Ready, Set, JUMP

Ironwood whale in gourd birdbath

One thing we dreamers must face from time to time is reality.  Mine currently comes in the form of gasoline prices.  I don’t know what I was thinking…evidently that I could stick my feet through the truck and take off ala Fred Flintstone.

Had I had one, the trip to Brookings would have cost my firstborn. It only took me 20 bucks to get from Medford to here, 75 miles away, and that was pulling my trailer.  The coast is 72 or so; perhaps it made a difference that I crawled my way around many of the curves, literally, at 5-10 miles per hour, sans turtle shell.  

For some reason the second trip to the coast along the magnificent Redwood Highway was more frightening than the first.  It reminded me of parachuting from a helicopter(in the ’80’s); the second time they practically had to kick me out.  I’d broke the cardinal rule to stare off into the distance once the ground finally looks like it’s rushing up to you.

Were they kidding?  It makes sense in theory, but in reality?  I couldn’t keep my eyes off the ground; it was riveting, and someone watching explained that at the last moment I went from the correct position of legs together, knees bent, to spreading my legs apart as if to brace myself.

Against Mother Earth.  Right.  Seems I just can’t get enough of those brick walls.   My leg turned black and blue and I had a great time, but enough.

Along US 199, the Redwood Highway, I was trying desperately to keep my good left eye on the center line, closing my right in order to maintain all my focus and attention on the road in front of me.  I was born with a lazy eye; you get the idea.

But just as many people cannot turn from an accident, my right eye kept willing itself open, noticing the huge trees alongside the road, with obvious gouges from passing side mirrors.  Every bridge had a sign with a Memorial, and shouldn’t guardrails exist all along treacherous roads?  I felt the hairs on my head turn grey with each passing mile but I was powerless to change my fate; I had to get home, and those darn mountains…

“I was joking about Thelma and Louise,” I silently prayed to whomever.  Realizing I would never pass that way again, I made a point of stopping at the little art gallery which had dozens of chain-sawed redwood bears lined up on a rustic fence.  They were hokey yet darling; but I’ve already got my totem pole.

I am still one of the country’s proverbial Starving Artists and can ill afford to purchase items not absolutely necessary.  However, remembering my time as a gallery owner in Puerto Rico, I always try to leave a REAL local artesan gallery or craft show with bag in hand.  This was a cooperative of four wood carvers; one of whom was on watch.  I asked about the significance of the bear’s preponderance in this neck of the woods.

“They sell.”  Enough said.  Inside was an enormous sculpture which stood 6-7 feet tall; various marine mammals carved amidst cresting waves.  It was breathtaking, and a steal at $5,800.  In an upscale gallery, or in a better economy, it would go for $20,000, easily.  A beautifully carved and polished little whale figurine for eight dollars was a bargain and called to me.  That’s less than one hour minimum wage, not counting any markup.

At once, it is now a reminder of the Oregon Coast, the indomitable will of fellow artists and my own pluck.  I picked up a couple accounts along the way, so my dream of traveling and marketing is coming true.  I just need to better consider the routes I take, and cut down on the coffee.