Trains

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Lallier represents a small but fundamental fraction of the Gunnison population — a lifetime local who has lived in the valley for nearly 60 years, working everywhere from radio booths to Mountain Express buses to sitting in the cab of oil field trucks moving mud and water. His parents even owned a pharmacy on the corner of Main Street and Tomichi Avenue from ’63 to ’94. He recalls the days of coal burning, seeing billows of black smoke rise from Crested Butte caking the air with soot.

He began working in radio at just 6 years old, doing ad spots for his family pharmacy and later working for regional radio stations. The move into filmmaking was planted when Lallier was just a child. He got first 3mm and 8mm cameras in middle school, later working on the class yearbook and taking photography classes. He would continue these studies at Western State College.

By the time he learned to use a camera, the fascination with trains had already set in. His father used to take him to ride the Durango & Silverton and Cumbres & Toltec Scenic Railroads as a child, and he recalls the excitement of seeing the beasts rumble down the track.

“I've always loved the excitement, you know? Th e blowing, hissing steam, even the dirty smell of coal,” he said. “A lot of the things I saw as a child were historic moments I just didn’t realize.”

The fascination heightened when he learned how essential trains were for the development of the Gunnison Valley. Without them, the town would never have gotten supplies in or goods out, he said. In 2004, after getting injured rolling an ATV, Lallier decided to marry his love of trains with film and started a new company, RussyBaby Productions, to produce historical movies covering train expansion to the West.

“Rather than just sit around and watch TV, I knew I always wanted to make movies so I kind of sophomorically jumped in and said ‘hey, let's give it a try,’” he said.

The first film he produced was a clip about trains for the local museums. The ways tracklaying shaped the valley — and the West as a whole— is a narrative thread Lallier would follow for decades, ultimately turning that first 10-minute clip into a nine-movie series about narrow gauge railroad operations of the Gunnison Valley. He intends to make a total of 20.

For Lallier, studying the history of the Gunnison Valley has reframed old memories.

“Now I can look back at things I saw that I didn't really realize were important and say, ‘Oh, wow, I remember when that happened’ … It’s like rediscovering things because I was there, but I was also 5 years old playing in the mud, I had different priorities,” he said.

Lallier’s ninth film, “The

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(Abby Harrison can be contacted at 970.641.1414 or abby@ gunnisontimes.com.)

Coburn Special to the Times

Turquoise is a staple gemstone around the Southwest. Many of us in the Gunnison Valley proudly don our turquoise. The little blue gem is charming and alluring. But why? What is its significance? Where does it come from?

It all begins with geology, of course. Beneath our feet is an unfathomable amount of heat and pressure from tectonic plates sliding, pulling, diving and colliding. Much of the Southwest’s iconic landscape is formed from old rifts (tectonic plates pulling apart) and subduction zones (tectonic plates diving) causing volcanic activity millions of years ago. Volcanic areas create sulfuric, superheated environments turning rock into copper ore.

Mineral-rich groundwater percolates through the cracks, often carrying aluminum and zinc. The water can turn copper veins to a green-ish blue (like what happens on a sweaty fi nger wearing a copper ring). With just the right recipe, this relatively soft gemstone is formed and eventually — after a few million years — unearthed by human hands.

Turquoise mines are located in Iran, Egypt, China and the southwestern U.S. In each of these regions, early civilizations treasured the gemstone. They all believed it brought benefi ts to the wearer.

Egyptians considered turquoise sacred and buried Pharaohs with it. Persians believed it symbolized victory. Turkish traders introduced it to Europe, where it got its name tourques , meaning “Turkish stone” (even though turquoise never came from Turkey).

For Native Americans like the Zuni, Hopi and Navajo, turquoise jewelry embodies healing, protection, prosperity and happiness. In Navajo traditional teachings, turquoise serves as a reminder of the Blue or Second World. This is the realm in which First Man and First Woman observed blue-feath- ered birds, insects and animals.

The majority of the turquoise in the U.S. came from Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico, but Colorado has had four turquoise mines in its history, including one in Leadville. The 1970s was a booming time for turquoise, but, by the 1990s, most turquoise mines in the U.S. closed. This was due to the cost of mining and a flooded market with turquoise mined from China. The last full-time production turquoise mine in the U.S. is the Kingman Turquoise mine in Arizona, making the region’s turquoise all the more rare and valuable. Each place of discovery has a different character of turquoise. It can vary in color — even white — and display unique patterns in the stone itself.

The same rare geological phenomenon that created turquoise beneath our feet happened in just a few places around the globe. In each place it was discovered, it brought humans joy, positivity and motivation. It became a main character in legends and stories. Turquoise has been universally adored for centuries. Next time you put on your ring, necklace or bolo tie, remember the human experience that predates each of us.

(Anna Coburn can be contacted at 970.641.1414.)