Thirty-Six I

Thirty-six hours, that is, driving, hiking, soaking, exploring; me and the hubster, the hubster and me. Part one begins in Florissant, at the Fossil Beds National Monument. Did you know there were giant redwoods in Colorado a bajlllion (maybe a slight exaggeration) years ago? The above photo is two fine specimens fossilized by the mud flow of a serious volcanic eruption. By expert estimation, the trees were 230 feet tall and 500 – 700 years old. Jeepers. There are others, but they didn’t photograph terribly well. Sigh.

These flowers appear much, much smaller in person. T I N Y.

Abert Squirrel on the run!

Adeline Hornbek Homestead. A real go-getter, Adeline lost two husbands and two homes, but managed, at a time when women rarely owned property, to purchase 160 acres and successfully homestead. Impressive!

Look at the clouds.

Quite possibly my favorite mountain town.

Fuzzy!

These caterpillars will turn into Milkweed Tussock Moths

Emphasis is M I N E. View of the Sangre de Christos from our door at Joyful Journey Hot Springs. GO!

I added this photo, not because it is beautiful (definitely not), but for the story. When I peered out the window of our rented room to see if any stars were out, there was a GIANT Great Horned Owl perched on the dead branch of a tree. I hollered (excited-like, not mean-like) at the hubster that we should skeedaddle outside so he could enjoy it, and I could photograph it. The moment I raised my camera, it was off like a shot. Dinner was calling, apparently.

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Road

Dare to be strong and courageous. That is the road. Venture anything.

Sherwood Anderson

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Wedding Bells

And this – wedding bells for my sweet little-no-more cousin and his lovely bride last Saturday. My goodness, Williams Peak Ranch is the most beautiful setting I’ve ever seen to exchange vows.

We had a grand time – fun and silly and chatty and so much L O V E. Here’s to a lifetime of happiness!

One week ago, in the great state of Colorado, we took three whole days off from housework. No painting, sawing, digging, cleaning, washing, shoveling, building, or destroying. It hardly seemed believable, zooting the Mini down our sleepy street before the sun had fully risen. Westward we drove, snaking through the canyons and park lands, highways 24 and 9 and 40. Clouds low and clinging, hushing the bold landscapes of granite, evergreen, sage, and tumbleweed, a nod to Portland, an old chapter blanketing this new one.

There are pages older than Portland, too – disparate parts merging and diverging, all these stories in one lifetime. Lake Dillon, glittering and beautiful, I watched it as a child, over days, seasons, and years, barefoot and happy on Ptarmigan Mountain. So much is different now, so many more people, so many more houses, so many more cars, but that lake and my memories of it, remain unchanged. I like that.

We stayed at the Hot Sulphur Springs, not-at-all fancy but wonderful, the smell lingering, in my hair, on my skin, until Wednesday. Of the nineteen pools, we had two favorites, soaking and floating for hours upon hours, daylight to the glow of sunset to darkness and stars. We loosened every muscle and forgot every care, at least for a while. We met a doe and her fawn at our window, bid them good moring and good day, conversed with a boy full of curiosity, befriending the tiniest of snakes. I laughed and dipped my toes in the Colorado. The two of us slept like the dead. And you bet we had a slice of pie, our backsides parked on a curb like a couple of kids.

And nature, always dazzling, the bees feasting on thistle, and that tiny creature (a vole?), recent lunch for some bird of prey, nose and whiskers still intact.

Homeward bound and the beautiful Gore Range. A shame to my native state, I am not a Bronco fan, AT ALL, and would rather make a fence out of skis than actually ski. But I will cheer on a burro race in Leadville and feast on burrito after burrito, any where, any time. This was in Buena Vista. Indeed.

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