Welcome to Colorful Colorado.

One week ago Ellie and I boarded a plane bound for Denver, Colorado. Other than where we would stay, we had zero plans. Inevitably, adventures ensued.

 First day in, folks. Too good. 

This day of "skiing" was followed by dinner at Woody's, home of the best pizza I have ever consumed. Or maybe I was just that tired and hungry and happy to be with such good friends...

Our friend Jessica not only picked us up from the airport and housed us for our stay, but also let us drive her silver-stallion-bullet-bug-vehicle around while she was at work, for which we are eternally grateful. Jessica, you rock.

 When Jessica has a day off, we head for Boulder. The day was spent eating sandwiches from a deli owned by a lady who, too, is a GA native and referred to us as "Georgia gaaalls" (Hey Georgia gals, need anything?... BYE GEORGIA GALS HAVE A GREAT DAY... etc.) and eating ice cream and weaving in and out of shops, even choosing a couple souvenirs along the way. We even won free maps for filling out a blank map of the USA almost perfectly correct (New England is tricky, okay?)

Candid, of course. This magnificent gem of a restaurant featuring Indian/Nepalese/Himalayan goodness: 

The Sherpa House, Golden, CO.

I told myself I was full and needed to take the rest of my spicy curry vegetable stew and naan to-go. Which I did... Only to re-open and finish approximately 16 minutes later back at Jessica's house. It's the thought that counts.

I almost cried when I ate these little angels-pancakes. A) Because Ellie and I had to hangrily walk over a mile along a highway carrying our luggage to get to this place, B) Because minutes prior I unexpectedly ran into a friend I hadn't seen in about 3 years, also in the restaurant (I always see people I know when I travel, it's weird), but mostly C) Because they were truly the pancakes of my dreams and perfect food makes me well up with pure joy. And the coffee was *free*

After the dream-pancakes, Ellie and I stashed our luggage in lockers at the Greyhound station, walked a few miles around the city, perched on the steps of the Capitol, trolled around Larimer Square, ate sandwiches, drank coffee, and eventually made it back to the Greyhound station before boarding the bus to the airport. We observed our fellow humans at the station - one shuffling around in an army fatigue and wizard cloak, a young angsty-seeming couple seemingly about to part ways, a friendly man who struck up a conversation with me by the charging station and discussed his plans to visit Chicago in hopes of assassinating a meth lord with a hefty bounty, as well as his theories regarding the missing Malaysian airplane. Soon enough, it was time to head to the airport. I wished my new friend good luck in his endeavors, returned to the bench by Ellie, gathered my belongings, and loaded the bus bound for the airport. At the airport we (again) ran into a couple friends as well as one of Ellie's professors, and soon enough we had made it on board. Sitting next to me was a very kind and very chatty man who quizzed me on my post-grad plans and commented on my "surprisingly neutral!" non-southern accent. 

And just a handful of hours later, we were home.

Spring Break 2014, thanks for being good to us.

Plantae + Polyphony.

Last Sunday I drove to Athens, Georgia for the day to visit a friend, see her amaaazzzzing/colorful/clean/bright/superbly-decorated home, eat a spectacular sandwich at The Grit, and spend some time at the state botanical gardens in the name of Capstone research.

Upon walking through the glass doors into the conservatory, I was struck by two things: a hot wall of humidity, and delightful music.

One thing (amongst a brief list of others including gothic architecture, live orchestras, and the perfect breakfast) that never fails to overwhelm me with its beauty is the sound of strong, pure voices sewn together in a polyphonic harmony, a cappella.  It is a specific thing and when it strikes, it affects me not simply on an emotional level, but physically. I find tears that have involuntarily welled up behind my eyes, and rapidly evaluate my surroundings to determine whether or not the context is suitable for said tears to escape. (Suitable contexts: dimly-lit concert halls, the comfort of my own home, etc. Unsuitable contexts: Botanical garden conservatory, crowded, mid-day...)

A group of approximately forty members comprised of both young children and men and women older than my grandparents sat in a tight group of chairs facing a central conductor who could not have been older than ten years old. I do not know what kind of group they were and I never tried to find out, as I was all too content studying the texture of maidenhair ferns and curvature of the Phlebodium aureum to such an ethereal soundtrack.

We strolled, lingered next to the ferns, met a few other friendly chatty visitors, finally identified a cactus I had been spotting across middle Georgia for a while now, pet the fuzzy tufts of Lambsear sprouting up outside (only when typing that out do I realize how weird that sounds... ugh.whateva.), and took in the goodness of an afternoon laced with sunshiny bliss. All the while I documented various specimens and gathered enough images to work from for the time being.

Day o' fun peppered with subtle productivity = success.