WHERE NARY A WEED MAY GROW

COPPERTAILINGS                                        Clarkdale, Arizona
Original oil on gessoed board

Far up the valley and from the Mingus Mountains above, a beautiful copper furrowed field can be seen.    So compelling that I was drawn to it and spent a warm winter’s day painting this scene.  I hadn’t realized this was essentially waste from years of copper mining -- a toxic crop where nary a weed may grow and one of many unfortunate legacies of mining days past. 

But when I look back on that day it is the little details I recall … the horseback riders who came along  and chatted hello while I opened that cattle guard for them; the heavenly soft breeze and light sun that warmed my back; the ancient ruin called Tuzigoot behind me that stands as testament that once upon time this valley was a place of life.  A place of magic.

WHEN THE WHITE HORSE APPEARS...

CHILLY SLOUGH (Whitehorse)
Big Lost River Valley, Idaho.
Oil on gessoed rag board

For a brief time, I lived in the Big Lost River Valley. In this place, known as The Chilly Slough, the river appears without warning from a deep underground source, flowing through the valley, abruptly disappearing without adieu some 40 miles later. The valley is filled with fossils and Indian Paintbrush  flowers in every possible shade from bright red, peach, pink and yellow to its palest reflection. The ranching community fights to hold on to their land and way of life while wealthy out of state business interests scheme to take it from them. So many extremes, but it was a wonderful place to stop traveling, finish some writing projects and take stock of what might be next.

The locals say, “When the white horse appears, it’s the height of spring run off.” Finally, I learned what they meant – the side of one particular mountain melts off every year and reveals the image of a white horse – surprisingly elegant and sculpted and every bit as fleeting as a running horse.

THE DISTANT VIEW

 HIGH SONORAN DESERT II                           Sedona, Arizona

I like Sedona best from a distance, when the red rocks glow in the afternoon sun, when shadows turn lavender blue, and when all the hotels and condos are hidden properly from view. This is when I am free to imagine what it must have been like a thousand years ago. I hiked several of these mesas, scrambling along animal trails and through manzanita groves, always wary of hostile cactus and slumbering snakes. Sometimes coming across old ruins, the remains of stone dwellings occupied some 900 years ago where little shards of pottery can still be found, along with ancient symbols called "petroglyphs, left on stone faces by long ago artists. And on occasion, the impressions of fingertips in the mortar, left behind by the women who built these stone houses. Centuries later, my fingertips fit perfectly.