A Remarkable Road

In the United States of America, Colorado and New Mexico border each other. I like to think of them as “cousins”. The two states share qualities and each is unique. So when folks from Colorado want to make a quick vacation, they often come to New Mexico, and especially Santa Fe. I have sold much of my art to people from Colorado. In fact, I just finished two large paintings for a physician couple (he is a high-school friend) that live in Snowmass, near Aspen. Now due to the pandemic, my art gallery is practically shut down  so I decided to hand deliver the art and make a 5 day mini-vacation with Amy. 

My van transports artwork, but also can be used as a glorified tent! 

Our first sojourn, we drove three hours north to the magical town of Crestone, Colorado. I have been numerous times and like it enough that I wanted Amy to visit. The Crestone area, with only a few hundred habitants, is a spiritual center with several world religions represented, including: a Hindu temple, a Zen center, Carmelite monastery, several Tibetan Buddhist centers, and miscellaneous New Age happenings. The bed&breakfast was perfect, and we enjoyed being at the foot of 14,000 foot mountains in absolute quiet.

The next day we continued north and climbed uphill to stop at Independence Pass,12,095 ft. the second highest paved Colorado state highway and closed during winter. We arrived at Snowmass late afternoon and my friend Russell gave us a quick tour of the area, which is especially famous for world-class skiing, but also expensive homes. Russell is a pediatrician who now sees patients mostly remotely, using Zoom. HIs wife Mary is an epidemiologist. They both love the paintings that newly adorn the walls of their home. We shared dinner on their deck which has grand views all around the valley and mountains nearby. I have another painting to make for them—which will go in their Virginia home. 

That night, we slept in our van, nestled in the forest by a stream. Then left for our next destination; Glenwood Springs, located at the confluence of the Roaring Fork River and the Colorado River, threading together the Roaring Fork Valley and a series of smaller towns up and down the Colorado River. Amy and I have new friends living there who invited us to stay. They bought a painting from me last winter. Our initial meeting is a special story! They live on a thousand acre ranch in superb settings. We all shared meals and good conversation, getting to know one another better. We slept in our van by a pond the first night, and then in a cabin on the property high up a mountainside the next. Aspen trees are everywhere around and we hope to return in the fall when they turn golden.

After fond farewells, we left to go to Crested Butte, our last stop before returning home. 

The GPS took us on a remarkable road that was unpaved much of the way, meandering at the foot of towering mountains a winding over hill and dale through aspen forests and along streams and rivers. It started lightly raining as we approached Crested Butte—and that is OK since the region has been in a drought which has contributed to a big die-off of fir trees.

I have been to Crested Butte many times and enjoy its frontier vibe. It is a destination for skiing, mountain biking, and a variety of other outdoor activities. Amy has never been. We stayed in a hotel I like at the foot of a ski area. That night, after dinner in town, as we drove back to our hotel, a marvelous rainbow unfurled itself before our astonished eyes. One end was at the top of Mt. Crested Butte! 

The next morning we drove along the Slate River nearby and stopped to wade in a crystal clear stream. After coffee at a great little local bistro, we made our five hour journey home. Along the way we stopped occasionally. I got a great photo of a rainstorm, sweeping across the plains at the borderline.

A good sojourn for five days!

Stand Side By Side

I see on the news so much destruction in the world. How odd it is people can't be friendly! These conflicts occur at every level of human civilization; within and between families, tribes, localities, nations, races, and practically every stratum of mortal life. Other animals get along better. Zebras don't fight each other. Bees cooperate. Dolphins love one another in the big oceans.

Recently, I have trekked with friends up in the mountains that rise above Santa Fe. The elevation rises to about 13,000 feet (3960 meters). As the seasons change, so does the landscape. This time of year, our summits have broad swaths of aspen trees that turn a brilliant golden yellow. An entire mountain side can suddenly turn from green to gold. The display lasts a couple weeks and attracts crowds of hikers who amble underneath the gold. Above all is the bluest of blue skies.

Aspen spread roots in the earth and from the roots arise other trees, called clones. The root system is a colony and can live for tens of thousands of years. One tree dies while another is born. Individuals live 40 – 150 years. Aspen support various animal and insect life. I find great peace among them. 

"Joy of Autumn" 24x36 inches, oil on linen

Imagine that human beings all spring from the same root. We are made of the same substance, feed from the same earth and metabolize together in the same way, using the sun as our source of generation along with the elements. We stand side by side, and grow together under the same great cosmos. Why do we turn against one another? There is something to learn from the simple aspen tree.

Murmuring Sweet Nothings

Cottonwoods at River Edge, oil on linen, 14 x 18 inches, by STEVEN BOONE

To be a landscape painter is is to marvel at the beauty of nature and be its lover. An artist can stand in one spot for hours, looking fondly at his subject . . . caressing endlessly with his eyes, and murmuring sweet nothings.

There are two spectacular fall happenings here in Northern New Mexico. The first is the changing of aspen trees. Aspen are known to be one of natures largest phenomena, since many trees are in fact one—they are a one root system, spreading and sprouting up out of the earth in mass, covering mountain terrain. The “quaking aspen,” are called that because their small heart-shaped leaves tremble and shimmer in a breeze. They turn vibrant gold in the autumn. Here in Santa Fe, entire mountainsides blaze with their color. The show lasts about two weeks. 

About the time that display ends, another is beginning. The mighty cottonwood trees that need more water and grow along the Rio Grande River turn bright yellow. The cottonwood is one of the largest hardwood trees in North America, with thick, fissured bark, and leaves that are flat and diamond shaped. I love to listen to the leaves when they have turned dry and brown, and some remain on the tree. When a breeze blows, the leaves bump each other and make a pleasant clacking noise.

 Yesterday, Heidi Of The Mountains worked half a day at a local art gallery, then came home and we packed up the car to go out painting. We drove north, toward Taos, and at one point the two lane road enters a narrow canyon that follows along the Rio Grande River. And this is where cottonwood trees live. They make a breathtaking display in the brilliant New Mexico light, especially on clear days when their boughs form a fan shape of golden leaves that shout with glee against the deep blue sky. The canyons, purple and grey, and spotted deep green with low lying juniper and pinon trees, lurch downward toward the blue Rio Grande River—and this completes the scene. 

Heidi's River, oil on board, 9 x 12 inches
by LORI BOONE

We found our spot, set up our easels and painted. My wife had never painted a river before. I have thirty years of practice. Once started, she went non-stop until I looked behind and saw that she was half done while I was only beginning. This is her enthusiasm that makes her throw herself into something with all her weight. I relaxed, and let myself be led by pleasure and the dance of my nervous system playing with the paints and making song with colors and brush.

The air temperature was perfect, and the gurgling river accented the silence. Nature blazed all around, giving itself to seed and glorious sight—swooning at the end of gay summer and the entrance of frosty winter. Before long, the shadows had lengthened and the sun was setting behind the plateau. We stood back and examined our efforts, gave thanks for a satisfying adventure and headed home.