Perhaps you’ve heard, the government is shut down.
For the last week I’ve been artist-in-residencing at Homestead National Monument — a National Park, thus closed. Though I have been wandering the prairie, learning about marginalized American histories and making wistful photographs and videos, my interactions with the park itself can’t really go on until/unless the park opens… sooo…
Why not drive to Denver to see Erin, my New Mexico-dwelling sea star?
I left early this grey-sky morning, north from Beatrice, hanging a hard left across the whole state, stopping for a sandwich near the border and donning all the clothes I brought, wrapped up in disparate scarf and coat and hat and vest, stuffing hands into pockets, jumping around the parking lot as I fueled up, trying to stay warm as the ice wind blew across the plains, churning the slate rivers I would cross. Once into Colorado, passing specks of cattle and the nearby ponies grazing in the rolling sun hills, I wandered off 1-76 to visit Dearfield, a town of ghosts.
Eventually I turned back onto the highway and finished the drive, the hard clear sun shining through the bug-splats, the road’s flatness giving way to the teeth of mountains, rising from low clouds in the distance.
I met Erin and Netty at the Motel 6 outside of town. We have scarcely left, and it has been a glorious evening indeed.
Tomorrow our cars drive away from each other, Erin south and west, Erica north and east. But, for one Saturday night in October, we did the same thing we would do in any other place– eat, slug, laugh, snort, try to keep food away from Netty, and speak to Emma.
This reminder of family and home seems a good time to unveil this season’s cat-related towel-set, courtesy of Momcat and Dad:
They never fail to deliver, remember, or impress.
Have I mentioned that I am of the greatest stock?