This morning I was hungry to play with fabric. I have a favorite quilt shop, a bit of a drive from The Springs, in Fountain. Let me start by saying that this is not the most beautiful time of the year on the Front Range. Everything is still hunkered down, waiting for a last blast of cold before Spring. The landscape can be downright dreary in April, when it really ought to be stretching its green arms toward wet skies, flirting with each slice of blue that winks beyond friendly clouds. I think back on how it looked in California and whisper that word to myself… desolate. When I first came to Colorado I was singularly unimpressed. Desolate, I thought at the time. Simply desolate. It
was April then, too.
Well, to bring color into my day I headed down Academy until it turned into Highway 85, bound for Nala’s Quilt Shop on Main Street in Fountain. Highway 85 is a good old road. A Route 66 in it’s own right. Motels and joints, gas stations, stop lights and train tracks. Nala’s is named for Nani and Laura, the sisters who own this shop. The building that houses their business is made of big stones, carved into squarish hunks. The ceiling is very high. The walls are covered with colorful quilts, and there is a dog. She was wearing a red and white stripe tutu today.
I found only a few pieces of the fabric that I had been hunting, but it is enough to make some napkins for my French Country kitchen. (I am redecorating.) I will take some pictures of the 1930’s wrought iron rack that I bought, my new curtains, and some of the other treasures that are turning my little 1968 dated galley kitchen into something with charm.
The best part of the trip (next to feeling fabric and eye candy on the walls of Nala’s) was being stopped by a long long long train. I counted cars and watched the wind whip dead looking trees into frantic dances. I smiled, sending warm hopes into the toast dry fields flanking my path. The Colorado prairie has its own kind of beauty when you notice how it mirrors that Western America of old; the backdrop of a Glen Ford movie or the frame of a Russell painting. The mountains of Colorado are undeniably beautiful, but the windswept prairie speaks a lovely language of its own. It is the hump of our continent, upon which rests the spine that holds this land together. I like visiting Fountain. It is sort of “Last Picture Show” quaint. I like the trains and the high strung wires, whispering in the wind.