Tim,
bless his darlin’ heart, spent considerable energy this sodden and blustery week
perusing weaving websites on my behalf. He researched harness looms (haven’t
mastered the rigid heddle yet), raw wool (spinning and dyeing my own yarn is still
a ways down the road), and organic yarn sources. He sent me several links
featuring beautiful traditional and modern rugs and tapestries. One could—and does!—lose
a lot of time clicking from one to the next, and the next, and the next. Not to
be outdone, I connected with Yarn Barn of (Lawrence) Kansas; Stitch ‘n’ Frame
out of Urbandale, Iowa; The Woolery in Frankfort, Kentucky; and the used-book
site Alibris to find a must-have out-of-print volume entitled Finishes in the Ethnic Tradition by
Suzanne Baizerman and Karen Searle.
No
wonder many of our gardening clients and neighbors think we’ve left town, died,
or both.
The link
in my inbox Saturday morning opened to Crazy Woman’s Navajo Weaving Supplies. I admire Navajo rugs and blankets, but what
resonated in my heart was the contact address. She lives on Hidden Hollow Road
in Recluse, Wyoming.
 |
| Recluse, Wyoming (courtesy GoogleMaps) |
I
glommed onto the idea of Recluse. I visualized a small log cabin on
its own private track, called Go Away Gulch Lane, or some such. A cloistered
existence has always sung siren songs to me—as long as it’s plumbed,
electrified, near a large body of water, not subject to harsh winters, and
fully funded. I do have a few standards, after all.
GoogleMaps’
satellite pictures injected a dose of unwelcome reality into my cozy
imaginings. Tucked into the otherwise empty northeast corner of the state, Recluse
looks to be a cluster of about 12 buildings in a wide-ish spot on Recluse Road,
unceremoniously plunked down in a taupe ocean of raked-gravel-like harvested
fields. A precious few algae-green patches erupt into the brown, but I bet they’re
densely populated (relatively speaking, of course) with zealously guarded
borders.
Extremely
well named, Recluse lies about 200 miles north-northeast of Casper; 200 miles
northwest of Rapid City, South Dakota; 225 miles southeast of Billings,
Montana; and around 150 miles from the eastern edge of Yellowstone National
Park—the part lacking access roads.
Then memories
of the time Tim and I drove through eastern Wyoming on our way to Mount
Rushmore poured in. We stopped along the absolutely featureless stretch of I-25
between Cheyenne and Casper to look at some big-horn sheep and the still-visible
ruts etched into the stony ground by covered wagons filled with hopeful
settlers on their tortuous way to Oregon in the 19th century. I read
Willa Cather: stories of pioneer women driven insane by horizon-to-horizon
treelessness and incessant wind sprang to mind. I would have joined the
sisterhood of Looney Lucys for sure. I started to cry.
That
evening, in Casper, Tim and I had our one and only serious fight.
Because
everything goes faster these days, Lucy was creeping in after only seven hours.
No wonder Cate Loetscher, proprietor of Navajo Weaving Supplies, calls herself
Crazy Woman. She’s certainly made of sterner stuff than I am.
 |
| Oak Island, NC (courtesy GoogleMaps) |
Looking
at the blessedly blue and green GoogleMap of Oak Island made me think maybe
things aren’t really so awful here. It’s certainly a textbook example of being
careful what one wishes for, with a soupรงon
of the devil one knows is better, yadayada.
Take a
minute from frenetic preparations for the holiday season to be truly grateful
for all you already have and are. It may not offer all the delights of Recluse,
Wyoming, but grace and happiness reside there nonetheless.
Thanks
for dropping by.
Kathy
