Artistic Inspiration

Enamel earrings inspired by the color of Bradford Pear leaves.

In “Colorful Colorado” nature imposes herself on our senses throughout the year. We are blessed with a kaleidoscope of continuous change and vitality. We watch nearly in awe as our mountains and our prairie transition from season to season, from arid to lush, lifeless to effervescent, in an endless story of birth and resurrection. But for those of us lucky enough to possess one in our yard, of all of nature’s showpieces and specimens, none surpasses the majestic Bradford Pear in her display of colors and natural hues.

In the spring our Bradford Pear explodes into a massive tuft of cotton candy, urgently demanding our attention before an errant breeze can scatter her blossoms across the lawn like driven snow. Summer’s warmth brings forth her foliage, so dense that it conceals the space it occupies, affording a canopy of shade to the lawn, nesting spaces for birds, and refuge for squirrels.  When fall arrives, the pear expends the energy that she has hoarded throughout the summer. It is as if her leaves attempt to re-bloom, as she becomes a palette for a thousand shades of yellow, burning into orange, then crimson, then copper. Then finally, exhausted and spent, her leaves take flight with the first winter blast, to reveal the silhouette of her limbs in a pointillist sea of tiny sugar pears that remain to sustain her resident birds and squirrels throughout the winter.

The Bradford Pear leaves us not only with memories of her grandeur, but also with artistic inspiration. If only to capture one single moment of her glorious transition - into jewelry! I waited breathlessly for the radiance of the kiln to subside, and for the glow of the enamel to “fit” itself into its final glaze, to know if I had been able to replicate that instant when she “bloomed” her final golden farewell to this season. 

This pair of dangle earrings holds true to the promise of enamel jewelry for its beautiful color and gorgeous, glossy finish.

Nature's Paintbrush

January Colorado Sunset

A few Moments Earlier

"Mother Nature has taken out her paintbrush again..." I said to the person driving the car, as I pointed to the sunset and reached for my camera. "And what a beautiful palette!" Mindlessly, I said these things to that slavish reader of Discover Magazine, memorizer of scientific factoids, analyzer of natural phenomena, rejecter of all things mystical and magical: my husband. Without even pausing to consider the inevitable scientific explanations.
He did not disappoint.
"Nonsense." He said. "Colorado sunsets over the prairie are beautiful because the physics of sunlight works well here."
Told you.
"Of course," I humored him. "And everyone knows that the skies are redder at sunset than at sunrise because…" Here he would normally complete the sentence for me. He disappointed.
"… because," I labored on.… "…because of that train whistle effect? Don’t they call it red-shifting?" It made sense to me. You know, as the earth spins towards the sun in the morning and away in the evening?
"You mean the doppler effect?" Now he did not disappoint, completing my thought. "That only works with sound. Applying it to sunlight would contradict Einstein’s theory of relativity, which requires that light travel at a universally constant speed without regard to the motion of the observer."
Quickly, before my eyes could glaze over, I snapped another picture.
I flashed him an indulgent little smile, then plodded on. "Of course. Everyone knows that sunsets are caused by all that stuff in the atmosphere, aerosols, pollution, particles…" even though I sensed his lack of conviction, still I soldiered on. "… and because the air is warmer, and more humid in the evenings than in the early morning." Did I also mention that he is a stoic? I saw his head nodding slightly forward in a kind of grim determination not to disagree with any of my continuing observations. So I gave him my summation: "I just wanted to see if you were paying attention."
"Think rainbows," He offered. His patient inner professor had found its voice. "Think how, after a rain, the water droplets in the air scatter and bend sunlight into its various wavelengths like a prism, which our eyes interpret as color. When the sun is on the horizon its light must travel through many more miles of Earth’s atmosphere than when it is overhead. It scatters the shorter blue frequencies, causing the sky to appear blue, and leaves only the red for us to see on the horizon. And since, on the Great Plains, clouds almost always form in the west in the evening, they provide a dense canvas for…?"
I refused to help him out. I just wanted to hear him say it. I continued snapping photos, capturing every swirl of Mother Nature’s hand.

On a Personal Note...

Tarabino Inn, Trinidad, Colorado

One of our favorite places on this planet is Trinidad, Colorado, just as the leaves of autumn begin to show on the mountain slopes. In this historical mining town, we gather each year with three other couples that we knew in the springtime of our lives. Before we went our separate ways we all lived in Wiley, Colorado, a sleepy little village of 400 or so farmers, ranchers, and migrant workers (that would be US, as we have all long since moved on to other climes and endeavors.)
     Our reunions have moved well beyond the endless reminiscing about the past. We are not any kind of sequel to “The Big Chill” or “The Four Seasons.” Instead, we savor the moment, and the earthy, lush, piedmont of Trinidad. We simply enjoy one another as we spend a weekend yard saleing, antiqueing, and boutiqueing. Or sampling the home made breads, goat cheeses, and locally grown produce at the farmer’s market.
     The consensus of our group is that Rino’s Italian Restaurant, located in a magnificent old Methodist Church, is Colorado’s only 5 ½ star restaurant. The half star is awarded to the owner, Frank Cordoba, for the live musical entertainment ranging from Elvis to Italian arias. (Reservations highly recommended.)
     We plan ahead each year and select interesting accommodations, which have ranged from a former bordello above Blackjack’s saloon, to the historic Tarabino House, now a bed and breakfast. The three story mansion, built by Italian immigrants cum retail magnates, lends its own story of elegant fragility as we renew relationships that would tarnish if neglected.

Lamar

More Americans now live in foreign countries than have ever lived in small towns across our great land.

Actually, I just invented that statistic. But it seems like it could be true. Our urban cousins who come to visit us on the high plains of Southeastern Colorado often arrive with a sense of wonder at the absence of civilization here. For Europeans, it is an eye-popping experience to drive south from Denver for over 200 miles without passing through a single stoplight, or even seeing a stop sign along the way.

Three times each week we walk to the fitness center at the local Community College, about a mile from our home. We take a path that leads under a bridge, along Willow Creek, through a grove of cottonwood trees, passing by a sandstone monument marking the location where Zebulon Pike’s party camped in 1806 as he passed through this area.

A small herd of deer makes its home in this wooded area; they stand like statues as we pass by, within just a few feet of their fawns. Birders know this tiny oasis as a special place where over 300 species stop each year during their annual migration. So we are always keen to new chirps and feathers along the way.

We may not have a metropolitan museum, or a professional sports franchise in little Lamar, but how can one not be equally inspired by the cacophony of cattails, willows, thistles and wildlife that is just outside our door?