Weathering a Storm

Someone had the bright idea to go hiking on a random Thursday just because they had heard their boss talking about this majestic place with waterfalls and lakes that was easy to hike to... oh wait that was my idea, and fortunately I knew just the person to drag along.

Jessie and I headed up to this supposed wonderland giving ourselves plenty of time to hike to the lake at the top and back while still being able to get home in time for of all things, country dancing. Why anyone would want to voluntarily subject themselves to torture of such a grievous nature I am unsure. We started out just the way Jessie drives, going the wrong way. After getting our bearings and reminding ourselves that Louis and Clark followed a woman successfully we headed out into nature. The trail was well maintained and the going was easy, which made our first encounter with other hikers somewhat bizarre. They were a family of four, if you count the dog which I am. A dad that without a doubt owns a riding mower, a mother, and a daughter that probably doesn't hike all that often. They all sat together on a rock panting and as we came into view they expressed their undying gratitude they were on the way back rather than in our shoes. "Only 6 more miles to go!" they called to us as we passed on by. It wasn't an encouraging thought, we anticipated soon mirroring their exhausted actions on a rock further up the trail but we pressed on.

We continued on up the trail finding the going to be relatively easy. There were a surprising number of snakes but it was otherwise enjoyable scenery. The sun was as hot as it had ever been, and the sky had scarcely a cloud in it. Jessie was whining like a little kid at the carnival without any money for rides about the weather and that she had heard some weather woman on the radio threateningly forecast rain, thunder, and apocolyptic lightning from the east. I would've perhaps entertained the notion if it wasn't so outlandish, and if it wasn't coming from Jessie.

We had looked up directions before we came, which made getting lost at the beginning extra embarrassing. But we also knew that we were soon to come to a bridge, followed by some switchbacks which would signal the end was within sight and we were at the lake. But first we had to run across another weirdo in waders who commented, "You guys are late!" I checked my phone's reception to see if I couldn't call the health department or the pound, but I didn't have any bars so we pressed on. It wasn't too long before we came across a well-crafted bridge, followed by some switchbacks. We were excited to have reached the landmarks so soon. Unfortunately, dark clouds had magically appeared and rain started to sprinkle with an "I told you so" attitude. Oddly Jessie was sporting the same attitude.

We walked faster in an effort to outrun the rain, we had to be close since we'd seen the bridge and navigated the switchbacks, or so we thought when we ran across another bridge followed by some additional switchbacks, followed by another bridge, and then another. We were just about to write off weather men, weather women, and instruction writers the world over when we reached the lake at the top. It was around this same moment when the clouds opened up and the rain began to pour. We looked at the lake for a minute and then huddled under a tree. We hadn't been prepared for the rain, we were dressed for the scorching heat wave we had been experiencing when we started the hike, now we were soaked and freezing.

We waited for a little while for the rain to die down a bit and then we headed back down the trail. We made really good time heading back and we put the rock dwelling family to shame. We had almost made it back when we ran into another family, this time on horseback. They apparently thought we were more footloose than them, and since they were more connected to the animal kingdom we should move off the trail for them. We obliged, though not happily. There is a common saying heard in nearly every state, that if you don't like the weather then wait five minutes. But if you wait too long you'll miss out on country dancing.

Breaking Bowls

I have bad luck with clay. I've been fortunate enough (depends on how you look at it) to take both sculpture and ceramics now, and to be tasked with forming all manner of obsurdities with my hands. Even my illustration class has forced me to confront my deepest fears and sculpt a maquette of polymer clay without regard to any distaste one might experience as a result of such actions. I discovered almost immediately a fact I probably should've known since childhood, that I have no aptitude with 3-dimensional artwork. Perhaps I was one of those kids more interested in eating the Play-doh than in molding a snake and spaghetti combo platter for two. This semester I undertook the daunting task of becoming a mediocre crafter of ceramic ornaments. The first task was by far the most difficult as is often the case with riddles and safe cracking. I had to learn to make a simple cylinder out of clay on the pottery wheel. It took most of the semester for me to master what my teacher could while blindfolded and being pelted by raisins and peanut brittle. After mastering, excuse me, after managing to consistently muster an acceptable cylinder on most attempts I was ready to start making my dreams come true, my ceramics dreams that is.

Each project was a different object, typically a dish that took a little practice to craft. Each class period we had an assignment due, we would gather around a table and present our work and then view the work of all our classmates. This humiliating ritual always enabled us to see who was the best in the class and naturally the worst as well. I'm happy to report that I wasn't the worst, because some people didn't turn anything in, but I was on the unfortunate end of things. One particular assignment was to craft 2 exquisite bowls. While this might seem straightforward, it was in fact very straightforward. I worked on my bowls a good amount of time and crafted what I felt were gorgeous bowls worthy of a royal breakfast of cereal or something fancy royalty eats from a bowl. As our ritual commenced I went to get my bowls from the damp room where they had been drying. I picked the best of them up and headed to the door and the bowl split in my hands and fell to the floor where it exploded with my heart and the hopes of a passing grade.


Fortunately my teacher was standing next to me when the tragedy occured so he was aware I had had a bowl ready to show. He asked perhaps a pointless question, "Was that your bowl?" I acknowledged that it had been. "Well that's not good. I guess you'll just have to make another one." was his reply. Distressed I went back to work trying to make another bowl as amazing as I had somehow done before. After several attempts and several days I produced another fine bowl that was worthy of the much sought after seal of approval I give myself on occasion. I set this masterpiece in the damp room to dry so I could present it to my teacher and the world. After a day of sweet talking and natural air drying, I took my bowl from the shelf to trim and put the final touches on it. After picking it up I heard a strange noise and saw what can be best described as a hole in the perfect plan. There was a small hole directly in the center of my bowl about the size of a dime. Yet another beautiful bowl disasterously destroyed right before my moistening eyes. I don't know what it's like to have a puppy run away from home, but I imagine the feeling is similar to mine in that moment. I knew I couldn't handle much more heart wrenching ceramic failures without turning into a math major.

I spent the rest of the semester practicing and hammering out dishware like a madman, but my luck with bowls was still distressing until the end. My final week of working with clay I focused all my energy on bowl making and determined to master this elusive and supposedly easy dish before leaving empty handed and swearing off cereal and soup forever. I'm not sure if it was all the practice, hard work, and determination, or if it was just the awkward kid in my class staring over my shoulder the entire time I was working but my luck changed and I proved everyone wrong and right, depending on which way they were betting. In the end I walked out of class feeling I had accomplished something,something great, and also with a truckload of ceramic dishes that I will never use. Sometimes you have to break a few bowls before you learn how to really make them, and to appreciate them when you finally do.