Home Through the Storms

Home Through the Storms / 10x10

If I want to miss a place, all I have to do is leave. Soon enough, I start looking ahead, but before that, the act of separating - from a place or from a person - churns up a mix of longing and regret that has brought me to tears more than once. 

This feeling creeps up on me, like a cold breeze pushing in under a door, as I leave Fort Defiance. Even with the feelings of distance and difference, I find myself wishing I were staying - and wondering, in fact, why I am not. I have a few spare days. I could stay in Fort Defiance, or I could go back to Tubac - but I push on, and as I do, I find my eagerness to see what's ahead. 

As it turns out, it's a very good thing that I leave when I do. I end up having to stay for a couple days twice - once in Tucumcari, NM, and the second time in Morrilton, AK. As I look back at the country, and my drive, I see that my leaving when I did was propitious. If I'd left a couple days later, I'd have been forced to drive in storms the entire way. I'm not crazy about holing up in hotels, but if it keeps me safe, it is OK.

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AS I FINISH writing this blog entry, I am at home, sitting at the kitchen table in Wachapreague. Peter's still in bed, but he will be up soon, and we'll have Sunday breakfast and continue to be grateful and happy that I am home. Outside, it's chilly, but warm enough to leave the back door open, and the dogs are having fun going in and out. 

I loved this trip, and it has surprised me. My previous trips have been sheer joy, by and large, and while I didn't have expectations of this trip, the expectation of joy generally frames my days. Joy came to me in the paintings from this trip, in the interactions I had with you all, and in the beautiful scenery and the unfolding journey through this vast and unexpected country. 

But it was not all joy. I didn't expect the deep feelings that came to me this trip. I didn't expect to miss my mother so much. I didn't expect to miss my youth so clearly, or feel my age so sharply. I didn't expect the sadness and feelings of apartness that washed over me on the reservation. I didn't expect to be so surrounded by poverty and neglect.

Still, it was all OK. Better than OK, really. It was good. The experience has given me a world to consider, and a depth to remember and keep as a wellspring for my paintings, and my living and my understanding of life. 

I have been grateful to all of you every day, for helping me create this trip, for supporting me on it and for riding along with me. Thank you. Your sponsorships mean the world to me. 

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THIS WEEK, I'll send a post with the paintings from which the lottery will choose, and I'll pick that winner, and the winner of the books and calendars, as well. I'll also finish posting the paintings on the Origins Painting Trip page of the Jacobson Arts website. 

And then I will be in touch with you individually, and you'll choose your paintings in the order in which you signed up. When a painting has been chosen, I'll mark it as chosen on the website. If someone has chosen the painting you love, I'm happy to paint it again for you. And if you have other ideas, we can talk. So far, the sponsors of my trips have all gotten the paintings that they had hoped to get. 

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HERE ARE SOME random thoughts from the trip:

Somewhere in Oklahoma, I start to see water in creeks and ponds along the road. It is utterly shocking, after being in Arizona for a month. It's like seeing gold nuggets scattered on the sidewalk. Living in the East, we don't think much about water and how precious it it, but my shock at these free bits of water seemed to put it in perspective.

I see some funny name-signs that I can't get photos of.

• Fish Wash is a creek on the reservation, and I find that name hysterical. 
• Hungry Mother State Park, Virginia
• Toad Suck, Arkansas
• Bucksnort, Tennessee
• A license plate that reads IMLOST. 

Yes, indeed, I see all these things - for real! - on this trip.

You can get books on CD at Cracker Barrels! For the first one, you pay the price of the CD - about $40, then a $3 rental. From then on, you can trade your book on CD for another, at any Cracker Barrel, for $3. Isn't that great? 

It is a joyful surprise to get to the spot on the trip where the buttons on my radio bring in the stations I've set for them. It's great - even though when I do reach this point, my least favorite show of all - The Thomas Jefferson Hour - is just starting on our local NPR station. 

I can't solve all the problems of the world, and though I am drawn to acting as if I can, I can't. Furthermore, the world's problems are not necessarily my problems. If I solve my own problems, I should have time, energy and funds to help others who have taken on the world's problems.

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HERE ARE SOME random pictures from the drive home:

Aren't these great? I cycled back to get a photo, just outside of Albuquerque. 

A storm coming in eastern New Mexico. It kept me in Tucumcari for a couple days. 

Texola, on Route 66 on the border of Texas and Oklahoma, now has a population of 17, according to an Oklahoma state trooper. I'm assuming that doesn't include the cats. At one point, before I-40 was built, it was a happenin' place. Now, it is sinking - or has sunken - into disrepair. Below, a remnant of the good times. The gas station isn't open, but someone loves this little spot. 

I saw this beautifully painted little shed outside of Shamrock, Texas

Not a great photo, but this was the only herd of pronghorn antelope I saw the entire trip. They were far, far away, along I-40 in Oklahoma. I got off to take a photo, and the instant after I shot this, they were 200 yards farther away, and widening the gap fast. 

Tucumcari, NM has a bunch of great old motels, wildly painted buildings, 

and some fantastic murals like the one below, on a True Value hardware store.  

I was stuck during another storm in Morrilton, Arkansas. At the hotel, I met Vicky, who sells advertising space in a funeral-home guide. She is 72, an actress and an artist, and a great, good soul. 

A sad ps. I received an email from Vicky this morning; she got word, days after we met, that her husband was ill. She drove like crazy to get home, and made it in time. He died two days later. 

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Dog of the Day

Yes, the final dog of the day is the dog of my heart, Jojo. It's so great to be home! 

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I'M ALREADY THINKING about another trip, and talking with a friend about making it a truly different experience, for everyone! And while I don't want to commit to anything yet, or give away any surprises, let's just say that this final painting might turn out to have some significance. 

In the meantime, I hope that you all will sign up to receive my regular blog - The Accidental Artist - by email. It's easy to do - just click here to reach the blog, then look to the right and put your email address in the "Get the Blog by Email" box! I post my new paintings there, and you can keep up with my shows and my journey. 

Sponsors, again, thank you all so very much. 

New Mexico Snow

Morning Snow, oil on canvas, 10x10

A storm rolls in behind me to Tucumcari, NM. It has wind and ice and snow, and it forces me to stay in a hotel there for a couple days. I sleep almost all of my first day there - I always forget how exhausting these trips are - and then I sleep 10 hours the next night. That morning I think it might be safe to leave, but it's snowing a little still, and I decide to stay another night. Later that day, I find out there's been a 26-car crash on I-40, just where I'd have been, just about when I'd have been there. 

The morning I leave, I stumble onto Route 66. I drive along, delighted with the great old motels, wishing I'd have stayed in one of them! In places, Route 66 just vanishes, and you're forced onto I-40. In some spots, I find odd dead ends and spurs, and this is one of them. 

A yellow field stretches out before me, spotted with snow. The storm is moving on, gone just enough that I can stop to paint. It will catch up to me again in Arkansas, and then again in Memphis. In all these cases, I miss the most dangerous moments, the deadly stretches, the ice storms that trap people in their cars for hours and hours, cause 18-wheelers to spin out and topple over, and I am grateful for my safe journey. 

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Around the Area

  Here are some of the cool remnants of the heyday of Route 66, in Tucumcari, NM.

OK, this might be THE photo of the trip. I've cropped it below so that you can see it better. I mean, I can't believe I found the Acme Brick Company! I grew up on Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote - and Here It Is! Acme Brick Company!

Silos and barn under a big Texas sky.

The Truth bus. 

I don't pretend to understand this, but I think it's fun and funky and 

sort of beautiful, in an odd, bath tubby kind of way. 

A gorgeous sunset outside of Shamrock, Texas. 

Young cows kick up their heels on a cold day in Arkansas. 

And yes, these are daffodils! It WILL be spring! 

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Dog of the Day

This dog is near the Truth bus, outside of Morrilton, Arkansas. 

Morning Majesty

Morning Majesty

Oil on canvas, 10x10

The amazing castle-like rocks surrounding Fort Defiance take my breath away every day. I find a good place and set up to paint two canvases, one focusing on the north portion of the rock formation, the other on the south portion. I'll show you the painting in the landscape when I post the second of the paintings. 

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AS I WRITE THIS, I am holed up in a hotel in Tucumcari, NM. It is snowing and sleeting outside, and the driving is dangerous. I will stay here until the weather clears up. And while it's a pain to be stuck inside, and not painting, it's fine. I'm safe and sound, and that's what matters.

Here at the edge of New Mexico, I realize that part of me misses the beauty and power of the landscapes around the reservation, but another part of me is glad to be gone. 

My sense of not fitting and not understanding is part of it. The Navajo culture is completely different from the Anglo culture, and I saw and felt it up close while I was on the reservation. 

A woman I spoke with late in my time there helped me understand a little. She has spent time away from the reservation, though she is living there now. So she has some perspective, and she has asked herself some of the same questions I asked her. 

In short, she says, traditional Navajo don't do anything that's not necessary. That could be as simple as not saying hello, or not smiling to a stranger, or it could be something as visible as not picking up the trash that's blowing around in the yard. If it is not necessary for survival, she says, it is not done. 

She also helps shed some light on the dogs. This is the issue that, more than any other, makes me glad to be away from the reservation.

When we lived there, my dad says, the government would round up and shoot the stray dogs once or twice a year. Articles I've read about dogs on the reservation (here's one from the Huffington Post, and here's a 2011 article from American Indian Report) say that the problem persists. 

And I see, instantly, that it does. I pull up to a convenience store, and three dogs approach me, looking for food. They approach everyone. I take photos and send them to Peter, and I find myself crying about the dogs, homeless and hungry. Peter urges me to look at the dogs, really look at them, and see that, in fact, they aren't starving. 

And he is right. At least the ones at the gas station aren't starving. But I find one out near Navajo, NM, where I am painting. She has just had pups, she is thin and sinewy, her teats are swollen and one looks infected. I feed her. Feed her a lot. I find another on a back road in Fort Defiance, and his bones are visible through his skin. I feed another on the main road from Gallup, one I've seen sitting by the side of the road for three days in a row. He runs off when I approach, but I see him eating as I drive away. 

The woman I speak with late in my trip says that she believes that most of these dogs are indeed owned by Navajo families, and are allowed to run free. A friend reminds me that there is some beauty in this. And she's right, I know. Peter is right, too. 

After days of anguish, I stop worrying. It is not my problem to fix. But on the day I leave, I see three dead dogs, two on the road and one at the convenience store. At least, I think he is dead, and I don't stick around to find out. 

Veterinarians are few and far between on the reservation. Veterinary care, I know, is expensive. And certainly, there are more pressing problems in the Navajo Nation - but none that is quite so visible. 

The woman I speak with reminds me that you don't see homeless people on the reservation, and that it is certainly better that the dogs are homeless. 

I agree. I understand that I am sort of a dog nut. I know I am. So this issue is one that might not touch most people the way it touched me, reducing me to tears again and again. If I could have taken all the dogs I saw with me, I would have. But I remind myself again and again and again, that this is a cultural difference, and while it is a problem, it is not my problem. 

I will help in a way I can, dedicating a portion of my earnings this year to helping ease the dog situation on the reservation. If you'd like to help, too, you can find out more here about groups that work to help ease this situation. 

Here is the lone vet I found on the reservation. I visited three times, and called twice, and was never able to rouse anyone. But it looks like this vet has a pretty amazing mobile unit, below. 

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 These cows, above and below, were just hanging around in someone's yard,

 early on a Monday morning. 

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Dogs of the Day

 These are some of the dogs I fed at the convenience store.