This week marked the start of my community outreach events. The first stop was Hometown Days in Strasburg, Colorado—a small town about an hour east of Denver and one of the places where I harvest my colors.
Sharing the inks I’ve made from local plants was both deeply rewarding and, at times, a little frustrating. The joy came in watching people light up when they saw the colors and recognized plants they knew. The challenge came from the relentless wind. Everything needed to be anchored down—watercolor paper, lids, even pencils. More than once, the wind claimed victory.
There’s probably a lesson somewhere in those two experiences—something about nature always having the upper hand, or about the art of surrender. My great-niece certainly embraced it. She laughed as we chased runaway papers across the park and didn’t mind when a gust sent water tumbling over her painting. Her delight was a reminder: sometimes the best response to life’s disruptions is joy.
I will be hosting several of these events this season. The next is in Bennet, Co, for Bennet Days, the first weekend in September. And then again for Welby Days, the last Saturday in September. I hope you will join me for these opportunities to engage with the colors of the Eastern plains.

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The Eastern Plains of Colorado must have been a breathtaking sight in the early 1800s—thousands of bison and pronghorn roaming freely, with endless waves of grasses rippling under ever-changing winds.

This week, I stepped into that history during a visit to the Plains Conservation Center, just outside the Denver metro area. There, I spotted several herds of pronghorn and even caught a glimpse of a majestic golden eagle soaring overhead. But what struck me most was walking into one of the recreated historic sod homes—“sodies”—humble structures built from the very earth beneath our feet.

Standing inside, I couldn’t help but think of my great-grandparents, who lived in a similar home when they homesteaded this land in the late 1800s. It was a powerful, grounding experience—connecting the past to the present in a way that felt deeply personal.
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The land holds memory. Humans have shaped it, scarred it, and sometimes forgotten their role in its story. Without the vision of those who preserved this patch of prairie, we might have lost not only the landscape but also the lessons it carries. Places like the Plains Conservation Center remind us that we are part of nature, not apart from it.