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Issue #131, Spudfest, Carbondale and Chautauqua, October 2006. A trip is made in early October, 2006 (the height of potato season) to a high Colorado valley famed for potates, where the 14th annual Spudfest celebration is held. Later in the month, haiku writers Patrick Lynn, Krista Morien, David Harper, Sanjay Rajan Sara Benson and Jonathan Machen make an annual trek to the base of the Flatirons for a group kukai. All images by Jonathan Machen.
a rainy misty morning
the clouds break over town
shadow in valley fog
bovines in grass
meal in mountain mist
dominoes guy
drops cigarette butt in pool
on edge of asphalt
morning rain puddle
cattle steaming under fog
fresh october morn
lone cottonwood
yet filling the entire valley
yellow splendor
sock puppets
abandoned in the grass
the moment now gone
shaggy manes
pushing through plastic
determined to thrive
summit of sopris
enigmatic, while city
basks in sun below
early season storms
bring snow to mt. sopris
clouds thicken, wind blows
black, floppy-eared:
house rabbit between the legs
of spud visitors
spuds strangely absent
from potato festival -
searching for a sack
point of irony:
can't find bag of spuds
in famed spud valley
a string of lights
over spud toppings
warm october cheer
almost anything
can lie on top of a spud
but only one can win
organic russets
thick-skinned, pulled from cellar
just days ago
forming voters' block
children decide that ice cream
wins the least healthy
fourteenth annual
spudfest has its artifacts:
spud platters, trophies
screw the rules
five-seven-whatever
flags, dogs, babies
the wonder of the spud
the fruit of the earth
that has fed so many,
diversified from
a peruvian experiment
in nutrition,
now a mass-produced icon
of the corporate world
genetically modified,
hybridized,
finally arrayed
in a carbondale household
a reason for a social gathering -
not christmas, thanksgiving
or halloween -
but spudfest!
cool breeze made
my face tense up, lips parched
sun peeks past the clouds
crunching through the snow
wondering when that drip of snot
will fall from my nose
normally i leave
the trail behind
today it comes with
where to place my book
so it doesn't go down
the porta-potty
amazing silence
yet so close
to chaos of 29th
no pretty words
to describe
the sludge on my shoes
not for long
will frozen ground remain -
temperamental day
trio of climbers
pause to check me out
"like our carabiners"?
snow pillows nestled
on a tree branch going to
fall on the tree shaker
out of control
trail into the bushes
were there giggles or tears?
figure eights
ended abruptly
in a leap
angels sprawled
across snow
doggie spontaneity
imagining her
expensive thong underwear
riding up her crack
atop flatiron one
mystery man sit
perhaps in my mind
leaving her husband
and his immense house
taking the dog
summit of sopris
turbulent and cloudy
wet valley morning
mud, mud, mud, mud, mud
mud, mud, mud, mud, mud
wet dirt
moon boot print iced up
will be there till
after the snow melts
aspen leaves
gone crisp
rustle in october air
pretending i'm a tree
miles of birdsong stretch out
in all directions
sparkle and shimmer
snow retains this
october sun
balloons and roses
at the base of chautauqua
wedding cheer in the snow
joint stiff
on all these plane rides
no chautauqua hikers
too many layers on
to pull my underwear up
correctly
steep slick trail
an afterthought in summer
now a luge run
resting in the moment
on which eternity sits
filled with sadness and love
a herd of runners
suddenly bursts through the woods
mistaking me for prey?
as long as his feet
are touching the snow
siberian husky glides
that asian man's dog
doesn't understand chinese
any better than me
warm hug
from an old friend
on a cold day
like a giant magnet
unable to avert my eyes
from flatiron presence
mountain silence
occasionally broken
by crow gone hoarse
mug slips
chai spills
snow sudden red
perfectly white rooftops
seem to beckon me
to run up and down them
crunch of lone hiker
on icy path in shade
calling for his dogs
sunday snooze
til 9:30
sandwiched between goldens
a quiet thank you
as i step aside for the
dark foreign woman
mojito happy
knowin' there is
such thing as snow
ice crackle
under snow better
crackle than slip
haiku energy
all spent up on slippery slope
don't fall focus
tail like bottle-brush
black squirrel evades
my slow digital
as if autumn weeds
not trampled enough by snow
sledders complete task
140 pounds
of doggie muscles
my jacket pulled sideways
reminded again
of how much
i rely on sunshine
the woods disappear
and reappear as my mind
turns on and off
fingers frigid
yet mind fresh
for damn haikus
tired post-it
more tired
than doggie days
drip drop pattern
under the tree reminds me
winter is transcendent
shadows longer,
twilight feel at noon
under the trees
so much snow on the
ground - you'd think it was winter
or something
short and squat
little weiner dogs
on broad mountain path
taking my new foot
on a hike up the slippery
slider-y trail
mullen stalks
shed their leaves and plumage
but not their uprightness
dog did it
not me. snow
smeared yellow
chai not spilled
yet this snow red
by trampers' tramp
(the last two pics - participants in the third annual Boulder Shootout)
a rainy misty morning
the clouds break over town
shadow in valley fog
bovines in grass
meal in mountain mist
dominoes guy
drops cigarette butt in pool
on edge of asphalt
morning rain puddle
cattle steaming under fog
fresh october morn
lone cottonwood
yet filling the entire valley
yellow splendor
sock puppets
abandoned in the grass
the moment now gone
shaggy manes
pushing through plastic
determined to thrive
summit of sopris
enigmatic, while city
basks in sun below
early season storms
bring snow to mt. sopris
clouds thicken, wind blows
black, floppy-eared:
house rabbit between the legs
of spud visitors
spuds strangely absent
from potato festival -
searching for a sack
point of irony:
can't find bag of spuds
in famed spud valley
a string of lights
over spud toppings
warm october cheer
almost anything
can lie on top of a spud
but only one can win
organic russets
thick-skinned, pulled from cellar
just days ago
forming voters' block
children decide that ice cream
wins the least healthy
fourteenth annual
spudfest has its artifacts:
spud platters, trophies
screw the rules
five-seven-whatever
flags, dogs, babies
the wonder of the spud
the fruit of the earth
that has fed so many,
diversified from
a peruvian experiment
in nutrition,
now a mass-produced icon
of the corporate world
genetically modified,
hybridized,
finally arrayed
in a carbondale household
a reason for a social gathering -
not christmas, thanksgiving
or halloween -
but spudfest!
cool breeze made
my face tense up, lips parched
sun peeks past the clouds
crunching through the snow
wondering when that drip of snot
will fall from my nose
normally i leave
the trail behind
today it comes with
where to place my book
so it doesn't go down
the porta-potty
amazing silence
yet so close
to chaos of 29th
no pretty words
to describe
the sludge on my shoes
not for long
will frozen ground remain -
temperamental day
trio of climbers
pause to check me out
"like our carabiners"?
snow pillows nestled
on a tree branch going to
fall on the tree shaker
out of control
trail into the bushes
were there giggles or tears?
figure eights
ended abruptly
in a leap
angels sprawled
across snow
doggie spontaneity
imagining her
expensive thong underwear
riding up her crack
atop flatiron one
mystery man sit
perhaps in my mind
leaving her husband
and his immense house
taking the dog
summit of sopris
turbulent and cloudy
wet valley morning
mud, mud, mud, mud, mud
mud, mud, mud, mud, mud
wet dirt
moon boot print iced up
will be there till
after the snow melts
aspen leaves
gone crisp
rustle in october air
pretending i'm a tree
miles of birdsong stretch out
in all directions
sparkle and shimmer
snow retains this
october sun
balloons and roses
at the base of chautauqua
wedding cheer in the snow
joint stiff
on all these plane rides
no chautauqua hikers
too many layers on
to pull my underwear up
correctly
steep slick trail
an afterthought in summer
now a luge run
resting in the moment
on which eternity sits
filled with sadness and love
a herd of runners
suddenly bursts through the woods
mistaking me for prey?
as long as his feet
are touching the snow
siberian husky glides
that asian man's dog
doesn't understand chinese
any better than me
warm hug
from an old friend
on a cold day
like a giant magnet
unable to avert my eyes
from flatiron presence
mountain silence
occasionally broken
by crow gone hoarse
mug slips
chai spills
snow sudden red
perfectly white rooftops
seem to beckon me
to run up and down them
crunch of lone hiker
on icy path in shade
calling for his dogs
sunday snooze
til 9:30
sandwiched between goldens
a quiet thank you
as i step aside for the
dark foreign woman
mojito happy
knowin' there is
such thing as snow
ice crackle
under snow better
crackle than slip
haiku energy
all spent up on slippery slope
don't fall focus
tail like bottle-brush
black squirrel evades
my slow digital
as if autumn weeds
not trampled enough by snow
sledders complete task
140 pounds
of doggie muscles
my jacket pulled sideways
reminded again
of how much
i rely on sunshine
the woods disappear
and reappear as my mind
turns on and off
fingers frigid
yet mind fresh
for damn haikus
tired post-it
more tired
than doggie days
drip drop pattern
under the tree reminds me
winter is transcendent
shadows longer,
twilight feel at noon
under the trees
so much snow on the
ground - you'd think it was winter
or something
short and squat
little weiner dogs
on broad mountain path
taking my new foot
on a hike up the slippery
slider-y trail
mullen stalks
shed their leaves and plumage
but not their uprightness
dog did it
not me. snow
smeared yellow
chai not spilled
yet this snow red
by trampers' tramp
(the last two pics - participants in the third annual Boulder Shootout)
solo/group kukai
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen