Today is one of those rare sunny fall days in my town—as sunny as it was the day I was in Albuquerque a couple of years ago. But in the Northwest, bright weather at this time of year means a wicked cold front—which has me missing the warmth of sun-baked adobe today.
Whenever I travel closer to home, where the flora and fauna are familiar to me, my birdwatching sketches look a lot like any other in my sketchbooks: full scenes, with plenty of time taken to get the details right. (And if my subject should happen to wander away—well, if it’s something I’ve seen before, memory can usually fill in the rest.)
When I was at Big Bend, however, the combination of excitingly “exotic” wildlife and an insane amount of it made my drawings just a jumble of frantic chicken scratches and field notes.
I felt like a student in art school again, concentrating hard to commit my subjects to paper in just a few seconds, drawing and redrawing everything again and again to try to nail down anatomy and details in real time.
As you can probably guess, I like having more time to “finish” a sketch… but I also love that life drawing in a place where I don’t know bupkis keeps me on my toes.
The very same day the Tailor and I breezed by a sign painter’s version of a petroglyph, we also got to see the real thing, up close.
Of course, they were beautiful and fascinating—but what really got me was the fact that the remnants of an ancient pueblo civilization were perched above a modern suburban neighborhood…
…and that the suburban neighborhood was designed to resemble an ancient pueblo civilization.
Now, I’m already going to be on the look-out for interesting signs or bizarre billboards when I’m on the road—but I have to admit, this is pretty good way to get my attention.
If I saw this big boat sailing through Seattle rush hour traffic, it would completely make my day—gridlock or no. I guess it’s sort of a moot point for me, since I work from home, but if I had any sort of morning commute at all, I could totally see myself rockin’ it with this baby.
The Tailor and I bought two new pairs of binoculars for our trip to Big Bend last year, because we knew we could expect to do some serious birdwatching there. What we didn’t find out until the ungodly hours of our first morning in the tent: the birdlistening was every bit as intense.
Oh, sure. I love a fall full of pumpkins, bright gold trees, crisp air—all the usual stuff. But thanks to a few years spent living in southern Colorado, shiny-waxy-red chili ristras are also a sure sign of autumn in my mind. They’re not something you see around my neck of the woods, but a bright slash of red would go a long way toward keeping the grey pall of a Northwestern November at bay.
At the time of this posting, I’ll be away on a new sketching adventure (for clues as to where, check out the Facebook page—or you can wait until I post a few sketches here in two weeks!). At this time of year, my destination is known for unpredictable weather that can be all over the map. I’m just crossing my fingers that it won’t be quite so crazy as the day I drove across New Mexico in a freaking sandstorm. Just sayin’.
What’s the craziest weather you’ve ever encountered on your travels? (I’m hoping that by sharing stories online, the weather gods will be distracted from dishing it out on me during my trip…) For you fellow sketchers out there, what’s the worst weather you’ve ever sketched in?
I’ve talked before about being on Island Time—and in a weird way, this is kind of the same thing. You see, islands don’t just exist in water; you can find them in the middle of the desert, too.
The Chisos Mountains, in the heart of Big Bend National Park, rise 4,000 feet above the parched desert floor below. The elevation gain gives them a dramatically different climate than their surroundings. The name they call these types of mountains just melts my heart: sky islands.
I don’t know about you, but that reminds me of the sort of things I used to dream up when I was a kid. Of Shangri-la and castles in the air. Of quests and secrets. Of dirigibles and airships.
Who says park rangers aren’t romantics?
When the Tailor and I drove to Texas last year, we planned our return route around my decades-long desire to visit Roswell, NM. I was so excited to see what kind of alien-themed kitsch would be waiting for me that I banned myself from looking online to see exactly what was there. I just didn’t want to spoil the surprise. But I did daydream about the possibilities—giant replicas of crash-landed UFOs! Thirty-foot little green men! Alien-head-shaped doughnuts! Intergalactic ferris wheels! Postcards that glow under blacklight! Costumed interpreters! Tinfoil park-ranger hats! Saucer-shaped souvenir stands on every corner! Newsstands devoted solely to the Weekly World News! Cheesy space junk encrusting every square inch of the town! I was positively quivering with anticipation.
Well, I so want to be able to tell you that it lived up to my most ridiculous fantasies—but alas, I can’t. There weren’t alien tchotchkes everywhere, nor were we surrounded by roadside attractions. All we really found was a museum (closed that day), a couple of sparse souvenir shops, and a handful of scattered E.T. effigies—so few, in fact, that I couldn’t even fill one whole spread in my sketchbook. And that makes me sad, because just think of the things Roswell could learn from somewhere like Wall Drug!
I’ve stumbled across more UFO kitsch in completely random places than I found by scouring Roswell that day. For example, in Everett, WA is a charming saucer-shaped park shelter. There’s no connection to alien lore that I know of (except maybe its proximity to the Boeing factory), but it’s charming nonetheless. How cool would this be in Roswell?!?
And then there is the totally inexplicable—and completely awesome—pair of alien-themed barbeque (!?) restaurants in North Dakota, of all places. I got to revisit the Fargo location last summer with the Tailor—and the poor man got treated to my rant about how this was how alien kitsch was done, people. Chrome dinettes and all, thank you very much.
Oh, if only I had the means to start a proper UFO tourist trap in Roswell. It would be a beautiful (and eye-frying) thing to behold.
