Making God Laugh

April 30, 2021 - I embark. Destination: Lake Almanor in Northern California, My charted course of 1,316 miles is almost exactly twice the shortest distance recommended by Google Maps. Scheduled are two nights with friends, four nights in motels, and seven nights camping. That was the plan. It lasted two days.

Arrived 15 days later, having stayed six nights with friends and family, eight nights in motels, only one night camping. Trip odometer: 1,936 miles.

Jan Phillips says wandering heals us and “reunites us with our sacred roots.” My carefully planned first real day on the road didn’t feel very healing or sacred. Funny, the things you don’t think about when planning for unfamiliar lands: such as 8-lane highways flooded with people I thought were working at home, campsites carefully chosen from maps and word pictures painted by a prevaricating Picasso, and bone-biting cold winds and damp fog where there should have been forest bathing and sunny beach walks. Neale Donald Walsch’s words, “Life begins at the end of your comfort zone,” flew out of my head without a backward glance

For the past several months, I’ve been reading about the voyages of naturalist scientists such as Alexander von Humboldt, Charles Darwin, Joseph Banks and others who sailed away for years, fell in love with foreign lands, and brought home discoveries that changed their worlds. Obviously, I overlooked the bouts of malaria, storms that swept people overboard, and meetings with local hostiles.

My petty FreakOut paled by comparison. I just wanted to quit, go home (wherever that is), find somewhere warm and sunny, with wifi, of course.

Fortunately, morning came, with sunshine and some sanity. A stunning walk along the Fort Bragg cliffs restored my spirit. The crows still laughed at me, but that was ok.

One of the major reasons for leaving our comfy lives and warm beds is because there are surprises out there on the road, things we’ve never thought about and definitely never expected. While there were many of these surprises on my northward adventure, one reminded me why I was on this particular journey on a back road to nowhere.

It wasn’t really a road to nowhere … the pygmy cypress forest of Van Damne State Park called me. The unexpected surprise was an art glass studio. With places to go and things

to see, though, I just zipped past, making a mental note to stop on my way back.

The note wasn’t carved in stone; one never knows about those off-thebeaten-path studios, so it wasn’t a surprise when I drove right past it on my way on to my next stop. Quickly that little voice started yapping: “I thought you were going to stop … well, I’m hungry … it’s art glass … but, it’s too late and … don’t miss it, you’ll never be back this way …”

Alright already! Backed up about two blocks (a feat in and of itself) and pulled into the driveway as a woman came out of her garden and graciously opened her studio.

Glass is one of my favorite art mediums and her work far exceeded my expectations. Howevr, with my recent end-all downsizing, I’m not a buyer, ... but, OMG, everything tugged at my credit card.

Cynthia Myers’ carved glass is featured in collections and galleries in Europe, Japan, and the United States. Space limits me to two images, but you can see more of her work at her website.

CynthiaMyersGlass.com

“You and the tree in your backyard come from a common ancestor. A billion and a half years ago, the two of you parted ways. But even now, after an immense journey in separate directions, that tree and you still share a quarter of your genes.” - Richard Powers, Overstory