Rambling Ways

Even the most prepared artist cannot avoid an occasional wash-out. With all my best preparations, I got stuck (literally) in the worst rain storm last weekend.

I was very excited for the Smith Mountain Lake Art and Wine Festival. I was aware rain was in the forecast; however, this was the type of event where tickets are pre-purchased, so people are going to show up rain or shine for their thirty dollars worth of wine.

I drove four and a half hours Saturday morning in the rain, still optimistic. Driving down into the muddy festival field was sketchy in my sedan–but this car has gotten me through plenty of sketchy festival grounds–so I proceeded to my assigned location. Setting up for two hours in a steady rain is no treat, but I was ready for this. I had my awesome leopard rain boots (thanks, Mom), new rain coat, and quick dry pants.

The first half of the show was decent. People came, as predicted, sampled wine, danced in the rain, and were generally having a grand time.

Then, the bottom fell out.

The heavy rain made the clay field so muddy, pickup trucks were getting stuck. Should I stay or go? I couldn’t drive my car to my tent to pack-up; so, being continuously optimistic, I thought I’d stay to see if the weather was better on Sunday. Realism would have been more helpful than optimism in this situation. I packed up my jewelry and left to camp for the night (well, that was the plan). As I exited, trying my hardest find the path with the least amount of muddy ruts, I managed to get stuck. Having seen plenty of stuck vehicles in my life, I knew not to spin too much and burry myself deeper. I swallowed my pride (at this point I was in the middle of a field where my struggle were very public) and trekked up the hill to get some advice from the tow truck crew. They were really helpful with how to proceed and offered to pull me out if it didn’t work. I put it in reverse and gave it a lot of gas. Heading up the hill, I did not let of he gas until I made it to the road. Not fun.

Day two. I woke up to pouring rain. Yikes! This was going to be ugly. I have never seen a field so muddy–and I grew up on a farm! I parked on the driest hill I could find. My tent was mangled, displays soaked, overall, it was a disaster. I carried everything to my car parked at least a couple of football fields away, in the rain, in the mud, for two hours. During the five years of participating in art shows, I had never felt so deflated–and soaked.

 

Two Good Samaritans. The silver lining was found in a nice man who offered to carry my 70lb tent for me, and a man who pushed my car out for me. I was really blown away by this gesture. With his bare hands, he pushed my car, while instructing me to give it gas which, in turn, peppered him with mud. By the time I left the festival grounds I was equally beat up and beaming–the contrast of the deflating circumstanses and the generosity of complete strangers.

I have no advice to offer from this experience. It is difficult to go through life without encountering bad weather. Does a farmer give up farming after one drought or flood? No, because he loves farming. Deflated? Yes. Defeated? No. I love arriving to new locations every weekend, meeting new people, talking about my art and not knowing what to expect. And, there’s always next week. Keep on keepin’ on!