Where the Water Flows, Life Blooms: Finding Calm at Devil’s Punchbowl

Nov 07, 2025

There are moments that split life into before and after. I’ve had many of those, chapters marked by sudden change and that dizzy, off-balance feeling that comes when the world flips upside down. This summer, that line appeared again, but somehow I found the first hint of peace at the base of a waterfall in Crested Butte, Colorado.

Life had been unbearably loud. Panic attacks hit without warning, sometimes several times a day. Nights were long and sleepless, and even standing still felt like running out of air. I kept telling myself to push through, just one more VA appointment, one more hard day. I needed them to acknowledge what had happened. It wasn’t easy. Not for me, not for my husband, not for my kids who stayed close even though they’re grown, afraid of what might happen if they didn’t.

Knowing I was unraveling, my husband packed up the Jeep and drove us to my favorite place in Colorado. The plan was simple: get outside, get quiet, and remember how to breathe again.

The Trip Ignited The Smallest Spark of Hope

We spent the weekend doing everything that reminded me I was still here. Mountain biking. Off-roading. Watching stars that looked close enough to touch. On the last day, we finally decided to take on Schofield Pass road and see Devil’s Punchbowl, a spot that had been on both of our lists for years.

The trail wasn’t exactly peaceful. Steep, narrow, and filled with sharp rocks and switchbacks that didn’t care if you were nervous. A car had rolled off the road just days before we got there. At one point, I got out to walk and spot my husband through the tightest stretch, heart pounding, but it wasn’t panic. It was presence.

When we reached the waterfall, everything went still. The roar of the water drowned out the world. The water was cold, clear as a crystal, and alive. I remember thinking, this is what peace sounds like.

I set up at the base of the waterfall. My Teva's were the perfect sandals that day. I plunged my feet in the icy water and sat down on a rock that jutted out of the river. It was my first time painting plein air, and everything about it felt new. I wasn't sure if this would turn out or not, but what a fun memory it would be either way. I dipped my brush in the river itself and started painting what I saw, but also what I needed to feel.

The blues and greens blended like they had their own heartbeat. I wasn’t thinking about composition or control. I was just there, breathing, painting, letting it move through me. For the first time in months, I wasn’t fighting my mind. I was part of something bigger than it.

I didn't finish the painting by The Devil's Punchbowl that day. Instead, I brought it home with me to add the layers that would bring it alive and a small bloom for the hope I felt that day.

What This Painting Means to Me Now

That day became Where the Water Flows, Life Blooms. It’s more than paint on paper. It’s a memory pressed into color, a reminder that calm can exist inside chaos. The hues still hold that blend of fear and freedom, cold and warmth, sound and quiet.

Now, when I see it, I don’t just see a waterfall. I see proof that healing doesn’t always arrive softly. Sometimes it means stepping out of the car, taking a hard road, and finding peace waiting at the bottom.