Since 2007, Hailey and I have made a special long-weekend trip in the fall to Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Yep, the same Steamboat Springs that seems to grace every other post on this blog. I know. We go there a lot. However, it just keeps revealing itself to me in new ways, each time.

Each time we go there, whether its in July, the dead of winter, or even mud season at the tail end of April, this wholesome little cow-town with a massive ski resort glued to its hip seems to get more and more nuanced for us. With all due respect, I don’t think many other Colorado towns would stay fresh after so many visits.

This trip, however, had a different complexion to it, and that’s because of three ingredients: 1) our six-month-old daughter Varenna (now eight months old); 2) our good friends Tim, Lexi and their 19-month-old daughter Cora; and 3) our friend Jenny, who is expecting her first in March with her husband Matt, my best friend. This made September’s trip — dare I say it — a “family friendly adventure.” God, what a hideous cliche, but that’s the new reality. We get excited about places where our rambunctious little girl can be her most rambunctious, and playmates are an added bonus.

For the previous two falls, we’ve done this fall color trip with the Jordayzerton crew — the aforementioned folks, plus Stu and Shannon Kilzer. Unfortunately, this year, it didn’t quite work out that we could get everyone to come. Matt had a fencing tournament, and Stu and Shannon had a family emergency. Even the Lambertons had to head back early, but all was not lost. By Saturday afternoon, we did our traditional drive up Buffalo Pass to drink in the endless expanse of golden aspens that drape across the Zirkel Mountains.

We’ve had better years for color, in particular, the 2008 trip when every tree was 100% vibrant yellow, gold and red all at the same time (must have something to do with the dry spell we’ve had since July). But whatever we lacked for in this trip was made up for by our two girls, Varenna and Cora.

Their curiosity and enthusiasm for being outside was infectious. Varenna even figured out what my camera does. At one point while she was in the Baby Bjorn carrier, we ran down a road while I held the camera out and fired shots back at the two of us (third from top). She quickly picked up on how her face appeared on the camera back, which inspired only more giggles. Daddy’s little girl …

Tim and Lexi parted ways with us from Buffalo Pass, with their Saturday night of driving back to Denver in front of them. Through Monday, it was just us and Jenny, hanging out at the condo, going for walks, and letting Varenna explore things like aspen leaves with her fingers … until they ended up in her mouth. Such is travel with an infant, but if this weekend was any indication of the future — of seeking out other kids, other new parents, and laid back activities like going to the bookstore for two hours — that’s fine with me.

We were in Snowmass so I could attend the Colorado Governor’s Conference on Tourism. I spent much of the time in conference rooms, banquets and exhibit halls, while Hailey and Varenna got to explore. By Friday, however, I was liberated from the indoors and allowed a few hours to see Maroon Bells (above), the most famous mountains in Colorado, if not North America. They were stunning.

More to come … but first I’d like to plow through the rest of Telluride, Mesa Verde and Pagosa Springs.

And for the record, after these past three months, I am more in love with Colorado than ever before.

Just by the barn, I discovered a few clumps of lupine, their crisp leaves and candy-like blossoms at their most perfect.

By now my jean cuffs were soaked to the knee from walking through the tall heather, but I was genuinely loving every minute of this. It wasn’t just the freedom to wander and shoot images, but the conditions were exceptional, too. Any kind of photographer dreams of moments like this where all the elements converge in a beautiful way — light, shadow, color; nature, architecture, highway. Everything looked magical, and I had the whole scene to myself.

To photograph the lupine and grass pods, I crouched low and shot into the sun with two prime lenses — a 50mm f/1.8 and a 24mm f/1.4. With less glass than a zoom lens, I find the compositions simpler and less prone to nasty flares.

As I trudged through the thick grass back to the road, the burn off was beginning. Fog strands were peeling back and revealing a remarkable summer blue sky. A robin perched on a nearby fence post, swallows wheeled in the air eating mosquitos, and an occasional pickup truck drove by at 10 mph. Surely the drivers were savoring the remarkable moment, too, unwilling to do the posted 25 mph.

I’ll take fog over sun any morning. Perhaps I say that because I was born and raised in Colorado, where fog is uncommon and usually gone before I’m out of bed.

Well, I now have an infant in my life (as I seem to mention in every post), which means 6:30am kinda counts as sleeping in. On the Fourth of July, we had a wet and very cold evening that made the prospect of fireworks with our little girl even less appealing. We watched Return of the Jedi on Spike TV and crashed. Upon waking up at 6am, I discovered a soupy fog had descended on the Yampa River Valley. After brewing a pot of coffee and changing into jeans and a sweatshirt, I was off, leaving my two girls sleeping soundly at the condo.

Varenna was born on a day that started out foggy. I remember that weather distinctly because it was so unusual and I knew this was it — Hailey having contractions seated in her rocking chair … me seated on a stool next to her with a stop watch …  the world outside muffled by a thick veil of fog.

And that’s what it is about fog: it is intimate. Broad landscapes become contained, virtually indoor, and the richness of the world’s color comes through.

This was a heavy, heavy fog. Driving down Walton Creek Rd. toward U.S. 40, I was in limbo about where to head for my shots. There were two barns that immediately came to mind. One of them I had photographed a ridiculous amount of times; the other was the one everybody photographed. But I opted for the latter instead because it was close (above two photos). It’s behind a few stores, off a rather unassuming road, and on top of a hill by a construction site. It’s a bit of a let down at first. And yet, it has graced magazine covers, tourism websites and postcards as the emblem of Steamboat. An old Western barn, set in front of the ski area. Perfect dichotomy of old and new, the Wild West and the Recreating West, right?

As a photographer, those postcard shots are nice and exciting for a few years (and clearly, they are marketable), but there is something electrifying about shooting an icon in unexpected conditions. It forces the viewer to reconsider the whole scene. That’s what art is all about.

The fog wasn’t lifting and my coffee wasn’t cold yet. I decided to head for the second barn and see what I’d find. That was when things got magical…

It didn’t, but the green grass and evening sunlight was pretty.

You’d have to believe that sooner or later, this barn — and the iconic one that graces every promotional campaign for Steamboat Springs — will collapse in the night. They’re too old and frail. Of course, they say the same thing about Delicate Arch. For now, this run-down structure is what makes Steamboat, Steamboat.

About 36 hours later, I had a magical hour in the fog photographing this barn. Those images to come in another post later this week …

My graduation gift from high school was a Nikon FM — a mechanical SLR camera from the late 1970s. Because it lacked a brain of any kind, I had to tell it to do everything, and that was the joy of it. I would take two shots of the same thing as much as I could: f/3.2 for the first one, f/22 for the second one. Then I’d play with shutter speeds. Two shots of the same thing became four. And so on.

My first test subjects in the summer of 1997 were Colorado’s wildflowers. I was always in the mountains at that age, if not every weekend, then at least every other weekend, and from late June to early August, the meadows of the Rockies were exploding with color.

This past weekend, Hailey and I and our four-month-old daughter Varenna drove to Steamboat Springs to celebrate the Fourth of July. As we climbed Rabbit Ears Pass, our little girl became antsy — mouth clenched, gutteral “uhhhs” emanating from her throat, kicks to the side of the sunshade on her car seat … OK, we get the point Varenna. You want to be held. You want out. Can’t blame you.

Near the crest of the pass, there is a turn off U.S. 40 where a flat and massive meadow opens to the north, forming a brilliant green apron beneath Rabbit Ears Peak. We pulled off onto the dirt road and bounced along to Dumont Lake, a serene and idyllic lake that has recently been tarnished by beetle-killed pine trees. The wildflowers, however, remain profuse and stunning, with columbine, paintbrush, lupine and glacier lilies decorating the meadows with purple, red, blue and yellow.

Our stop was only 45 minutes, but it gave Renna a break from her carseat and allowed me some time to compose these wildflower shots. Getting a pretty wildflower shot isn’t hard. Getting an original one is. On that account, I don’t know that I got one, but it was a lot of fun trying.

Soon the sky grew dark, the wind kicked up and thunder rolled over the hills beneath the lake. We buckled our little girl back into her seat and drove into the rain…

Silence. An earth-rocking, soul-stirring realization in the middle of bitter-cold ranch country outside Kremmling, Colorado. Exactly what a new parent needs: Fresh air and a deafening absence of sound.

It was a Friday afternoon, the last day of April. I’d left work early, and the three of us — me, Hailey and our little daughter Varenna — had made our way to the mountains through sun, snow and their indignant cross-breed, the sunny-blizzard. Our venture would take us to the usual place — Steamboat Springs — for some needed rest and relaxation. But for the moment, I was on the side of the road, hands in pockets and facing the wind, staring at the empty land while Hailey fed our groggy little girl. Getting out of the car meant getting in touch with things. It meant shooting a few frames on my camera.

In the grassy field were a pair of sandhill cranes — perhaps my favorite birds in Colorado. Gawky, golden with a red patch between the eyes, they poked about the grass and lifted elegantly on short breezes, their wings expanding to make use of the wind for a few seconds. What I would have given to have them unleash that awkward, clamorous call of theirs … but they never did. They poked for bugs.

And then, a different calling: over Rabbit Ears Pass by dark. Back in the car, on the road, and five frames in my digital camera. It was good to be back traveling and shooting.

We were there for the weekend of the Balloon Rodeo, a festival devoted to all things colorful and filled with hot air. What’s a balloon rodeo you say? Well, I’m not sure entirely, but based on attending the event, I think it goes like this: 30 balloons take flight during the first 90 minutes of daylight, and if the wind doesn’t send them down the valley, they compete in goofy games like a beanbag toss. Cattle, broncos and clowns have nothing to do with it … and PETA is no where to be found either.

Many of these shots were taken by my lovely wife Hailey, as she attended both Saturday and Sunday mornings’ festivities. (I went hiking all day with my buddy Tim Lamberton on Saturday…pics of that to come later).

As you’ll notice from many of my posts, Steamboat Springs is becoming a go-to hangout for us. We have access to a condo up there, and since its a good three hours from Denver, it’s right in that sweet spot: close enough to be convenient, far enough away to fully unplug.

Along for the trip were Hailey’s parents, our good friend Jenny Jordan (minus her husband Matt, who was at U.S. Nationals for Fencing) and the Lambertons. We drove up Friday, looked for moose on Rabbit Ears Pass, dined downtown, hiked Saturday while everyone else went to the Balloon Rodeo and the Art Fair, and then Sunday we all went tubing down the Yampa River. Sunday night’s drive home was a bit mournful — I’m increasingly having a harder time leaving the mountains after a weekend like that.

So anyway, back to the rodeo.

The balloons’ mass ascension takes place in a field just south of town. One of the “rodeo tasks” is to lift off, then dip the basket into this lake and lift back up again.

We also learned that the Upper Yampa River Valley is ideal for ballooning because of its “box winds.” At lower elevations, the winds take you down valley, but as you get higher up, they take you back up the valley. Doesn’t always work, but when it does, it saves gas for the chase vehicle.

OK, coming up I’ll have images from my day hike with Tim, photographs from John and Jodi’s wedding, plus a very personal project that involves the white seamless and almost everyone from my mom’s side of the family.

This past weekend, Hailey and I headed up to the family condo in Steamboat Springs, Colorado and had ourselves a little fun on 65-inches of packed powder. We even bought some skis. Yes, hard to believe, but this native Coloradan of nearly 30 years has never owned a pair of skis. Sad, shocking, sacrilegious even (to some). Alas, I’m now official. Funny thing is, I have always loved skiing. I’ve loved it since I started taking lessons with the Eskimo Ski Club in sixth grade up at Winter Park. But I’ve always rented, and until this family condo came within reach, I’ve conveniently put off buying skis because I didn’t see myself skiing often enough. Chalk that up to the exorbitant price of lift tickets and the horrific traffic on I-70.

Anyway, the weather over the weekend was splendid. Endless, uninterrupted blue sky (just look at that sky above left…photo credit goes to Hailey on that one), highs in the 40s and zero wind. While I haven’t yet figured out how to juggle skiing with photography, I did come up with a good strategy for shooting Steamboat this weekend. If I have a problem with shooting up there, its that I’m getting too familiar with the place. I need to see it new again, each time, which gets harder with each trip. So, my new plan is this: less is more.

Rather than drive all over the place looking for new things to capture, I’m just going to pick one or two spots and really work at them. In the case of MLK weekend, I picked the iconic Rabbit Ears Motel sign and the famous Steamboat barn, one at blue hour, the other in mid-morning when the ski area has emerged from shadow.

The heart was a nice touch and not done by us. Thanks to whomever drew it in the snow ahead of our visit.

Things are a-brewing for Hailey and I. We’re piecing together a vacation, one that promises to be ever-so-photogenic. I’ll let you know where we’re headed once we’re confirmed.

For Category 2, we have Landscapes and Nature lumped into one. This is a category that relies heavily on being at the right place at the right time, something I had a lot of luck with in 2008. Still ahead: food, people in places and portraits. The poll is at the bottom of this post.

#1. Blooming daisies, Positano, Italy.

#2. Buffalo Pass Road in fall, near Steamboat Springs, Colorado.

#3. Hand passing through lupine, Crested Butte, Colorado.

#4. Lone cypress and blazing fog at dawn, Chianti (Tuscany), Italy.

#5. Rosy paintbrush beneath Maroon Bells, near Aspen, Colorado.

#6. Clam shell on polished pebbles, Nauset Beach, Orleans, Massachusetts.

#7. Green fields of Chianti and passing storm, Badesse (Tuscany), Italy.

And here’s the poll. Would love comments, too, on why you picked what you did. Your feedback is invaluable.