retraced Michaux's route to the original source of his specimen~ along the Keowee River, near the old Cherokee town of Jocassee in Oconee County, South Carolina.
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Long before botanists found and classified Oconee Bells, the Cherokee called it "Shee-Show", meaning "two-colored plant of the gods". It's believed that the tribe once made annual pilgrimages to the Jocassee Gorges to collect the flower, thought to be a rain talisman because it grew at the water's edge.
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Faith, determination and the strength to bloom through hard conditions~ the snow will melt and spring will be here soon. Only a few more weeks...okay, maybe two months, but it WILL come! :) Warm end-of-winter wishes to you!
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(<i>photos:</i>
<a href="http://www.gabotsoc.org/">Georgia Botanical Society</a> ,
<a href="http://www.appalachianhistory.net/2011/05/the-long-trail-of-shortia-part-1-of-2.html">appalachianhistory.net</a> ,
<a href="http://www.learnnc.org/lp/editions/cede_jocassee/909">Learn NC</a>)
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-74172314546456454162013-01-13T15:33:00.001-07:002013-08-17T17:45:11.936-06:00Simple Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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After the sparkle and abundance of trimmings of Christmastime, there is such a peacefulness in unadorned trees. There's a bare beauty in frosty breath and windowpanes, brown and white fields, and the lonely call of geese. Although, weather this cold usually puts me more in the mind of domestic (indoor!) pursuits. Last week, I made more linocut prints~ simple things, each primitive and useful.
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I imagine the stark beauty of this time of year sounds like this, sometimes as fearsome and wondrous as black crows on a winter wind~
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Winter won't last too long, and I love the wonders and simple blessings of each season. Hot tea, a crochet blanket, and someone or something furry to cuddle with makes nearly anything bearable, so let the winds howl!
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-6239467745862487122013-01-01T14:01:00.000-07:002013-01-01T14:01:50.649-07:00Spinning Wheel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>Year-wheel spins around again.</i>
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<i>This year, what story will you spin?</i>
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Wishing you a happy and blessed 2013~
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-48518766911026941472012-12-21T07:28:00.000-07:002013-08-17T17:46:01.047-06:00Mistletoe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy Yule and first day of winter! Five inches of snow fell here earlier this week, so it feels comfortingly wintery. So many recent events have made this month seem rather dark AND the Mayan calendar predicts the world may end today. But out of darkness comes light, it could also mean the beginning of a new consciousness~
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Shine a light on the longest night of the year. Be kind, compassionate, grateful and hopeful. Forgive, accept and respect others. Love one another. Be your authentic best and share your gifts with others. Nurture the gifts and talents of others to help them shine. Teach, share and be kindness and love without end.
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I need to remind myself of those things almost every day, but I'm trying. :) If it is the last day of the world, I'm baking cookies today, gingerbread and Scottish shortbread. The holidays have started, Sam is out of school and Cat comes home tomorrow. ^-^
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Warm love and light, comfort and joy to you~
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-54517272125016400942012-12-13T06:05:00.000-07:002013-08-17T17:47:23.517-06:00Danish HeartsGod Jul and happy Saint Lucia Day! Warm welcome to today's visiting blog processioners~
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Thank you to Heather of <a href="http://audreyeclectic.blogspot.com/">Audrey Eclectic</a> (our head Lucia) for inspiring this procession and Scandi-fest! I've never celebrated the pageantry of the day before, but it's a beautiful occasion to shine a light and share interests with others in the dark of winter.
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<i>Anderson or Neilson family? Sod roof!</i>
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My grandmother's parents, Hans Peter Anderson and Elsie Neilson, both emigrated from Denmark (with the mysterious photograph above) and were married in South Dakota in 1899. She and my grandfather later moved to Alabama, but Grandma Alice kept an adorable Minnesota accent, peppered with UFF DAs. I really don't remember celebrating any old-world traditions with her, but there were always bright tins of Danish butter cookies along with familiar homemade ones. She was proud of her Viking ancestors and I'm enchanted by a land of fierce winters, trolls, goblins and house elves.
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My own family's holiday traditions are an American mix of the ones passed down, and also ones we've found, created or traded like recipes. I adore the feel of a Scandinavian Christmas~ simple, natural and homemade (visually and spiritually), golden candlelit wheat and warm red on snowy white. Years ago, I found straw ornaments and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G%C3%A4vle_goat">julbocken</a> at the gift shop of the Denver Sons of Noway Lodge. That year I gave my parents a julbock three feet tall, haha!
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This year I went a little <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berserker">berserker</a> making Danish woven hearts. Traditionally, these are made of paper into little treat baskets. The first one was believed to have made by Hans Christian Andersen, master <a href="http://www.kb.dk/en/nb/tema/hca/index.html">paper-cutter</a> AND storyteller! Some designs are amazingly intricate, but there are simple patterns all over. It's just two long oval pieces folded in half, parallel lines cut and strips woven~
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I made my hearts from felt and strung some on yarn as a garland. They're easy and inexpensive, and would be fun to make with little ones. :)
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They're so fun that I also made some in a calico print! Cat and Sam made these beaded ornaments and God's eyes. They (and I) have been such prolific ornament-makers over the years that we needed another tree, so this smaller one is in the kitchen. My main elf hasn't come home from school yet, but I sent her some heart garland (in turquoise, gray and white) for her apartment in Boulder.
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These hearts look right at home next to snowflakes crocheted by my Mema, my great-grandmother from the other side of the family. Old ways and new, made with hands and celebrated in the hearts of each generation~
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Happy holidays and thank you for stopping by today! Other Saint Lucia processioners, I look forward to reading of your celebrations! Skål to all from Colorado~
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~Kristina
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-13249683002351303552012-11-15T14:09:00.001-07:002013-08-17T17:50:03.846-06:00Commission MissionThe past few months, I've had a (much needed!) steady run of commissioned work. It's a fun challenge to illustrate a sound, taste, mood or energy of someone else's creative endeavor. I'm grateful to be a part of it! In August, I painted dancing pigs for a friend's catering service, and then more farm animals kept showing up.
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The <a href="http://www.facebook.com/SheSaidStringBand">She Saids</a> are some new friends~ four lovely girls and I can't wait to see them again. They played a show with legendary banjo virtuoso, <a href="http://www.dannybarnes.com/">Danny Barnes!</a> His set with Nick Forster was the fastest, most mind-blowing picking I've ever seen. A wonderful night! <3
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This is a label for a homebrewer. Huzzah for beer!
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And this project hasn't been given an all-clear, but here's a little bit~
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Fgbd72r4waRhy3bcFI35sgl4ik5NqKdOK0oObDk-en7CUypo3uwgR6Yce-v37KnE4fhodJPnpMiuMLHQudPjbzHAApIBk9kxQ15JTD5kfCyz2ua_yuuRK-e_xX4nmwZxcFV1gpAdHYcR/s1600/rfpainting400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Fgbd72r4waRhy3bcFI35sgl4ik5NqKdOK0oObDk-en7CUypo3uwgR6Yce-v37KnE4fhodJPnpMiuMLHQudPjbzHAApIBk9kxQ15JTD5kfCyz2ua_yuuRK-e_xX4nmwZxcFV1gpAdHYcR/s400/rfpainting800.jpg" /></a></div>
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I hope to share more soon! I love collaborative projects like these, but the one I'm cooking up now is all my own. It's cooking-inspired, getting ready for next week's kitchen action. Thank you for stopping by! ~Kristina
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-10125036486342376982012-11-14T12:38:00.001-07:002013-08-17T17:50:21.536-06:00Long-Plumed Avens
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This russet-pink beauty blooms in early summer. Later in the season, the flower's styles grow into silky, feathery plumes, commonly called Old Man's Whiskers. Wouldn't the later stage of the flower make for an interesting painting, too?
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-1055163820748718312012-09-10T17:22:00.002-06:002013-08-17T17:50:58.915-06:00Angeline the Baker<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>Angeline the Baker, Angeline I know
<br>I should have married Angeline twenty years ago</i>
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<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/higDHJ7ooJA?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
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This <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_time_fiddle">old-time fiddle</a> tune is often played bluegrass-style. An early version from 1850 was a slave's lament to his lost love. This Angeline is independent, no spring chicken, and a little sassy, I imagine!
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-81207971914771990812012-08-16T16:45:00.001-06:002013-08-17T17:51:46.945-06:00Mule's Ears<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The bright, sunflower-like blooms of Wyethia can cover entire meadows, and its glossy leaves resemble a mule's ears. The genus is named for Nathaniel Wyeth, a western explorer and fur trader of the early 1800s. This hard-working girl is adorned in garlands of high-country wildflowers~
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-73082471873286966892012-08-14T18:24:00.001-06:002012-11-14T08:40:21.878-07:00Hello Stranger...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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After my last post, I'm afraid I left this place a virtual graveyard! Well, I've dusted out the cobwebs and am ready to get back into the habit. I can be such an introvert sometimes. :/ But I do love to learn from and exchange ideas with others and read other blogs, and I would like to share my inspirations with you!
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So, catching up... the little man started high school this week, and the girl is about to start her second year at CU Boulder. She's only an hour from home (not too far or too close) and it's been lovely having her home for the summer. Last winter, the nest had been feeling a little empty, so we brought home a new baby, Ruby.
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She's seven months old now, and she and Gretel are (finally) the sweetest of sisters. We haven't camped or traveled much this summer with the puppy (just one night) but Gil's band has kept us busy closer to home. If you're near Denver, come check them <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/New-Speedway-Boogie/201101679941300">out!</a> I'll probably see you there!
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Otherwise, I've had some fun commissions this year and have been learning to make linocut prints. Much more about that soon! Here's a new painting~
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<i>A song for all travelers, 'Oh Shenandoah' was a sailors' sea chanty by the 1880s. Different interpretations tell the stories of a trader in love with the daughter of an Indian chief, a pioneer or Confederate soldier's memories of home, or of a route to freedom for escaped slaves. The Shenandoah valley area produced parts (like wheels and seats) for wagons, then those parts were assembled in Conestoga County, Pennsylvania. In Conestoga wagons, settlers followed the Ohio river to the Mississippi, then west up the Missouri. </i>
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I'm not from Virginia, but I love this song so much. I grew up in Georgia, Tennessee and North Carolina, but I felt "bound away" west. Looking at maps or on family trips, I was amazed by so much open space and sky and wanted to see other landscapes and seasons (snow!). I'm sure a life-long Laura Ingalls obsession only fueled it, ha! Gil and I were blessed with the chance to start our family on an adventure of our own, so here we are.
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So, in this journal, I hope to share my gratitude for the people and places that inspire me. And please share yours with me! I look forward to seeing you again soon~
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-73521485219042643532010-10-30T21:07:00.048-06:002012-11-14T09:01:52.265-07:00Buckskin Joe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />For Halloween, I want to show you a wonder of a place! Back in July, Cat and Sam spent two weeks with my parents, so Gil and I were able to go off alone anywhere we wanted, within two days' drive. My very first choice was the cemetery in the remains of Buckskin Joe, a mining camp near Alma, in Park County. At least two legends have haunted this cemetery. <br /><br />There was a dance hall girl in Buckskin Joe, called Silverheels for the silver decorations on her dancing shoes. A smallpox epidemic hit the camp in the winter of 1861, and Silverheels was the only woman who stayed to care for the sick miners and families. She contracted smallpox herself, and the town took up a collection in gratitude of her dedication, nearly $5000. The next spring, when the miners delivered the reward, her cabin was deserted. She did not leave town by horse or stagecoach, so the nearby mountains and valleys were searched. Silverheels had disappeared into the hills, her beautiful and kind face scarred by the pox. A ghostly lady dressed in black with a heavy veil is sometimes seen placing flowers on graves around the cemetery, still tending the bedsides of the people of Buckskin Joe. Mount Silverheels is named for her.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0ydTLnyeBb3F9McKDfJbR0iEJF-UWpybxbdgM4cgytDpdJDgX8t5cklT4cU0avPumfHkWBWldr_O4JkmSGu-w1AZXOYzVoryxtKMSFurdNiOJ_jajw6rTjO5vJGNCCyLKMtlashWaSwY/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0ydTLnyeBb3F9McKDfJbR0iEJF-UWpybxbdgM4cgytDpdJDgX8t5cklT4cU0avPumfHkWBWldr_O4JkmSGu-w1AZXOYzVoryxtKMSFurdNiOJ_jajw6rTjO5vJGNCCyLKMtlashWaSwY/s800/1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534044728961319458" /></a><br />J. Dawson Hidgepath was another spirit led by love. In hopes of finding a wife, he attempted to romance nearly every one of the few women in town, young or old, eligible or already married. In 1865, poor J. Dawson's body was found at the bottom of Mount Bross, where he had fallen while collecting wildflowers on the mountainside. He was buried in the Buckskin Joe cemetery, but his restless heart still yearned for love. A short time later, a dance hall girl in Alma found his bones stacked in her bed with his hat (with a distinctive crest) on top. He was reburied in the same cemetery, but again and again, his bones made their way into the bed or kitchen of a woman. Deeper graves with even heavier rocks on top could not contain his lovelorn skeleton. For fifteen years his bones roamed the county, whispering in ladies' ears and leaving love poems and bouquets of wildflowers at their door. Tales of J. Dawson's roamings grew taller and wider, until finally his bones were thrown down an outhouse in Leadville and he was never seen again. What a creepy story! :o<br /><br />So, shall we go?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaq4hgz-r00gxQsHFMej1RQz6soJBWeu-v3zrKiSuJnRvyNfroNF-3Kt502a9X1gw8aLBqUD0POIKYwZmWUNqZ09fa6q1qBaLiQQUPRo032jrmXvRBh5_UG9pEjuW71S306zMgly6kyW5u/s1600/buckskin1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaq4hgz-r00gxQsHFMej1RQz6soJBWeu-v3zrKiSuJnRvyNfroNF-3Kt502a9X1gw8aLBqUD0POIKYwZmWUNqZ09fa6q1qBaLiQQUPRo032jrmXvRBh5_UG9pEjuW71S306zMgly6kyW5u/s800/buckskin1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534044667319871010" /></a><br />County Road 8, from Alma<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjulEOOzomfP_-f5Bz2YtDH6TGR-1DiHp5AW6yuEcQpUYWoXYLT3gnvM2k2iHksjiFLlR24u_tCQLnqE_eDNWw_V9sgKMpNnZzQqNWwx-mMc06jNxRBL04oZd4_kU0itFVUghBZzcqBKLoN/s1600/buckskin2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjulEOOzomfP_-f5Bz2YtDH6TGR-1DiHp5AW6yuEcQpUYWoXYLT3gnvM2k2iHksjiFLlR24u_tCQLnqE_eDNWw_V9sgKMpNnZzQqNWwx-mMc06jNxRBL04oZd4_kU0itFVUghBZzcqBKLoN/s800/buckskin2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534044596546878850" /></a><br />There are few buildings left in this ghost town, some mines, stone ruins and rubble. There's lots more about the history of the camp here~ <a href="http://www.legendsofamerica.com/co-buckskinjoe.html" target="_blank">Legends of America! </a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlrA6gQMlVIL4uR4_tlEcAaos4MR9cT7mYbB0kOIwcYVAneo-fyw40ZZRxv-a1aJy7bkTU3vbaSRhpFIufGqNCP4sMJgXQOq6HIDh1rRW76u9PQt3Nq5vjDRpHsRIOcAoW58KCadGgSnVi/s1600/IMG_0027.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlrA6gQMlVIL4uR4_tlEcAaos4MR9cT7mYbB0kOIwcYVAneo-fyw40ZZRxv-a1aJy7bkTU3vbaSRhpFIufGqNCP4sMJgXQOq6HIDh1rRW76u9PQt3Nq5vjDRpHsRIOcAoW58KCadGgSnVi/s800/IMG_0027.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534044510703298322" /></a><br />Gold was found in the creek and collected in sluice boxes. Mined ore was crushed in burro-powered stone arrastras, water from the creek was washed through to separate rock from gold. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZG9hrSqhIj0hyphenhyphen_gZpQxsCR2FTtFWBMQb2wsFqt55N8gLF7KUsEyiOK7A8Yr55RfW0_hKpl842y3jiJjxH7XbZpFpWMDw_D0NIofyuFRrMnOuGwfb9WMxTtCXOn5bEIvWa4RCObBSLz3sQ/s1600/buckskin3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZG9hrSqhIj0hyphenhyphen_gZpQxsCR2FTtFWBMQb2wsFqt55N8gLF7KUsEyiOK7A8Yr55RfW0_hKpl842y3jiJjxH7XbZpFpWMDw_D0NIofyuFRrMnOuGwfb9WMxTtCXOn5bEIvWa4RCObBSLz3sQ/s800/buckskin3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534044401254408866" /></a><br />The cemetery is most of what remains of Buckskin Joe. Pale tombstones rise like mushrooms from the forest floor.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1f2e_Gm20WLKMRZKAWlyGUWPX7vOaqpTaSdaGVwVhsimpBeTO5DPz8Gii-bWt9NcLUw3Fyit83_ZdUwilcoN6dKA3wmM0f7QoJttNr4vvw5x_hPrTl2vTLFJU0S_PIVkIV1crLxBFs14/s1600/buckskin4a.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1f2e_Gm20WLKMRZKAWlyGUWPX7vOaqpTaSdaGVwVhsimpBeTO5DPz8Gii-bWt9NcLUw3Fyit83_ZdUwilcoN6dKA3wmM0f7QoJttNr4vvw5x_hPrTl2vTLFJU0S_PIVkIV1crLxBFs14/s800/buckskin4a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534044292291056162" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDqmqCvUfk9ini_751edx2vwNLNgFmaVceFE8sXuyEVE-fre8i1OuTGW2Q2GnMqdafemQ-cxzrf_-urDFnmiWK7Q4VW6PuCUD-UB_nazP1w05QAQqmbsPwMnF9zVEB8gOTC4yHPgmBEi7/s1600/buckskin5.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDqmqCvUfk9ini_751edx2vwNLNgFmaVceFE8sXuyEVE-fre8i1OuTGW2Q2GnMqdafemQ-cxzrf_-urDFnmiWK7Q4VW6PuCUD-UB_nazP1w05QAQqmbsPwMnF9zVEB8gOTC4yHPgmBEi7/s800/buckskin5.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534044212213370930" /></a><br />Columbines grow in the sunlit patchwork of an aspen grove. This place feels peaceful and warm. It's as inviting as a good new book, as thrilling as the creeeeak of an old iron gate.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyakJTXsge2rQ0JVTbXi8akH1uJlPlUzKGGxjuY5oS-B9rx1rho5lc7ZXQFbOpRGniJ0WMaXdnFO3YDgpkFhg-GeblpLVSWO2McZai6OPbPqS3KWWGOsQoFkHDWjjtX0tgEwYnOcBB9Va3/s1600/buckskin22.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyakJTXsge2rQ0JVTbXi8akH1uJlPlUzKGGxjuY5oS-B9rx1rho5lc7ZXQFbOpRGniJ0WMaXdnFO3YDgpkFhg-GeblpLVSWO2McZai6OPbPqS3KWWGOsQoFkHDWjjtX0tgEwYnOcBB9Va3/s800/buckskin22.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534043339499986290" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwoqYdcl7mgkq0U4kNYR_RU9LMjiqmmorYitPbbQfWjS7uBXMXcrQPIXWHn1jxjgbYSdRnnIzN2CSu5InJc2ueXomT3PqxFACoEmTLl1rlZ5UGEtvB6rsg7kzb23AryZPJ8JQ8hN_XwJUz/s1600/buckskin7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwoqYdcl7mgkq0U4kNYR_RU9LMjiqmmorYitPbbQfWjS7uBXMXcrQPIXWHn1jxjgbYSdRnnIzN2CSu5InJc2ueXomT3PqxFACoEmTLl1rlZ5UGEtvB6rsg7kzb23AryZPJ8JQ8hN_XwJUz/s800/buckskin7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534044134463111138" /></a><br />A rough way to go! Marble stones tell many stories, some in languages of other homelands. Names and dates conjure up faces.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7RXoZ33kuPkOY0jPHJfN7aQv2eNSnvDBKIaUnhGcPWwgec94kXncmc1Z1v0BZJzds96WiAV-L4Mo-bbsFvzK3j3cWqBLIscglfuYGPay4Jcc-XoOHXYPSiOD7rVbwRo7GCPDW1Ny7WIb6/s1600/buckskin8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7RXoZ33kuPkOY0jPHJfN7aQv2eNSnvDBKIaUnhGcPWwgec94kXncmc1Z1v0BZJzds96WiAV-L4Mo-bbsFvzK3j3cWqBLIscglfuYGPay4Jcc-XoOHXYPSiOD7rVbwRo7GCPDW1Ny7WIb6/s800/buckskin8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534044038504991778" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdH-fDoGM4wdHtiReMkNNNiMTvQbEAMmeSnpHQugXxznZG1lBgCYFOkUWAot68MFBpRxbhKCAp_SdmugXZGivw_eLiZawWdUbTfepFsLZKhpMNlyDlpE8bviWLb9S8td25ZaYM2s55bwX/s1600/buckskin12a.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdH-fDoGM4wdHtiReMkNNNiMTvQbEAMmeSnpHQugXxznZG1lBgCYFOkUWAot68MFBpRxbhKCAp_SdmugXZGivw_eLiZawWdUbTfepFsLZKhpMNlyDlpE8bviWLb9S8td25ZaYM2s55bwX/s800/buckskin12a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534043866084961602" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6rx1InfWJymBcwD4yhFhDGOLOdYkXU13Wp8MmWQQ-poYdS3P_zRok5GzgPbeiICVN7eRlTqGKLZyR2ywV0ZWGne1JFQAZi0bPwnlVo11ZyJKJ9ZgsGX4_goI5sjJUS8aHpGh_m9f3l4gQ/s1600/buckskin9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6rx1InfWJymBcwD4yhFhDGOLOdYkXU13Wp8MmWQQ-poYdS3P_zRok5GzgPbeiICVN7eRlTqGKLZyR2ywV0ZWGne1JFQAZi0bPwnlVo11ZyJKJ9ZgsGX4_goI5sjJUS8aHpGh_m9f3l4gQ/s800/buckskin9.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534043962517331570" /></a><br />Some markers are more humble but have lasted just as long.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWZUddSM6FrBtZrpm71r0_-rkSdW9Y8MgEZV8Cy3QN8nHANy51zanc8-9XQEc67fR36sSxlZz5KT0mz_27WuZ2aXug2ZhSiIe0XkHAN54JG7zWsHayHOy9ly7-jQHo6BP-MSxw5lxRmJX/s1600/buckskin13.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWZUddSM6FrBtZrpm71r0_-rkSdW9Y8MgEZV8Cy3QN8nHANy51zanc8-9XQEc67fR36sSxlZz5KT0mz_27WuZ2aXug2ZhSiIe0XkHAN54JG7zWsHayHOy9ly7-jQHo6BP-MSxw5lxRmJX/s800/buckskin13.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534043781543598482" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqporfpWIxrAO9yUCpW-A6y32Q17LQCWPQZFNPu2rNbohyoDThvwupUyj5UK0Kqa8GBBGs35ddoOo2sd-NapKTyEeXT97P7WvvoJWwG78P9E12hFPC1mgIMG6bt6vMvUZ3GAZqwPc2k7x/s1600/buckskin24.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqporfpWIxrAO9yUCpW-A6y32Q17LQCWPQZFNPu2rNbohyoDThvwupUyj5UK0Kqa8GBBGs35ddoOo2sd-NapKTyEeXT97P7WvvoJWwG78P9E12hFPC1mgIMG6bt6vMvUZ3GAZqwPc2k7x/s800/buckskin24.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534043249834930050" /></a><br />I cried when I saw these two tiny cradles. I sang a lullaby for them and felt another mother's love in the warm sunlight.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8pd6pLlh6xRGTtQ4AWeGaw_LMW9BN-nAWN6suZCC6vKAEEtYVtFumqJ91f4634JHDzhiVMNGpuNjxP_lR4kVc1jgU6itGtL0wfs8BAMK_ilCKzNcRX5GfzEvX_78eFOOr51l6sTOGQ0YI/s1600/buckskin20.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8pd6pLlh6xRGTtQ4AWeGaw_LMW9BN-nAWN6suZCC6vKAEEtYVtFumqJ91f4634JHDzhiVMNGpuNjxP_lR4kVc1jgU6itGtL0wfs8BAMK_ilCKzNcRX5GfzEvX_78eFOOr51l6sTOGQ0YI/s800/buckskin20.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534043682172360402" /></a><br />Who was this man? Did he read Tennyson? Did a grieving wife wish for his spirit to come back to her?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgQU6Pyu5xbuKH0qXwFgezjew5Y5Vs91SKPTxXoxR2QiZPty0QYxDl0JlNSMpZXZyzfJD1l7CZ44pc9Ivg5b-CZB74YhXQQsfhsh6eEEKzua0FdKa_8PG4qVJTIAg5tWbrrkx-V4AGVzR/s1600/buckskin21.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgQU6Pyu5xbuKH0qXwFgezjew5Y5Vs91SKPTxXoxR2QiZPty0QYxDl0JlNSMpZXZyzfJD1l7CZ44pc9Ivg5b-CZB74YhXQQsfhsh6eEEKzua0FdKa_8PG4qVJTIAg5tWbrrkx-V4AGVzR/s800/buckskin21.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534043559251788162" /></a><br /><em>A shadow flits before me,<br />Not thou, but like to thee:<br />Ah, Christ! that it were possible <br />For one short hour to see<br />The souls we loved, that they might tell us<br />What and where they be!<br />~Tennyson</em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJ-lUcrvWSXzMS2FqcQBquMe_xTeXcwBQbaHSiMtCCHcRGQwMWG3oAESCpZBgQ2odAHnUGBjxlD-cUmwEWsGhyphenhyphengrwGbdCmd7-3dxFez_cA8AwtFzGFos1aw03OMPWu_I6m-ZHUZ6ZmKkv/s1600/buckskin31a.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJ-lUcrvWSXzMS2FqcQBquMe_xTeXcwBQbaHSiMtCCHcRGQwMWG3oAESCpZBgQ2odAHnUGBjxlD-cUmwEWsGhyphenhyphengrwGbdCmd7-3dxFez_cA8AwtFzGFos1aw03OMPWu_I6m-ZHUZ6ZmKkv/s800/buckskin31a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534043150619703042" /></a><br />J. Dawson Hidgepath? :o<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtY1IFFHdLrchW8T9bvKQ4FZ-9JrqKFLPFFLvOp5EKuu27aJo5RWclL9HtjEu52uOrNSAdH673eq55rUn14EKVVdnMKI-nKr-7a_OGfvHK08PvUb8BLZIrH8Au8lJoQa2W3MPbD2hVqej4/s1600/buckskin32.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtY1IFFHdLrchW8T9bvKQ4FZ-9JrqKFLPFFLvOp5EKuu27aJo5RWclL9HtjEu52uOrNSAdH673eq55rUn14EKVVdnMKI-nKr-7a_OGfvHK08PvUb8BLZIrH8Au8lJoQa2W3MPbD2hVqej4/s800/buckskin32.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534042932489559298" /></a><br />An existential reminder~<br /><em>As ye are now, I once was<br />As I am now, ye soon shall be.</em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgQTpJW_ZXbyxnaPKXHVBxa7hwou7qfeimZDDV_reY1rnWuJBWT0zO-ArE8_M4oyTfQeofAp86sMjfZYERAkWBZ4HpXUP6cXP1XsUhgLkAHEUdJVC1L9kLSAc1rSHSpg-aqpuQpU28jyF/s1600/buckskin34ab.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgQTpJW_ZXbyxnaPKXHVBxa7hwou7qfeimZDDV_reY1rnWuJBWT0zO-ArE8_M4oyTfQeofAp86sMjfZYERAkWBZ4HpXUP6cXP1XsUhgLkAHEUdJVC1L9kLSAc1rSHSpg-aqpuQpU28jyF/s800/buckskin34ab.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534042834410758226" /></a><br />A feather was bound in this cross.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0PDeYTE6zZt3O-DsQiJaco8f_beDDYtTYm8KNCOxlfSK_cBea_bhObJFmL2w1wDV4CVueRNNbLxx6gkMCcJmosYXl62stF0k7HPewfbSt42W6UXTbd4m8dLQd-10t9yl3lVtpHOsr4QG/s1600/buckskin36.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0PDeYTE6zZt3O-DsQiJaco8f_beDDYtTYm8KNCOxlfSK_cBea_bhObJFmL2w1wDV4CVueRNNbLxx6gkMCcJmosYXl62stF0k7HPewfbSt42W6UXTbd4m8dLQd-10t9yl3lVtpHOsr4QG/s800/buckskin36.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534074916990373570" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpACrtBALO-eDJZD-qeqc8lTKAaQMwJNYCL19budmhTbGyB1Q6IYwICGCNrhyZouA-Nd3z7LULu4Dpf1nC7yHyUQD19Dr5lvJFRJoWyTSxC21vjwHESVKrhXUa5e6uliQzMCGHIN8sqW12/s1600/buckskin37.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpACrtBALO-eDJZD-qeqc8lTKAaQMwJNYCL19budmhTbGyB1Q6IYwICGCNrhyZouA-Nd3z7LULu4Dpf1nC7yHyUQD19Dr5lvJFRJoWyTSxC21vjwHESVKrhXUa5e6uliQzMCGHIN8sqW12/s800/buckskin37.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534042750380065794" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKyGP14E5iMW1f2BsfTCltGFyAmhdIetbntGK3v2tTeE6M3juW9WtRFjw9kDSLj-aZoq2qvkvGrGQ5Udh3b3xAI3XZSM9u-SQ-EvVIt3xU4szLmeEk8U3bFcCFrXJq9mvRNKNsdb-wOqFt/s1600/buckskin38.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKyGP14E5iMW1f2BsfTCltGFyAmhdIetbntGK3v2tTeE6M3juW9WtRFjw9kDSLj-aZoq2qvkvGrGQ5Udh3b3xAI3XZSM9u-SQ-EvVIt3xU4szLmeEk8U3bFcCFrXJq9mvRNKNsdb-wOqFt/s800/buckskin38.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534042649462144034" /></a><br />While history sleeps in overgrown beds, the all-seeing eyes of aspens watch the years go by.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaChjcgcbqDqtQlmFVT4ssVLlLyqAxNVx4i9SfSiGkQ2nvLc9kO4T5gw4oPILSDdlzhISghqOcHsLAZ7EoUIYMbAYS-2NKI_xfY_oQOKaRiZp7TTHM5srvvthPCwpQetBK6ETuELNQCVJn/s1600/buckskin16.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaChjcgcbqDqtQlmFVT4ssVLlLyqAxNVx4i9SfSiGkQ2nvLc9kO4T5gw4oPILSDdlzhISghqOcHsLAZ7EoUIYMbAYS-2NKI_xfY_oQOKaRiZp7TTHM5srvvthPCwpQetBK6ETuELNQCVJn/s800/buckskin16.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534042396660581906" /></a><br />Of course, it is all covered with snow by now. I wish I could have seen the white marble against autumn-yellow leaves! The songbirds of summer have gone, now crows and ravens darkly call from the trees, on branches white like bleached bones. How elegant the black iron fences must look in fresh snow! Timeless and quiet places like this make my imagination go wild! Their stories are whispered in the rushing of a creek or the rustle of leaves. Sometimes you have to listen carefully to hear them or look closely to find them, poke around and read up, but when you do, you'll want to learn even more. I've made a place on Flickr for pictures I've taken of abandoned places, ghost towns and cemeteries. I can't wait to find more and hope that they are interesting and inspiring to you, too!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ghostsofcolorado/sets/"><img src="http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y274/kelmountain/ghostsofcosquar300.jpg?t=1288580952"></a><br />(enter here!)<br /><br />Wishing you happy hauntings and a happy Halloween~Unknownnoreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-3390144894572225262010-10-25T14:49:00.012-06:002013-08-17T16:42:22.277-06:00Poker Alice<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegCVmeBrT69ZPviN6TlTrmsNGgu47xXGXKE904pwvD3Jhqv6uUFx1yklzopf9AgStdMflTj7zilrCRfWK8BuHWfiTiuJKKgJaxdErmIjxg1HEJD9w5QhymBixapnWumN_PgTlq01BAySm/s1600/pokeraliceblog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegCVmeBrT69ZPviN6TlTrmsNGgu47xXGXKE904pwvD3Jhqv6uUFx1yklzopf9AgStdMflTj7zilrCRfWK8BuHWfiTiuJKKgJaxdErmIjxg1HEJD9w5QhymBixapnWumN_PgTlq01BAySm/s400/pokeraliceblog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532089748637147970" /></a><br />
Poker Alice Ivers Tubbs sometimes embellished her own legend, but Alice Ivers was either born in Devonshire, England, in 1851, or in Virginia to Irish immigrants. Her father was a schoolmaster and Alice was eastern-educated and refined. Her family followed the silver rush to Leadville, Colorado. Alice married Frank Duffield, a mining engineer, and together, the couple frequented gambling halls of Leadville. <br /><br />Alice studied Frank's plays and learned the games. She began to play herself, and found she was clever at counting cards and figuring odds. After only a few years together, Frank was killed in a mining accident. There were very few respectable jobs available for women in mining camps, so Alice supported herself with her talent at the tables.
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Alice was a finely-dressed beauty, and refused to gamble on Sundays. She played poker and faro, travelled and worked as a dealer in camps around Colorado. Her reputation and success earned her the nickname "Poker Alice". She proudly boasted that she "broke the bank" in Silver City, New Mexico, winning over $6000 in one night. She may have just saved her winnings over time, but she took a grand trip to New York City, and returned to Colorado dressed in the latest fashions. She then worked for a while in Creede, as a dealer in a tent saloon owned by Robert Ford, the man who killed Jesse James.
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Alice moved on to Deadwood, South Dakota, to deal cards in another saloon. One night , a drunken miner puller a knife on the dealer at the next table, W.G. Tubbs. Alice pulled out her revolver and shot the miner in the arm. W.G. and Alice fell in love, married and had seven children together. The family moved from rough Deadwood to a quiet homestead near Sturgis.
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After many happy years together, W.G. died of pneumonia, and again Alice supported herself at the card tables. She married the caretaker of her homestead, mostly for the sake of convenience, but soon she was widowed for a third time. <br /><br />During Prohibition years, Alice opened a saloon and brothel called "Poker's Palace". It remained closed on Sundays. Alice once shot into a group drunken soldiers that became violent, killing one. She dressed in men's clothes and smoked cigars. For years, she was arrested time and again for drunkenness and for keeping a bawdy house. She was finally sentenced to prison for repeat convictions, but 75 year-old Alice was pardoned by the governor of South Dakota. Alice claimed to have won over $250,000 during her colorful career. Boastful, but never a cheat, she earned her living and her legend with her skill and spirit.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDJ4fcg72W5_kU7_ZI8HsIC0FGnbUWoKaudJIrMjdpzHz1JookTYkmQKTVCRXs_IUWN-uiU_adldWVjaW4QyaoKOQFzr67NV6GbMZf4QOUhrfs_q9_HMEDzJalXpdekSQdI3Q7I_6XD7b9/s1600/PokerAlice.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 370px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDJ4fcg72W5_kU7_ZI8HsIC0FGnbUWoKaudJIrMjdpzHz1JookTYkmQKTVCRXs_IUWN-uiU_adldWVjaW4QyaoKOQFzr67NV6GbMZf4QOUhrfs_q9_HMEDzJalXpdekSQdI3Q7I_6XD7b9/s400/PokerAlice.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532089176030605602" /></a><br />You may read more about Poker Alice here~ <a href="http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-pokeralice.html" target="_blank">legendsofamerica.com.</a> A gold mine of everything old west~ huzzah!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-83219248700937876252010-09-23T22:51:00.006-06:002013-08-17T17:08:38.068-06:00The first morning of autumn~<br />
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As the sun rose, a full harvest moon set in the west.
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The sun and moon roll across the open sky like wagon wheels, bringing a new day and a new season.
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The sun sets, the moon rises again. Autumn is in the air~Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-58331493818831397122010-09-16T10:44:00.006-06:002013-08-17T17:00:11.330-06:00What a dry summer it has been! Last week there was an awful wildfire in Foumile Canyon, in west Boulder County. Strong winds spread the fire quickly and the rough terrain made it harder to fight. Over 160 homes were lost, the worst fire in the state history. This area is right in between two of the places I love best, Nederland and Jamestown. I'm auctioning a new painting on my Facebook page to raise donations towards relief efforts, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Wagon-Wheel-Illustration/267202844486?v=wall">HERE </a>, or at the top of the sidebar on the right. I understand that it's tough times for everyone to give everywhere, but if you're interested in owning this piece anyway, please do place a bid!
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One of the first wildflowers to bloom after a fire, Fireweed grows in bright sunlight. Though patched and barefoot, she holds hope that the forest will grow again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-74703063387990945682010-09-09T18:07:00.011-06:002013-08-17T16:57:06.705-06:00Another golden summer has almost passed. The boy, the dog and I went on a walk on Labor Day, the unofficial end to summer.
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The field is sunbaked, the grasses toasted golden brown. Seed pods rattle in a dry wind and grasshoppers bound away from every step we take. They whisper <em> This way, this way. Hidden here are wonders delicate and strong.</em>
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We've been hearing owls at night lately. Sure enough, feathers and fur were tangled in the grass, wispy ghosts of a hunt.
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This feather was pointing southwest, so we went that way.
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And there was another one! It pointed to...
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feathery grass
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and squawbush sumac.
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We walked to the petrified log. It's my favorite place in the woods, a good spot to Sit and Think or play tea party. Sam and I rested in the shade and marked our way.
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Snoot all a-twitch, Gretel followed an invisible trail and led us down a ravine.
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I don't remember ever going this way before. We found a fascinating tree!
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Oh, can't you imagine Arthur Rackham goblins living under there! A little path went right through the roots.
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We saw one more owl feather. It was pointing west, but we headed north for home.
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This has been a summer of following and blazing new trails, seeing where this road goes, where the wind blows us. In July, Cat and Sam visited my parents (flying by themselves!) for a couple of weeks in Georgia and North Carolina. Gil and I ran off on our own. :) For the past month, Gil has been off on quite an adventure, working in Kolkata, India! He sends pictures, we email all the time and talk on the phone some, but the kids and I miss him so much. I can't wait to hear his stories from the other side of the world. I've kept myself busy by painting the living room, downstairs and upstairs hallways, and the guest/computer room. Golden yellow~ my very favorite color! Naturally, I then had to refeather the nest, rearranging and sprucing up my old things. I've done two little paintings, too!<br /><br /><em>Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,<br />Healthy, free, the world before me,<br />The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.</em><br />~Walt WhitmanUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-87132610103421682372010-07-03T00:05:00.044-06:002013-08-17T16:29:33.089-06:00Wildflower Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLzt3fZapuoUpB_j4MfxD8er1YoMRg-NDVAeG_5iLTcSMp9UMoftNCo2Lf6Ekpzh4d9a9DVeLXBEJzw1-xlIq0pzIazhYmRawAuNjBXqxk9R_XUSrJKs6g1pix77A6XhdORWclNV1MhVi/s1600/27c640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLzt3fZapuoUpB_j4MfxD8er1YoMRg-NDVAeG_5iLTcSMp9UMoftNCo2Lf6Ekpzh4d9a9DVeLXBEJzw1-xlIq0pzIazhYmRawAuNjBXqxk9R_XUSrJKs6g1pix77A6XhdORWclNV1MhVi/s1600/27c640.jpg" /></a></div>
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The first blooms of summer are shy, dewy-faced maidens. They dance over the hills in ruffled gowns the colors of a sunrise
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into a crazy-quilt garden that hums heavy with bumblebees.
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A few weeks later, and the field has grown~
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The maidens' colors are duskier, like an afternoon rain. Milkvetch blooms are cloudy white
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or the shades of sweet, new grass
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or as dark as ripe berries.
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Pink milkweed is an otherworldly beauty. Her pink-veined leaves are velvet like a lamb's ear, her blooms are from faeryland.
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Bindweed, a morning glory, winds and twirls her creamy skirts through the field
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and copper mallow leaves a dainty trail.
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A few weeks more have passed~
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The field is drier now, and rustles like a grasshopper's wings.
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These ladies wear a weathered calico, sun-colored and
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sun-faded, a spray of blooms across the prairie-gold grass.
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trailing daisy
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fairy trumpet
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<br>
wild rose
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penstemon
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prickly poppy
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcrK3wtXNQvu5mnk7LKpTQf1wezVyXHcM1MJ9JDuhIHwVHKV_TLUj1aJlAv6-vsls2evnVafLE0vU4_-tQNsadHdWSpIodu0PSLTFyZMab-wX4rHsrvnmJUwOJJzeEzhvgrO_wfDwoLbs/s1600/30c640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcrK3wtXNQvu5mnk7LKpTQf1wezVyXHcM1MJ9JDuhIHwVHKV_TLUj1aJlAv6-vsls2evnVafLE0vU4_-tQNsadHdWSpIodu0PSLTFyZMab-wX4rHsrvnmJUwOJJzeEzhvgrO_wfDwoLbs/s1600/30c640.jpg" /></a></div>
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prickly pear
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<br>
thistle and Richardson's geranium
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miner's candle
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<br>
mariposa lily
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<br>
prairie coneflower
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yellow salsify, look at that big puff! Make a big wish...
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Wishing you a beautiful summer~Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-12010927443950981822010-07-02T11:51:00.034-06:002013-08-18T12:20:11.498-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJaSXTyTMvPVZO5_UFZXDxYe_gTuwjHYQqP8mlmfBynNha5yc6UTaQ4afudpJnYlMvbM8jj81o0_KY6zYgvQgch5ydbWYJS0aV-8KOHpgmXnm7nOq-gZBQ6LQ3uyf-VmLuN8FfNVEJd3af/s1600/1b640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJaSXTyTMvPVZO5_UFZXDxYe_gTuwjHYQqP8mlmfBynNha5yc6UTaQ4afudpJnYlMvbM8jj81o0_KY6zYgvQgch5ydbWYJS0aV-8KOHpgmXnm7nOq-gZBQ6LQ3uyf-VmLuN8FfNVEJd3af/s1600/1b640.jpg" /></a></div>
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In early June, we four went to a music festival near Nederland, Camp Womp'em, affectionately remembered as Camp Swamp'em. Never mind the weather... it's summertime!
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Three days of music in the mountains, some good-hearted people put this festival together to benefit <a href="http://www.hike4cancer.org/" target="_blank">Hike for Cancer.</a> Friday afternoon, the sun tried its best to shine
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdr490QQawEzbNGttG0-oILGKAgVUfXw4mx2rm2EmfcGH27Pvq2gPZ-lpu2QsC_f6gWz4otUCzJvpShIFli39WMz435Fb5U8h9i07fr-9WMMk19EX4I3od2K-tblSb1I_YjQA3Yah8raq/s1600/12b640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdr490QQawEzbNGttG0-oILGKAgVUfXw4mx2rm2EmfcGH27Pvq2gPZ-lpu2QsC_f6gWz4otUCzJvpShIFli39WMz435Fb5U8h9i07fr-9WMMk19EX4I3od2K-tblSb1I_YjQA3Yah8raq/s1600/12b640.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br>
through afternoon showers.
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<br>
Chez Layton
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Some friends built the stage in one guy's yard~ shows all summer long!
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As the sun went down, heavy rain settled in the valley. The music went on~
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Dr. Phil Good, the host of this shindig
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Adam and Max of <a href="http://www.myspace.com/jetedison" target="_blank">Jet Edison</a>
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Me with some best girls. It was pouring buckets! The rain was so loud on the tarps, but it was like a fun little fort inside. :)
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<a href="http://petekmusic.com/" target="_blank">Pete Kartsounes</a> on electric guitar. Every summer, Pete hikes the Colorado Trail, nearly 5oo miles, playing shows along the way to help support children with critical illnesses and their families. Read more about it <a href="http://www.hike4cancer.org/theHike.html" target="_blank">here~</a>
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The sound bunker~ a big thank you to these guys, Phil and the rest, for a great party in wet, windy and wild weather. They literally built a roof right over our heads, and the music never stopped. They turned the sound off when a lightning storm blew through, but Gil and Max just brought out accoustic guitars, a big upright bass rumbled with the thunder. The kids were cozy inside the main house with video games and warm sleeping bags, and I went to bed in the camper at some wee hour. Gil climbed in a few hours later, but the wild rumpus went on until dawn. :D
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A cold, grey morning. I wish we could have stayed the rest of the weekend, but we had to get back that day. Anyway, the forecast that night was for snow. Time to go home! :)
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We went back through misty mountains and meadows
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and festival and friends faded into the clouds. We'll be back next week! :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-12290132172212179422010-06-30T16:13:00.023-06:002013-08-18T11:43:40.273-06:00Castle Rock<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgnxEwTTjMw992R498MA4dJy89HuJig-zTSEpRWAE7yT27GU6d7AUvwpC7iSDU4hn0LeSwZAsQsI3xIhmDmx_APjlRJLP_08eZVKPIQzMYRZ2MHMlRcSYA6r1wsQSnHm4-fFuJV8_tHmB4/s1600/1a640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgnxEwTTjMw992R498MA4dJy89HuJig-zTSEpRWAE7yT27GU6d7AUvwpC7iSDU4hn0LeSwZAsQsI3xIhmDmx_APjlRJLP_08eZVKPIQzMYRZ2MHMlRcSYA6r1wsQSnHm4-fFuJV8_tHmB4/s1600/1a640.jpg" /></a></div>
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One day in early May, Sam and I went for a walk in Castle Rock, only 15 minutes from home. Here, rocky buttes rise out of the flatland like fortresses, this one so imposing that the town was named after it. The star on top is lit for Christmas.
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The lower trail goes through a grove of scrub oak, not much taller than me~ a miniature forest! The tiny oak leaves were just budding, but early summer bloomed in sunny patches.
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Long-plumed Avens
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Chiming Bells
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and Locoweed
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Up and up we climbed, almost as high as a circling raven,
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high above the town.
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southwest to Pikes Peak
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north to Longs Peak, high prairie meets the mountains
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We didn't climb to the tip-top of the rock, but the trail circles around the base.
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King of the Hill
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Thank you for walking with us! Happy adventuring~Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-60551630092365351902010-06-29T11:48:00.007-06:002013-08-18T11:46:06.288-06:00A most amazing thing happened last week! On June 24, my little journal here was a featured <a href="http://blogsofnote.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Blog of Note</a>. Quite a surprise! I'm sincerely grateful, and am so happy to meet and hear from so many folks. Thank you all, and welcome, new friends!<br /><br />My postings here have been slim the past few months, I know. It's been a big year for kids, Sam's last one of elementary school, and Cat will be a high school senior this fall. I just slowed down a bit to take it all in. I really admire the mamas that can do it all. Now that summer's here, there's so much to share!
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<a href="http://www.themilemarkersband.com/" target="_blank">These girls </a> just competed at the Telluride Bluegrass Festival. I'm going to see them July 4th in Nederland~ yeeahaw!<br /><br />Again, thank you all for the kind comments. I look forward to learning about your little corner of the world. <br />Love, KristinaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6156109185190080481.post-58322666345261624572010-04-23T10:16:00.014-06:002013-08-18T11:01:41.306-06:00Thunderstorms yesterday with hail and a tornado warning, this morning the rain turned to sloppy snow, maybe two inches so far. There has been .83 inches of rain since yesterday. I gave Gil a home weather station for Christmas and we've had such dorky fun with it, getting excited over the winter for high wind speeds and low wind chills. The rain gauge doesn't work well for snow, it sits on top instead of going down the drain thing, but sticking a ruler in it works best anyway. Bring on the spring storms!
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Last weekend, the earliest wildflowers were blooming.
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Pasque flower~
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Sometimes it's called wind flower or prairie smoke, downy hairs on the leaves and stem make it glow like mist.
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Hello, handsome! He had little antler sprouts and sat on the very top of the hill.
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woodpecker nest
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bumblebee on yellow banner
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Does rest in beds of tall dry grass, tender new grass to eat in the field nearby. This is springtime, gentle and sweet.
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I thought it was high time that I painted the state flower of Colorado, <em>Aquilegia caerulea</em>, Colorado Blue Columbine.
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Posing on a rocky hillside, she gathered a bouquet of tiny alpine forget-me-not on top of the mountain.
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Have a beautiful weekend~Unknownnoreply@blogger.com37