Mini Palettes from Daily Life
I have a practice of creating mini palettes from passing moments in a day. Below are some of these palettes, along with the story about their inspiration.
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This beautiful tree was in a park I took a long rest break in midway through my last bikepacking trip.
That day was one of my favorite rides - a long climb on a ribbon of dirt in a sea of green hills polka-dotted with shrubs; it looked like earth’s version of leopard print. At the top, we lunched, amidst pine cones bigger than our heads. My son assumed one of his favorite cycling positions - face-in-chips. The descent was equally delicious - endless squiggles of mountain ranges against the sky and endless swooping s-curves beneath our tires.
The stuff that makes a cyclist (or any human with a heart) swoon.
As we neared our next town stop, the green faded to barren dirt. The traffic picked up. Our pedaling got more task focused. We weren’t expecting much of this small town - a necessary resupply to bridge more scenic destinations - and it delivered.
You know when you go somewhere and it just feels a little on edge? It was like that. Barking dogs and people yelling at them. Abandoned things in dusty lots. Plus extra windy, which as one of my oldest friends likes to say - is the most distressing weather. But, we found a gas station with ice cream treats and a large, shady park to consume them in, and really, that pretty much met our every, immediate need.
We decided to stay awhile. It felt like a little sanctuary in that block of trees and grass. My husband took a nap. My son read. I did an Italian lesson to keep my Duolingo streak alive.
And, then I walked around to check out the trees. They were huge, dwarfing and shielding all the nearby structures. And the bark! I didn’t notice how beautiful and colorful it was until I got close.
Does anyone know what kind of trees these are?
Eventually, we got back on the bikes and continued on. Just a little more nourished, a little more excited, a little more ready for what was next.
That day was one of my favorite rides - a long climb on a ribbon of dirt in a sea of green hills polka-dotted with shrubs; it looked like earth’s version of leopard print. At the top, we lunched, amidst pine cones bigger than our heads. My son assumed one of his favorite cycling positions - face-in-chips. The descent was equally delicious - endless squiggles of mountain ranges against the sky and endless swooping s-curves beneath our tires.
The stuff that makes a cyclist (or any human with a heart) swoon.
As we neared our next town stop, the green faded to barren dirt. The traffic picked up. Our pedaling got more task focused. We weren’t expecting much of this small town - a necessary resupply to bridge more scenic destinations - and it delivered.
You know when you go somewhere and it just feels a little on edge? It was like that. Barking dogs and people yelling at them. Abandoned things in dusty lots. Plus extra windy, which as one of my oldest friends likes to say - is the most distressing weather. But, we found a gas station with ice cream treats and a large, shady park to consume them in, and really, that pretty much met our every, immediate need.
We decided to stay awhile. It felt like a little sanctuary in that block of trees and grass. My husband took a nap. My son read. I did an Italian lesson to keep my Duolingo streak alive.
And, then I walked around to check out the trees. They were huge, dwarfing and shielding all the nearby structures. And the bark! I didn’t notice how beautiful and colorful it was until I got close.
Does anyone know what kind of trees these are?
Eventually, we got back on the bikes and continued on. Just a little more nourished, a little more excited, a little more ready for what was next.
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For Spring Break, my family went on a weeklong bikepacking trip in central California. We were looking for warm sun, big days, wildflowers, and fresh new-growth-green everything.
The trip delivered.
Perhaps a little too well in the first half - the temps were much higher than normal and our winter bodies were not adjusted. We were baking, thankful for creek swims and well-timed general stores with ice cream sandwiches.
But by our fourth day, the weather shifted to overcast and 60s; effortlessly ideal.
That day, we rode from Paso Robles up to Parkfield, along quiet rural roads winding through farms and vineyards, past lazy cows and baby sheep. We biked through waves of vibrant green hills and by open fields with gnarled ancient trees and gorgeous heads of salad greens. We crossed the San Andreas Fault.
And, we passed by these sweet cacti, an enormous riot of spikes on the side of the road. I had not expected cacti on this trip, yet here they were, and how gorgeous the color!
I shouted, “Stopping to take a picture!” to my hubby and son, and knew, soon, I would turn the photo into a mini palette.
Here it is.
The trip delivered.
Perhaps a little too well in the first half - the temps were much higher than normal and our winter bodies were not adjusted. We were baking, thankful for creek swims and well-timed general stores with ice cream sandwiches.
But by our fourth day, the weather shifted to overcast and 60s; effortlessly ideal.
That day, we rode from Paso Robles up to Parkfield, along quiet rural roads winding through farms and vineyards, past lazy cows and baby sheep. We biked through waves of vibrant green hills and by open fields with gnarled ancient trees and gorgeous heads of salad greens. We crossed the San Andreas Fault.
And, we passed by these sweet cacti, an enormous riot of spikes on the side of the road. I had not expected cacti on this trip, yet here they were, and how gorgeous the color!
I shouted, “Stopping to take a picture!” to my hubby and son, and knew, soon, I would turn the photo into a mini palette.
Here it is.
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My neighbors down the street have 4 teenagers who are all pretty social. So, there tends to be an assortment of cars parked, somewhat haphazardly, outside their house all the time. And, those cars, for some lucky reason, always seem to have an air of cool, magnetic swagger.
Like this one.
I walked by the other day and saw this old (new-to-me) convertible parked at their curb, top down. I loved how it was in this state of becoming deeply undone, yet still seemed perfectly capable of purring down the road.
Plus, those interior colors! Made even more intriguing by what time had cut open and peeled back - the pale cyan wire bits, the golden foam, the dull brown unvarnished wood of the steering wheel. And all of that playing off that still-rich burgundy red leather seat.
I had to make a mini palette of it.
So, here it is.
Really digging this one as a fall footwear colorway… What do you think?
Like this one.
I walked by the other day and saw this old (new-to-me) convertible parked at their curb, top down. I loved how it was in this state of becoming deeply undone, yet still seemed perfectly capable of purring down the road.
Plus, those interior colors! Made even more intriguing by what time had cut open and peeled back - the pale cyan wire bits, the golden foam, the dull brown unvarnished wood of the steering wheel. And all of that playing off that still-rich burgundy red leather seat.
I had to make a mini palette of it.
So, here it is.
Really digging this one as a fall footwear colorway… What do you think?
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I’m not ready for winter to end. I love the snow and the cold and the hours of quiet travel in the woods on skinny skis.
But seeing this happy array of color while walking errands yesterday gave me a buoyant bubble of joy inside.
It reminded me that on the other side of winter (and the underside of snow), there’s a whole other mix of magic.
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How many things does age and wear make more complex and beautiful? Like this 400 year old door with its patina of paint.
I spent Thanksgiving week in Paris with my husband and son. We walked everywhere, hours everyday, wandering different neighborhoods, eyes and brains open in awe, consuming nothing but delicious and charming things, of edible and visual varieties.
We were on a late afternoon stroll in the Latin Quarter when we passed by Église St-Étienne du Mont and these gorgeous doors.
All those shades of purple. Passing centuries creating a symphony out of monochrome. All the weather, of all the kinds - political, social, intellectual, environmental - that these doors have witnessed and been changed by.
How many hands have touched the wood? How many heartaches and hopes have been carried in and out of these doors? How many storms and joy have raged and receded here?
I love how time has added to the intricacy of these doors.
And I love thinking about how true that is for so many things, so many of us, especially when we remove the stigmas of age and perfection.
And so, here is a mini palette is celebration of the bounty of age and the gorgeous clouds of color in Église St-Étienne du Mont‘a doors.
(That tiny smidge of rusty magenta by the gap especially gets me.)
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Unexpected delight inside a forest service pit toilet. A friend and I met up for a mountain bike ride the other day. As we were chattering away nearing the trailhead, she interrupted our conversation with a wildly enthusiastic “Have you seen the toilet!!!!?”
I had not, and so we stopped, and WOW. This is what was inside. My familiar trailhead vault toilet transformed.
My friend told me her 5 year old daughter was so impressed with the metamorphosis that she now wants to be a bathroom artist when she grows up. (And let me tell you, this kid’s got moxie; those bathrooms will look amazing.) I love this kind of chain-reaction inspiration has - the ability to expand our ideas of what is possible, of what our potential is, of the limitless ways of approaching the ordinary to make it exceptional.
I find this kind of celebration of why-not, of color, of boldness, of brief joy encouraging, invigorating. It’s a charming reminder that inspiration can truly be found anywhere, although perhaps this particular specimen is best viewed with held breath for reasons other than awe.
Anyway, here’s a mini palette from daily life in honor of the Phils TH bathrooms.
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This is my friend, Katie Sox, rocking shoulder pads and sparkles (and high class snacks) at NICA State Champs last weekend. She’s the photographer for the Oregon league bike races. Pretty much at every race, I take pictures of her because her color and style combos are just so darn good…and because she’s Katie, one of the most tender-hearted, kind-spirited humans I know.
If you’re a fan of bikes, and especially a fan of how bikes make life better, chances are you’ve seen her photos or read her stories. Probably, they’ve made you cry and/or feel a gooey kind of goodness you want to multiply.
It’s the same kind of effect NICA has, which makes them ideal partners. If you’re unfamiliar, NICA (National Interscholastic Cycling Association) is an org committed to getting more kids on bikes. NICA is about having amazing adventures with your teammates while tackling both small and epic challenges. It’s about showing up for yourself and others and celebrating what you are able to accomplish when you put your full heart into it.
My son, Max, has been racing with NICA for the last couple years, and it’s been awesome. As a parent, I feel like I am going to explode at every event - from the joy, the nerves, the sprints to multiple viewpoints. As a human, I am blown away, so blown away, by this community of youth and adults that are cheering each other on at every success and every stumble, that are building something much greater than a bike event, that are resoundingly prioritizing collective challenge over competition.
It is beautiful. And, dang, it is powerful.
So, this mini palette from daily life? This one is dedicated to Katie Sox, Oregon’s NICA chapter, and Max’s team, Deschutes Composite - all of whom embody bikes making it better, but even more, are truly making the bike community (dare I say world?) better.
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Sometimes you get so used to something that you cease to realize how beautiful it is.
Like a mess of damp fall leaves decomposing on the sidewalk.
I took this picture on a neighborhood walk, already planning to delete it. Brown, normal leaves on ground; most overdone fall visual.
But later, I found that everytime I scrolled through my camera roll, I paused at this photo. There would be that milli-moment before full recognition where I would just be struck by the colors, run through the possibilities of what it was: spilled spices, complex tapestry, something rich and cozy and inviting. And then I would remember: common leaves on sidewalk.
When the immediate jerk of dismissal got interrupted, I noticed what I had literally been right on top of. Something familiar and gorgeous. Something fleeting and recurring. Something simple and worth seeing.
A glimmer.
And so, I made this mini palette.
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Those magenta stems! And with those lit up yellows and golden bronze!
Truly, nature is full of such wonderful delights.
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I found these crawfish exoskeletons on the shore of the lake we camped at a couple weekends ago. Fascinating how vibrant and beautiful something that’s been discarded because its lost its usefulness can be.
These are just three of a handful that I collected. Love the variation in the topside colors, from pale electric lavenders to cyan to bright blue. And the coral present on all the undersides has this association with vulnerability that makes it seem even more right.
Plus, those textures! So much to discover the closer you look.
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The evening sky on our last bikepacking trip!
The clouds were really showing off Saturday evening - such an array of textures and light, delicate strokes to big ole (well-designed) blobs.
But this little swoop really got us. Just a hook of pink, glowing up the sky. What a sweet thing to marvel.
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This mini palette is from a backpacking trip I took with my family last weekend. We hiked the loop around the Three Sisters; one of my favorite trails in one of my favorite places. It’s such dramatic landscape: forested volcanoes, red cinder cones, glacial streams, high alpine meadows studded with wildflowers and obsidian.
I love the desaturated warm tones in this landscape - natural colors that conflict with the lush greens and blues we more commonly associate with nature. These images are some of my favorite examples I saw along our trip.
I wrote about this more on @dawnraek, but one of the things I love most about these adventures is the invitation to live in the senses. Nothing to do but be and breathe and move and eat and smell and see and touch and sleep. An opportunity to feel what truly is essential, meaningful, to soak it in. There is no other experience that makes me feel quite so alive and creative.
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Are you up tor one more mini palette from bikepacking in Spain?? 🤞🏼
This was the view on one side of the town plaza in Santa Maria del Val, Spain on a late June morning around 10am.
Quiet. Paused. Sun already so high.
Empty and charming, like an unused movie set.
We stopped for cafe con leche diagonally from here, at a cafe that seemed to determine hours by demand. Sat on a shaded patio peppered with these ridiculously delicate, tiny flowers the wind had flown about.
I just loved the colors of this building with the sky, and with the truck with its spray painted dog emblem, and with that abandoned wheelbarrow (that gold!). And just the feeling that this scene would stay exactly the same all day long.
And that felt perfect.
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These are the colors that I remember most from my recent trip to Spain. Sun warmed, time worn. Subdued, softened, earthen. The colors of aged optimism, of hardy high desert flora, of history baked into stone or skin, of eons of summer condensed to a single palette.
I love their quiet, their romance, their timeless delight. And so, I made this mini palette.
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My family just returned from bikepacking Montañas Vacías in Spain. The route (which translates to “Empty Mountains”) travels hundreds of kilometers through remote countryside, linking small villages and wildly varied natural terrain.
I snapped this photo on a walk exploring Valsalobre. We had spent the previous night camped in a refugio in the Alto Tajo Nature Reserve, and as was becoming habit, we paused for a late morning snack of jamón tostadas and cafe con leche at the one bar.
Valsalobre is a quiet, charming town - like every town along the route - integrated seemingly impossibly into the contours of the land. Corkscrewed, cobblestoned streets are clustered with centuries old buildings, shuttered windows and doors, roaming stray cats, and so many colorful, delicious smelling displays of flowers.
Like this one.
I loved the healthy, hydrated hues of these succulents - especially noticeable against the rising temps - and how the magenta petals matched my laces.
And so I made this mini palette from daily life.
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I was hiking an urban section of the Deschutes River trail here in Bend with my son recently. The trail is a wonderful, natural oasis that travels through town. But, partway along, on the side of the path, is this large, concrete candy cane thing. Quite an anomaly. Not sure what its purpose is, but its paint job sure is lovely.
And so I made this mini palette from daily life.
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Snapped this on a neighborhood walk in Portland a couple weeks ago, where new buds and blooms were everywhere. It had rained earlier, magnifying all the delicious spring colors and smells.
I love how the colors here are a bridge from winter’s short, cold months to the sunny, bright ones of summer - how those exuberant creamy vanilla petals are pinned by autumnal centers, surrounded by both new growth greens and a wall the color of foggy magic.
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Did a quick day trip to Portland on Friday for my son to participate in Oregon’s Northwest Science Expo. Had a break during judging (no parents allowed!) to run a loop along the waterfront - a route that I’ve done during so many different phases of my life, including now, this one.
For whatever reason, running the bike/ped path across the river, under the Steel Bridge, has always made me feel a giddy excitement equal to finding a hidden passage behind a trap door. Gives me a fat smile.
Halfway across, I snapped this shot. I love the colors in the far graffiti - the rose with the bright golds and highlighter pink - especially against the texture and tone of the wood* and metal. And with that little bit of aqua from the foreground… now, that makes a nice palette.
(*reminds me of Chipmunk, Pantone 17-1044 TCX, which is such a great color.)
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I fell in love with contra dancing half a lifetime ago.
I walked into an old church in Winston-Salem, NC one night, filled with introverted nerves and hope, carrying very sassy bowling shoes with non-marking soles.
I left electrified.
I loved it. The live folk music. The simple dance moves. The endless ways to flourish those simple dance moves. The collective movement and effervescence. The stomping, and clapping, the spins! The dips! The flirting! The waltzing! The energy! The joy!!
I danced all the time.
I left NC for good a few years later. I found a small dance community in Colorado, and a little one in Portland later. But largely, it’s been out of my life for a long long time.
But that changed last month.
Bend has 7 contras a year, and I’ve let that small number dissuade me from going. “What’s the point?”
It makes me ridiculously happy. That’s what I was reminded of last month when I went for the first time in forever.
And it was true again this past weekend, when I went again.
Here is a mini palette from Saturday’s dance. This is my favorite contra dance skirt. It twirls splendidly. And this is the perfect wallpaper in the Pine Forest Grange paired with it. And this is me about to dance.
(Also, come dance with me!)
(Also, do you do something you absolutely adore that you’re pretty certain people would never guess about you?)
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The skiing has been so good!! Spent the weekend playing in the trees and bowls on Bachelor with my family, taking turns leading each other through deep new snow, each of us having our own unique adventure flavor when crafting the perfect run. My legs are happy!
I love how the trees here look after a storm, especially at treeline where they entirely (or almost so) disappear under a crust of snow, the wind direction frozen in their skeleton-like outlines. Weaving through their white cathedral, occasionally hitting a snag that plinks out an icy chorus, with the burn of winter in my nose, it’s a pretty great way to spend the day.
Made this mini palette from a tree a little further down that caught my eye with its bright wolf lichen.
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Dang, I can make a good salad. This one gave me this image of my microbiome waving in celebration like one of those car dealership balloon men.
…and it inspired me to make a mini palette from (a very routine part of) daily life.
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We have a very awesome bookstore in our neighborhood, Roundabout Books. And they have this very amazing stack of books that creates the shelf that their cafe counter rests on.
I love how it’s not perfect. I love all the different shades of paper. I love the little hints of color and gold leaf. I love how the pages - the body - of the book is the focus, not the cover. I love how I’m not quite sure if the books are decorative or if they are indeed holding up the weight of the counter. I’m believing the latter, and not investigating to confirm.
Anyway, walked here yesterday with my son so he could pick out a birthday present for a friend. Snapped this pic. Made this palette.
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For the past four years, @bikepackingcom has invited folks around the world to spend a night out camping the last week of the year, a way to say goodbye to the current year and hello to the new.
And for the past four years, our family has participated, riding from our home into the woods, sometimes entirely on snow, but sometimes - like this year - mostly without. It’s given us this annual metronome, this yearly capsule to take a moment to assess, feel, and anticipate. Its felt like mischief and therapy rolled into one, and I love it. Love it.
This year, two dear friends joined us, and we set out on singletrack from home, eventually reaching snow line, before dipping down to skirt the Deschutes River. We bedded down in intermittent rain in a winter-browned meadow, watched the moon rise, slept almost the entire length of dark.
This was what the sky and the light looked like in the morning. Glorious. Quiet. Warm. Fleeting and gorgeous.
And here is a mini palette in its honor.
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Earlier this year, a mathematically-inclined, shape hobbyist named David Smith discovered a new aperiodic monotile or “einstein” - the geometric term for a shape that can infinitely tile a flat surface in a non-repeating pattern. It’s been nicknamed “the hat” given its jaunty, fedora-like shape.
The National Museum of Mathematics in New York and the United Kingdom Mathematics Trust in London responded to his discovery by running a joint contest inviting the public to create their most expressive interpretations of the einstein. The awards were presented last week.
Evan Brock, an exhibit designer in Toronto, won one of the top prizes with his potato-and-onion filled, “hat”-shaped ravioli, naturally colored with turmeric (yellow), carrot (orange), beet (pink), and spinach (green). Like the judges, I love his whimsical yet precise execution of a “more geometric dining experience”.
This mini palette is inspired by Evan’s artistry.
I love geometry. It changed the trajectory of my career. Forever a math fan, I was going to be an engineer until I took an advanced geometry class my senior year of high school and became fascinated with patterns. Amidst studying endless renditions of kites and darts, I decided, at the last minute, to change the one college application I could still revise from engineering school to design school. I wanted to keep exploring the intersection of math with art. I’m so thankful for that inspiration and how it changed the course of my life.
Here’s to curiosity and where it takes us!
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For Thanksgiving, my family flew back to Wisconsin to spend the holiday with my in-laws.
It was lovely - fish fry, back-to-back Scrabble games, running trains on my father-in-law’s handcrafted layout, raw beautiful conversations about love and life’s finality, and strings of mini frigid walks under ever-changing sky and light.
For the first time in over 20 years of visiting, I noticed this art, hanging on the wall behind the tv, and loved the (ideally imperfect) symmetry, the layers of details, the colors. Then I learned my mother-in-law painted it over 40 years ago, in addition to another small painting in the kitchen, that I’ve always attributed to some well-known artist. Funny to learn how well I do know that artist.
So, this one is dedicated to Rose Marie and her creativity, and how much more I can still learn about and from her.
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There’s a loop on the Deschutes River trail that I run weekly in the late afternoon, while my son is working on a science research project nearby.
Every single time I feel lit up with luck - to be moving alongside wild water, on dirt, amongst big trees and lava rock, so immediately close to town (actually in town), watching the seasons change.
Currently, I’ve been acutely aware of the shortening days, and very much in love with the trails covered in a soft, golden brown layer of fallen ponderosa pine needles. (My favorite color now.)
I snapped this shot at the end of my last run, just before it got dark - the trail surface beneath a juniper. So many colors when I really look.
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I love fall. The manic weather, the wide swings in temperature, the dramatic skies, the smell of the earth settling and decaying.
Like pretty much everyone, I’ve been in awe of the colors the last several weeks - everyday a new unexpected burst, eventually a last persistent hurrah, and then a steady march of dulling, slumping, releasing back into the ground, mingled with all the rest.
It’s been freezing here in Central Oregon. The trails are in primo riding condition. The mountains are gathering snow. And the bushes and brush are weighted with frost - their colors saturated and dying.
I loved the regal and triumphant colors in this vegetation, in a neighbor’s front yard, that I paused at during a recent cold morning walk. And so I made a palette…
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Certainly not the first person to stop and take a bazillion pictures of this smushed car on Vancouver Island, covered in graffiti and stickers, slowly getting overtaken by determined vegetation.
But maybe the first to create a color palette from it?
I came across it while bikepacking #treetosea with my family this summer. Was a fun excuse to stop, read all the random messages, and eat more snacks.
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My husband was recently in Japan on business. His trip wrapped around a weekend, and so he had a good chunk of time to wander and wonder, explore and eat. All of which he is very good at. :)
He would send me texts as he walked. Vignettes from the hours he spent meandering. Slices of color and pattern, texture and light that struck him as important to record in his memory or with his camera, to share.
He sent me this image, specifically with this mini palette exercise of mine in mind. It’s the corner of a meditation mat that he saw in Engakuji Temple, a Zen temple in Kamakura.
I am drawn to the classic feel of these colors. The neutrals soft, the blue serious. There’s the contrast of the wood showing age and wear from water or rain or weather or sweat against the crisp weave of the mat showing none of this, not a fiber rubbed free. And that blue, stately and rich even as it reveals a few signs of time.
Timeless confidence. Grounded calm.
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I love walking. Moving body and mind in a purposeful, thoughtful, easy way. A chance to notice shifts in weather, neighborhoods, smells, growth. As much as possible, I walk (or bike) most errands. (Even more so since reading Built to Move. Have you read it? Fascinating.)
Anyway, I was walking to @bendfamilykitchen for my volunteer shift the other day. There’s a healthy dose of road construction going on along my route. Several large road work signs were propped up on the sidewalk, facing the opposite way I was traveling. I’ve never stopped to notice the backside of construction signs before, but this day I did.
Big geometry nerd here, and I love that tiling pattern, especially the stitch-texture outlines that - depending on the light - looked salmon-y or yellow. Been digging camel tones for awhile, and I like how the metal finish eroded along the edge to reveal a bronzed patch. Up close, the typical caution orange read more coral, and that felt like a zip of summer.
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I spent a quick day in Portland recently, a place I used to live. My son was participating in a statewide science fair, and I had a small block of time to wander around downtown solo. It was one of those perfect Portland spring days. The sun was bright but cool. The fragrance of spring blooms was potent with recent rain; petals spilled onto the sidewalks. There was that extra cheer in the air that returns with the sunshine.
I walked by a big sculpture made up of multiple old bikes. Loved this combo of colors on one - the buoyancy of the brighter colors tempered by the grays, that little bit of rusted red that adds the ideal zip.
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