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Wildflower Wednesday | Spring Week 13

Two hikes this week. Two very different landscapes.

Saturday morning I was in Shevlin Park for an early five miles before heading to the Farmer’s Market at Northwest Crossing. Shevlin in June is lush and shaded — Tumalo Creek running alongside the trail, ponderosa canopy overhead, the light still cool and low.

I found Cusick’s Beardtongue penstemon in that soft blue-purple, just beginning to open. Ragwort in dense yellow clusters at the end of long stems. Queen’s Cup tucked into the forest floor beside a pine cone, white and starlike against the broad green leaves. Columbine — Western red columbine — lit up by a shaft of morning sun coming through the trees, red and yellow and completely still. Blue flax leaning against an old fence rail, two blooms open at once. And buckwheat — scattered through the understory.

On Sunday I was out on Cline Buttes.

Open sky. Dry volcanic soil. Juniper and sage. The Cascades laid out on the horizon from the ridge.

Wooly groundsel blooming in tight silver-leaved clumps right at the trail’s edge. A purple fleabane with a bee in the center. And buckwheat again, everywhere, spilling over rocks and down the hillside.

Same flower. Completely different ecosystem.

That’s what I keep noticing out here. The plants that know how to adapt — that find a way in the cool forest shade and in the exposed volcanic heat — those are the ones that show up everywhere.

Still noticing.

Is there a place — or a version of yourself — that shows up in more than one kind of terrain?

The 100 Day Project — days 99-100!

“There comes a moment when you realize — you’re not trying anymore. You’ve become it.” — Thérèse Buckingham

I’ve been thinking about that quote all week. Because somewhere between Day 1 and Day 100 something shifted. I stopped striving and started simply doing. The consistency, the flexibility with myself, the painting for feeling rather than exact detail — those stopped being things I was working toward and started being just how I work.

I think this is what midlife does when you let it. Not overnight. Not dramatically. Just quietly, through repetition and returning and refusing to quit even when the plan falls apart.

For the final two days I went back to two of my favorite scenes.

On day 99 I returned to Green Lakes in the Three Sisters Wilderness — Middle Sister rising behind the water, pine trees framing the edges. This scene has shown up again and again throughout this project. It still has more to teach me. When I look at this painting I love the group of trees on the left. Loose, suggested, alive. The trees on the right? Still working on those.

On day 100 I returned to the Indian Paintbrush and Lupine above Twin Lakes at Elkhorn Crest. The colors blending behind the flowers, the green pushing into the blue of the lake. That’s what I was after. That’s what I found.

100 tiny watercolor landscape studies. Not in 100 days — in 114. And I am proud of every single one.

I got off schedule. I took a detour through the Redwoods. I had weeks that asked more of me than I had to give. I gave myself grace and came back.

Because doing something is always better than doing nothing. Flexibility is not the same as giving up. And a plan that needed to breathe is not a plan that failed.

This project began on February 22, 2026. It ended on June 15, 2026. 114 days. 100 paintings. One very good decision to begin.

This is the work I do — grounded in lived experience and guided by care.

Wildflower Wednesday | Spring Week 12

A different kind of Sunday.

We’d spent the weekend in Klamath Falls, helping Rob’s family with some work at his mother’s home. It was good work, and necessary — but by Sunday we were both running on empty. So we drove out to his uncle and aunt’s property near Keno and made our way down to the Klamath River.

Rob fished. I wandered.

The river was running fast and high, visible in glimpses through tall stands of reed and grass. The landscape was lush and layered — so different from the high desert I walk most weeks.

And then I started noticing.

Wild rose — Wood’s Rose, I think, though the varieties are hard to sort — blooming pink along the bank. Threadstalk tansymustard in bright yellow clusters. Hairy whitetop, small and white and easy to miss. Western goat’s beard with its pointed bracts. Diamond clarkia, that vivid purple-pink, right there in the open. Nevada arnica, sunny and low to the ground. Yarrow just beginning.

A damselfly landed on my finger and stayed.

Northern yellow warblers moved through the willows — I caught them with the Merlin app, then just stood and watched them. Redwing blackbirds called from everywhere.

I painted. Watercolors, sitting on a rock at the river’s edge, looking out at the water and the hillside while Rob worked the current.

And then there were the cars.

This site was a dump decades ago. Old vehicles pushed off the hillside, left where they landed. They’re still there — rusted cab shells sitting deep in the grass and shrubs, the land slowly, quietly taking them back. Wildflowers growing up through the frames. The past doesn’t disappear all at once.

On the drive home, Rob said, “I’ve thought of a word to describe you that I’ve never used before. You’re a naturalist.”

I’ve been exploring, delighting, and playing in nature since I was six years old.

I think he’s right.

Still noticing.

What pulls your attention when you step outside?

Week 14 of the 100 Day Project — days 92–98.
This week in my painting I traveled to the Blue Mountains of eastern Oregon — the Elkhorn Crest Trail in the Wallowa-Whitman National Forest, on a three-day backpacking trip last August.
We started at Marble Pass Trailhead and after hiking about six miles along the crest, descended the final mile on long switchbacks to Twin Lakes. The sides of the trail were vibrantly adorned with wildflowers the entire way down — and it was the combination of Lupine and Indian Paintbrush that stopped me most.
That’s the subject I came back to all week.
Seven paintings. One palette. Two flowers I never get tired of painting.
What I liked: — the combination of lupine and Indian Paintbrush — the purple and red together felt alive on the page — blended edges — suggested tree lines — ink lines — splatters when I remembered to add them
What I learned: — start with the flowers, then add the background. I didn’t figure this out until Day 96 — but when I did, the flowers became more prominent instead of crowded into the lower part of the frame because I hadn’t left enough room for them.
Two more days to go.
I got off schedule with trips and family time — and I’m finishing anyway. Not on the original timeline. But I’m finishing.
“Follow your curiosity: you can’t predict where it will lead you and that’s the point. Allow yourself to explore new areas of interest and creative practices and unexpected things will happen.” —
I didn’t quit. I didn’t start over. I just kept going. That’s enough.

Wildflower Wednesday | Spring Week 11

This week I was back on home ground — five miles through Shevlin Park on Bend’s west side.

I know these trails well. Nine years of walking them through every season. And yet every time I come back, there’s something new to notice.

This week: Rocky Mountain iris standing in the meadow. Rosy pussytoes in soft pink and cream. Wood’s rose with its single magenta bloom. Western columbine in red and yellow. Cinquefoil lining the trail. Silverleaf phacelia. Indian paintbrush. And a rain-soaked seedpod that caught the light in a way I couldn’t walk past.

Shevlin Park is nearly 1,000 acres of old-growth ponderosa pine, western larch, and aspen along Tumalo Creek. It has been protected since 1921, when the Shevlin-Hixon lumber company donated the land to the city — a decision driven by a man who had watched midwestern forests be completely logged and devastated, and refused to let that happen here.

I’m grateful for that decision every single time I walk these trails.

There’s something I’ve been thinking about this week. How peaceful it is to return to a place you know well. To know what to expect — and still find delight in what’s there.

I think that’s one of the quiet gifts of this season of life. We know ourselves better than we ever have. Our rhythms, our needs, what restores us. And yet we’re still capable of surprise. Still finding new things worth noticing.

That feels like enough.

Still noticing. Still finding joy in familiar places.

Is there a place you return to again and again — and what does it give you?

A detour from the 100 Day Project — and completely at peace with that.

Last week I took the scenic route.

We backpacked into Redwood National Park — nine miles out, nine miles back, ancient trees, a rocky creek, and a seven-hour drive home that left us arriving Monday night too tired to think about painting schedules.

The Sunday that usually starts each new week of this project came and went while we were still on the trail. And when we got home, the week had other expectations for me. I didn’t try to cram it in. I didn’t pretend I was still on schedule.

I gave myself permission to let it go.

Because I’ve learned — slowly, and not without some resistance — that stepping back isn’t the same as quitting. That rest isn’t failure. That sometimes the most honest thing you can do is stop pushing and let yourself breathe.

And I did paint. Just not for the project.

After hiking through the Tall Trees Grove on May 24th, we settled onto a rocky beach along Redwood Creek — swimming, sun-warmed rocks, a dragonfly drying its wings on a pile of stones I’d collected. And I painted what I saw and what I felt in that moment. No count. No framework. Just the creek, the light, and the trees.

A lesson I’m still carrying from Sarah B. Hansen — paint the feeling, not just the facts.

I wish I had asked someone to take a picture of me painting -I was so relaxed. Or I had taken a process photo of my first plain air painting.

Now I’m back. Today is Sunday — one week off schedule — and I’m starting Week 14. This week in my painting I’m on the Elkhorn Crest Trail in the Blue Mountains — a three-day backpacking trip last August, two of my favorite wildflowers, lupine and Indian Paintbrush, and the ridge above Twin Lakes.

Last week I took the scenic path away from the route I had laid out. I’m glad I did.

Small practice. Steady presence. This is how I grow.

Vitality Pillar: Nourish — Eat to Thrive

Sunday night in our house often means something on the Traeger.

This is a meal we come back to regularly — pork tenderloin with a five spice rub, smoked low and slow and finished with a homemade apricot glaze. I always cook two tenderloins at once. The three of us eat one the first night. The second gets cut up and goes into the freezer for pork fried rice later in the week. Come back next week for that post.

The rub is a blend I make myself — five spice combining anise powder, ground cloves, black pepper, sea salt, ground cinnamon, and ground fennel — rubbed generously over both tenderloins before they go on the Traeger at 225ºF. After about an hour I spread the apricot glaze over the meat and continue smoking until the internal temperature reaches 145ºF.

The glaze is simple: shallots, apricot fruit spread, ground ginger, smoked paprika, and red pepper flakes, cooked down in a small saucepan until it thickens slightly. The combination of sweet, smoky, and a little heat is what makes this meal memorable. I like St Dalfour fruit spreads because they use 100% fruit…no cane sugar and nothing artificial.

The sides this time were baked sweet potato wedges seasoned with paprika and roasted until the edges get a little crisp, sautéed broccoli finished in the oven with a splash of coconut aminos, and sliced fresh mango. The mango alongside the apricot glaze was a nice touch — a little brightness that balanced everything else in the bowl.

Roughly speaking, this meal comes in around 28–30g of protein per serving and 7–9g of fiber from the sweet potato, broccoli, and mango. Real food, real flavor, and a second meal already waiting in the freezer.

What do you do with intentional leftovers — meal prep on purpose, or does it just happen when you cook too much?

Grounded. Strong. Resilient. Nourished. Vitality in Focus.

🌼 Wildflower Wednesday | Spring Week 10

This week took me somewhere I’ve never been.

My husband and I drove seven hours southwest to Redwood National Park in California — where we met my nephew and his family at the trailhead and spent three days backpacking along Redwood Creek.

No cell service. No creature comforts. Just the forest, the river, and the people we love.

The scale of this place is hard to put into words. Ancient trees that have been standing for thousands of years. A canopy so tall it changes the quality of light beneath it. Sword ferns taller than I am. Everything layered and lush and deeply alive.

Can you find the old man of the forest hiding in one of these photos? Let me know if you spot him.

Flowers I know from decades of hiking throughout the Pacific Northwest — rhododendron, starflower, wood sorrel — but rarely see anymore living in the high desert. Old friends in a new light.

On the second day we hiked down to the river and into the Tall Trees Grove. I found a heart-shaped rock on the pebble beach. It didn’t make it home with me — But I keep thinking about it.

Coming home has been harder than I expected.

I’m tired in a way that isn’t just miles. There’s a low-grade sadness that comes with stepping back into screens and schedules and the ordinary pull of daily life.

I think it’s because I feel most alive out there. Most like myself.

Maybe that’s something worth paying attention to.

Still noticing. Still finding my way back.

When did you last feel most fully yourself — and what were you doing?

Week 13 of the 100 Day Project — days 85–91.
This week in my painting I left the Three Sisters Wilderness and traveled north to Mt. Hood — to a stretch of the Timberline Trail I hiked last August. Twenty-two miles of wildflowers and mountain views. And the asters — purple and gold against that iconic peak — that made me stop and stay a little longer.
This is the subject that found me this week.

I’m still practicing what I learned in Sarah B. Hansen’s Splashing Paint class — how to simplify a scene, how to use color to create a mood rather than a literal record, how to paint the feeling of being somewhere rather than an exact copy of a photograph.

This week something clicked.

I don’t have to match the colors in my reference photo to create something dynamic and alive. The hint of pink to purple glowing on the mountain? That’s not what Mt. Hood looked like that day. But it’s what it felt like.

And that distinction — between what something looks like and what it feels like — has been following me around all week.

Because most of my life I tried to do things the way I thought they should be done. The way others expected. I was so concerned with what my family, my friends, even strangers would think that I stopped voicing my own opinions. I played small. I colored inside the lines.

Somewhere in my fifties that started to change.

I’ve heard this is common for women in midlife — this gradual shedding of other people’s expectations. This quiet permission to stop hiding. To stop trying to please everyone and start pleasing yourself.

These little paintings feel like that to me.

Liberation from the ropes I had tied around myself.

Here I paint first. Then I draw the lines.

“Let go of who you think you’re supposed to be and embrace who you are.” — Brené Brown

What did you spend too long trying to match exactly — and what happened when you finally stopped?

Still learning. Still playing. Still practicing.

Vitality Pillar: Nourish — Eat to Thrive

I’ll be upfront with you: this is not a crowd-pleaser.

Rob was out of town when I made this. That’s not a coincidence. When you’re cooking something that lives more in the “good for you” category than the “this is amazing” category, it’s easier to answer only to yourself.

This is beef liver with kale, mushrooms, onion, and bacon — finished with sauerkraut. I grew up eating liver and onions once a month. My mom made it regularly, and I ate it with ketchup. That childhood familiarity is probably why I still make it.

The key to liver, if you’re going to try it, is layering in flavors strong enough to carry it. Bacon and onion do that work here. The sauerkraut at the end adds a brightness that cuts through everything and honestly ties the whole bowl together.

Here’s how it came together: I cooked the bacon first in a hot cast iron skillet, then set it aside. I kept some bacon fat in the pan for the vegetables — onion until translucent, then mushrooms until softened, then kale stirred in until wilted down to about a quarter of its original volume. The vegetables went into a bowl while I cooked the liver in a little more bacon fat — no more than 2–3 minutes per side, then set aside to rest before chopping into bite-sized pieces. Everything went back into the skillet together to heat through, then served in a bowl with sauerkraut on top.

Now — why bother? Because beef liver is one of the most nutrient-dense foods on the planet. It’s been called nature’s multivitamin, and the case for midlife women is particularly strong. It’s rich in heme iron, B12, CoQ10, copper, vitamin A, and folate — nutrients that address the fatigue, brain fog, and depleted iron stores that many women carry out of perimenopause. A small serving goes a long way. Once or twice a month is plenty. Swipe to see why it’s worth it.

Roughly speaking, this meal comes in around 28–30g of protein per serving and 3–4g of fiber.

Will I convince you to try it? Probably not today. But maybe I’ve planted a seed.

Grounded. Strong. Resilient. Nourished. Vitality in Focus.