When you’re happy, art’s hard. That’s what John said when I was struggling to kickstart this final post from our 5 months on the road. And he’s right- our time rolling around in the Wonder Wheels has left us giddy and full-bellied from the fall-to-winter feasting on America. We gobbled up a good chunk of this place and got sauced on the sights. Hey, when a crumbling desert mesa tosses you a biscuit, you take a bite; when the Oregon Coast offers you a drink, you hand it a glass. (And when the Rockies raise a giant, iron fist, you say, “Which eye?”)
But for Nature, art is neither hard nor easy. It’s just another day at work. She clocks in, gets to it, hangs her labors on the wall and doesn’t charge a fee to take a peek. What a peach. It was good to step inside and go from room to room in her American gallery: Northeast to Northwest to Southwest and home. A good chunk, yeah, but a nice size to chew on. It’s like a thumbnail on Earth’s hand. But an outstretched thumb can take you far, and this trip…. ah, this trip….
To put it into perspective: Yesterday I dug a black shard of cactus thorn out of my leg – and I was thrilled. It was there for more than a month, still hard and persistent like the Chihuahuan desert that raised the cactus that grew the arm that launched the thorn that stabbed my leg. I remember the moment it speared me – and this makes my heart wag! We were hiking in Big Bend National Park, racing the setting sun…. and the sun won…. so we were navigating the dark, and the sneaky sucker got me. It was painful, even shocking, but I loved it. I hope the scar sticks around to remind me of that wild, star-flared, chilly dark desert night.
I hope for many things: That somewhere in the northwest, beached jellyfish are still catching the moon, lit up like lanterns in the wet Pacific black. That winds are rising like witches from the top of the White Mountains.
That the silky, grey sand from the Salish Sea still hides in my shoes. That the ghosts of highways haunt my heart. I hope the inky Sawtooths nip at my thoughts and the soft, wheat-whipped prairies sweep my dreams.
If the memories flicker and fade, luckily we’ve got our film H6LLB6ND6R as a moving monument of our adventures. As always, the road is the best location scout. You just have to wander down one. So thanks, America. (And thanks, John-Z-and Lulu, for making the wandering so much fun!) Perhaps art isn’t always hard when you’re happy.
***And thank YOU for drifting with me as I explored our ride in words. Much appreciated. All my love. – Toby
