Spring at East Otter Studio
Spring has arrived at East Otter Studio, and I’ve been spring-cleaning inside and out — clearing out corners, sweeping the barn studio, letting the fresh air move through everything. Spring here is always bittersweet. The temperatures bounce like a roller-coaster, rising and falling as quickly as our creek after a storm. Still, it’s a thrill to see the first blades of spring grass pushing through.
Out on the wooden trails, I’ve been working with the horses again, especially Chief, helping him remember the rhythm of the woods after winter. Morel mushrooms have begun to appear, tucked into the grass near the old elm trees. This week we found a dozen, cleaned them, and fried them for dinner — the first true taste of spring. Signs of turkeys, pheasants, and deer scatter the woods like little reminders that everything is waking up.
Back in early March, Tim and I gave ourselves a jump-start on spring with a trip to Las Vegas. The shift from our gentle country noises to a glitzy desert city was…dramatic. But the surprise gift of the trip was Tule Springs Ranch on the outskirts of Vegas — a quiet, unexpected treasure.
It’s a public ranch where people can picnic, fish, walk the trails, or ride horseback. In so many ways, it reminded me of the quiet I find along East Otter Creek. I kept wondering if city folks come there for the same reason I paint and walk my land — to find a slice of peace, a breath of stillness, a place where the noise falls away.
From that wondering came a seed of a story — a Las Vegas dancer drawn to the peacefulness of Tule Springs Ranch. In the gentleness of that place, she remembers who she is. She has a moment where her life begins to bloom again.
That moment became the heart of my newest painting: Where Stillness Finds Her (Tule Springs Ranch). This mini collection grows out of my love for florals and cactus — the soft and the strong, the bloom and the thorn. And now, I’ve tried something new: a portrait.
I must confess: this shift feels like a nudging from God. A quiet invitation to paint the deeper things He’s been whispering.
As spring unfolds here at East Otter — in the creek, the woods, the barn studio —I’m leaning into this new season of art. If you’d like to follow along as this mini collection grows, or if you’re curious about the stories behind each piece, I’d love to share more with you.
If this story resonates, come walk with me through this new mini collection as it blooms — and until my next travels, may beauty meet you in unexpected places.
It all begins with an idea.
Wild Horses and Painted Memories
A Journey Along Aspen Mountain Road
Recently, my husband and I took the jeep out for one of our favorite kinds of adventures—off the beaten path, deep into the wild beauty of Wyoming. We traveled along Aspen Mountain Road near Rock Springs, where the land stretches wide and quiet, untouched by towns, convenience stores, or even homes. We saw just one other car the entire day.
But what we did see was unforgettable.
Herds of wild horses roamed the range and plateaus, grazing among the sea of sagebrush in search of bunchgrass. These family groups moved with grace and purpose, living freely in the vastness of the American West. Pronghorn antelope, sage grouse, and mule deer also made appearances, adding to the sense that we were guests in a thriving, untamed ecosystem.
The horses didn’t seem bothered by our presence. We parked, picnicked, and took photos, quietly observing. One moment stood out: we recognized a horse from a previous visit—Teton. He’s well known among admirers for the striking white “M” shape on his side, reminiscent of mountain peaks. Seeing him again felt like reconnecting with an old friend.
Even more heartening was the sight of mares nursing their foals—a sign that the population is flourishing. The horses looked healthy and strong, their coats gleaming in colors and patterns that reflect a rich mix of breeds: Spanish, Arabian, and various North American lines. Each one a living portrait of resilience and beauty.
Not far from where we explored is a government holding facility managed by the Bureau of Land Management. It’s part of the effort to balance wild horse populations with the land’s capacity. Horses gathered there are available for adoption—and in fact, my husband and I have adopted two from the Salt Wells Creek area. They now live on our farm, but that’s a story for another day.
This journey reminded me why I paint. The textures of sagebrush, the movement of hooves across open land, the quiet dignity of wild creatures—all of it finds its way into my brushstrokes. These moments are more than memories; they’re inspiration.