sheep geek

Spare time led dirty grimy, filings under the nails, fingers to create. It was a need. An outlet. Something separate from his day job. For himself. For his own delight. His cleverness. Turning scraps into little things. Not always useful. But intriguing.

A full set. Dining table, chairs, bowls, plate, cups, mugs, forks, knives, spoons. And rocking chairs. Rocking chairs for little fingers to push. Eyes opening in wonder and excitement. A smile widening as his chuckles grow into a laugh in your ear and you can smell his sent of grime and sulfur from decades of welding.

My grandfather was a man who could create anything that he needed or wanted. From adding a second floor to his home for his expanding family to tiny delicate metal working. He wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around for his own kids, but his grand kids got the gentleness that a life time of experience had given him. I can still see his beaten up fingers in my mind, and every time I smell the scent of a flint striker I think of him. And smile.

When my grand parents passed away my mom claimed this set, and as I was growing up it was displayed in our entertainment center. I’m not one for holding onto things. I don’t think well when there’s too much clutter.

When my birthday started to roll around I armed my mom with a small list of things that had caught my fancy. It wasn’t until I was setting up my office shelves that I realized that I really wanted some reminders of what had made me love art in the first place. Some items to remind me of where I come from, the long trail of artists on both sides of my family. These came to mind immediately. So when she called, I asked for a rocking chair for myself and a dining chair for my in laws who also enjoy American Arts & Crafts as well as just farting around in a flint striker scented work shed. The item that she had picked from the list was a joy to unwrap, and hold, but it was the chairs that sent hot tears to my eyes.

It’s where I’m from.
To show me where I’m going.
It’s in my veins.
In my fingers.

-Danielle

: I’ve been finding it hard to blog lately, since I felt bereft of inspiration, but I’ve found it again. So maybe it’ll be easier now.

My husband is a country boy, myself an urban girl, and over the years we’ve rubbed off on each other. I grew up used to busy main streets, sirens blaring, construction zones hammering and music pounding in my ears; buildings on top of one another trying to drown out the surrounding ones. He grew up with the sound of the wind, water babbling over rocks and the occasional train blowing it’s whistle as it passed by; running through woods and over fields. I had always seen myself living in a bustling, crowded city, several floors above the cacophony in a posh apartment whilst designing buildings. He had seen himself in a smaller, quieter city working on code for games.

That was before we became us. We’ve since moved around to some rather interesting places together, but it was the one that I least expected to impact my idea of life that changed it the most. In Alice Springs, I grew fond of the quiet; no sirens, very little construction and no overly loud music; and the wide open spaces where my eyes could take it all in in peace. What’s more I found comfort in it. It allowed me to think and plan.

In our years together, Steve and I have only taken one vacation for ourselves, a short side hop to a beach; a few weeks ago Steven decided that that needed to be changed. We went to Chicago, staying at the Westin, in the posh Michigan Ave. district full of fancy glittering stores and darkly clad crowds of well groomed and accessorized people. It turned out to be a nightmare. The Michigan Ave. district had felt pretentious and un-welcoming. We couldn’t sleep well; the bed and bedding were awful, the noises overwhelming; and we found ourselves un-interested in shopping or passively looking at plaques in museums; which we thought we would rather enjoy since we like the museums here. We decided to shorten our trip so that we could come home and get a good night’s sleep.

My most exciting parts of the trip were along the highway in Illinois’ farm country. I saw my first wild swan taking a swim on a random pond in the middle of nowhere. I saw the harvesting equipment in use, learning from Steve the names of the mechanized beasts that were kicking up dust clouds and roaring into the wind. A herd of goats living in a spare truck parts’ fenced in lot. Three flocks of wool laden sheep that Steve offered to pull over for me to watch and take pictures; it was with the purpose of getting home that I turned him down. Yes, I find sheep exciting; I actually dream of having my own flocks later in life. Oh, and this one yarn store that was in the college district; it was bursting with color and sumptuous fibers and yarns that I had never seen before. Loopy Yarns, two floors of yarn and fiber that I could have spent all day in.

It was during the car ride home that we figured out what we truly want in a vacation. Wide open spaces, woods to hike through, and mountain trails to bike on. We want to be active participants in our vacations. It turns out that we don’t love cities, even with all of their history and great architecture. We would rather feel the wind and sun on our faces and smelling the fresh air as we’re doing things, blazing our own paths and writing our own history.

Gaining experiences.

Isn’t that what life is all about?

-Danielle