When It's Springtime in the Rockies

"Spring Morning in the Rockies," 9 x 12 acrylic on canvas panel

 

"When it's springtime in the Rockies

In the Rockies far away...

The flowers with their colors are aflame... ."

                                                   --Gene Autry

Today it is 12 degrees out, sleet, snow. It has been a mild February so far, but I was still dreaming of springtime and travel and mountains and a cabin two days ago when I began a painting with that old song refrain in my head.

Now I'm really dreaming of the Rockies, New Mexico, travel, and a cabin, with the wildflowers blooming in the meadows between the evergreen forests, and lingering snow beckoning on the highest peaks in the distance.

I look at the weather map and see it's warmer in Santa Fe at 7,100 feet and Truchas at 8,000 feet with my favorite mountains, the Sangre de Cristos, the Truchas, covered with snow.

So yes, I have spring fever, and it helped me finish today's painting, palette knives and brushes, and remember Gene Autry's love song.

Mountain dreams

Los Suenos de Los Sangre de Cristos, 9 x 12 watercolor, 140# Fabriano Artistico

 Peace. When you need peace, you go to the mountains. In the autumn, with snow on the high country.
This view comes from photos of our trip to Colorado a year an a half ago, staying in Westcliff, at the base of the majestic 14,000-foot+ Sangre de Cristos. 
My goal this year, is a painting a week. Why? Because of dreams and peace.
In times like these, of turmoil and hate and division and uncertainty, peace is away from the crowd and 24-hour barrage of nonsense. It descends like snow in the  high country as you ignore the so-called "human" world, and consider creation.
Painting it, writing it, brings peace also.  Dreams.

Coffee with Clark, perking away

The sounds of coffee perking is invigorating. The the unique smell fills  the house.
Ah...memories of growing up as a kid when Mom and Dad put the coffee on in Fort Worth and Albuquerque. More memories of making coffee in the cold mornings at my Uncle Mike's in Santa Fe as the sun comes up over the Sangre de Cristos. You'd get the pot ready the night before, so you could just turn on the burner. Yes, this is his coffee pot, may have been my grandmother's.
Today in Oklahoma, we are out of the fancy new xyz-cups at a time, and the drip thingy is long gone. Alas, real coffee.

The veteran I knew best--Memorial Day thoughts

Because my Dad lost his leg jumping a freight train in Tucumcari in 1932, he did not serve in World War II. But three of his brothers did. Rex, Mike and Champ. Rex and Champ were in the Army, Rex in England, and Champ in the Aleutians. Mike joined the Navy.
It's uncle Mike who became my favorite uncle, me carrying his name as my middle name. He was the bachelor, the traveler. He sent me a balsawood, battery operated PT boat from Japan while he was serving in Korea. He taught me how to kick a football in Fort Worth. From me, he caught the mumps when we lived in Albuquerque. He showed slides of his travels to Machu Picchu and other places, working for the state department teaching English in Ecuador, Libya, Iran, Mali, Tunisia. He settled in Santa Fe, teaching at the famed Institute of American Indian Arts until retirement, making friends on all of the pueblos. Then as the years passed, we lost touch, until about 15 years ago  when I needed him most, his Santa Fe home becoming a place of refuge. 

Uncle Mike, Susan and I at La Fonda a few years ago

From him I learned much about my Dad and uncles I'd never known, in our long talks at the foot of the Sangre de Christo Mountains as the setting sun turned them purple and red, viewed from his porch. Sailor's tales of WWII and Korea added to my knowledge of history and family. We'd "run up the rooster," as he would say. A former signalman, the semaphore flag for cocktail hour was a rooster. Rum and coke, "Cuba Libre," would add to the flavor of the evenings.
Now his ashes are buried in Santa Fe National Cemetery. We buried him Nov. 10, 2011 in the place he had called home for 30 some years, just across the highway from his home, and within sight of the Sangre de Cristos.
I know this about veterans on this Memorial Day...all of them have rich stories, all of them affect more lives than they ever know. Saludos a los todos veteranos. Muchas Gracias!

Mike's view of the Sangre de Christos

Mountain church

The little church at Tecolote, N.M., first attempt, 11 by 14 watercolor on 300 pound d'Arches paper, with t he clouds towering over the Sangre de Christos in the background. The next will be better