Sometimes it Pours

When I started this newsletter my thought was to give you all an insiders view of my life as I tried to take the next step in becoming a full time professional nature photographer and writer. I wanted to share stories and give an honest account of what happens behind the scenes, what goes on in the field, and what it's like on the road doing art shows. With the arrival of COVID-19 my plans for this year were very much derailed, and as you all know while stuck in limbo this newsletter became a platform for sharing old tales, random musings and speaking about social issues. After a very long wait I thought that perhaps this would be the week that I'd have the opportunity to write, in real time, about something a little more in line with that original intent.  I got back on the road, got my camera out for the first time in ages, and unfortunately things got very real... fast. I'm writing to you this morning from Belgrade, Montana. I'm not supposed to be here right now. 

I'm not sure where to begin the story of this past week- up until about 36 hours ago things were going pretty much as planned. After a cautious self quarantine I finally left Utah, swung down to southern Colorado to see my Grandma, uncle, aunt and cousins, then ran home to Iowa for a couple of days. On the way I stopped and camped at Waubonsie State Park in the Loess Hills and actually got out and took some pictures. Nothing to write home about other than the significance of the act. I've been in such a funk lately and it's been months since I've touched my camera, or felt any desire to do so. I was hoping that this trip might help to stir those embers a bit, and it was nice to be back in the familiar Iowa landscape to click the shutter a few times again. 

It was a very brief but productive stop back in Tipton. Basically two days- one spent in a meeting with the historical society to work on a nonprofit that some guys I went to school with and I are trying to launch (I'll officially announce and write more about this in a future issue) and the second day spent loading my tent, prints, and display walls for this weekend's show. After very cautious deliberation it was decided that with proper measures the Whitefish Arts Festival could go on, and I feel good enough about the safeguards they'll have in place to participate. Tuesday morning I was off again, down that old familiar highway, big sky bound. 

Tuesday night I camped in the Badlands, got my camera out again, and by Wednesday morning the shots were beginning to feel not quite as forced. That afternoon I stopped for about an hour at Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument, but it wasn't the experience that I'd hoped for. It was very busy, and people were crowding around the various historical markers and informational signs. I'm committed to being really cautious on this trip- ethically as an artist traveling to a show (I don't want to contract COVID and expose any of the patrons) and of course just as a matter of personal responsibility. We should all be taking what measures we can to reduce our risk of contracting or spreading this disease. Many of the visitors at Little Bighorn were actually wearing masks, social distancing and being patient and respectful. But of course it was those who weren't that would walk right up, read over your shoulder and waft suspect breath in your ear. I spent more time dodging the mouth breathers there than anything. 

Continuing west into Montana brought back a lot of good memories. There's a point where Interstate 90 parallels the Yellowstone River for a stretch and the landscape here is absolutely gorgeous. I hit this section just as the evening sun dropped beneath passing storm clouds, and it reminded me of a similar scene I'd witnessed here on my first move to the Flathead Valley. It gave me a sense of hope- something that's been very hard to come by now for way too long. Montana, and Whitefish, are of course very special places to me, and looking back on my life over the past twenty years so many new chapters have begun here. Might this prove another? I definitely need it to. While I swore that I would not let financial desperation factor over health and ethics in deciding if I would do this show (and I promise that it hasn't) I also realize that this might be one of the most crucial of my career. It's the only that hasn't been cancelled so far, except for a few in Iowa in September, and the way things are trending I am really concerned that this might end up being the only show that happens for me in 2020- a year when I'd placed so much on my plan to hit the road and try to turn things around. Coming out here was a gamble with the cost of extra fuel and everything, but I just felt compelled to try. In the past months I've felt more and more like not only my business, but my dreams are all dying. I needed this to focus on. I needed this to get back in the swing of things. I needed this to get on the road and feel inspired to take pictures again. I need this for a lot of reasons, and seeing that sun break over the Yellowstone River the way that it did at least gave me some hope that it might be okay to hope again. 

Do you all want to hear a really bad idea? Try this. Spend about a month going through a major dietary transition, head out on a several thousand mile road trip, live almost entirely off of bread and peanut butter for the better part of a week, and then stop at Taco Bell. (I guess it seems pretty blatant when you put it in writing...) After a couple of years of scaling way back on my meat consumption, I finally committed entirely to a vegetarian diet this spring. My reasons are both environmental and ethical, and my anger with packing plant laborers being forced to work in unsafe conditions amidst the rampant spread of coronavirus (We won't be placing lives over livelihoods, as Iowa Governor Kim Reynolds would say...) really opened the flood gates for me as far as becoming truly disgusted with a food system that I refuse to any longer be a part of. So anyway, that's all gone quite seamlessly except for the fact that I haven't really eaten out since making this change. Traditionally when I'm off on these trips I'm kind of a minimalist, I'll buy a few groceries and happily live out of the car. The other night though I just felt like a little variety, and while stopped for gas in Billings I noticed that I was across the street from a Taco Bell. Having yet to really explore any meatless fast food options I knew that this would be an easy menu to navigate, and decided to indulge. 

I'd say it was roughly three minutes and forty seven seconds after the "Might this be hope?..." moment along the Yellowstone that the first wave hit. I spent the next couple hours doubled over the wheel, racing from one rest area to the next. That bean burrito was ruthless. When I got to Bozeman a few hours later I knew I couldn't make it to another rest stop, so when I saw the Taco Bell logo on a highway sign I gripped the wheel tighter with revenge in mind. I hit the exit doing about 85, went to tap my brakes, and my foot went all the way to the floor. There was hardly any pressure there, and the red brake system warning light illuminated on my dash. I tried again and found just a little tension, then began to pump frantically as I raced down the offramp. Luckily I was able to get slowed and stopped without resorting to the emergency brake, but I had my left foot on that pedal, ready to kick it if I had to. I got stopped and pulled off the road, ran into a McDonalds (they were closest and let's face it... probably deserved it too) then returned to check out the brakes. It was dark, and I still had some fluid, though it looked a little low. I couldn't see a leak in any of the lines. I tried driving it around the block to reassess, and it was clear that I shouldn't try going any further that night. I got a room with the plan to wait and deal with it in the daylight.

When I returned to the vehicle yesterday morning, I immediately saw a puddle underneath, toward the front near the drivers door. I'd blown a brake line and would have to get it fixed. I was still five hours from Whitefish, and western Montana isn't the best place to be driving around without brakes. I went to a nearby shop and they didn't have time to see me. The place across the road was willing to take a look, but upon inspection realized they'd need to remove the fuel tank to replace the line and didn't have time on the schedule  for the day. I spent the next hour on the phone calling what must have been just about every mechanic in Bozeman. Every place was booked, but I finally found one shop that was sympathetic to my situation. The mechanic gave me a couple of numbers to call and asked that I let him know what I'd found. He said he might try and work me into the evening if I couldn't find anywhere else. I needed to be in Whitefish setting up that afternoon, so I hoped it wouldn't come to that, but I definitely appreciated the offer, especially in contrast to the smug responses I was getting from others I had called. Unfortunately those numbers didn't pan out, so when I called back to report he gave me one more to try. It was a shop in Belgrade, about ten miles down the road. They were sympathetic too, and said they were pretty busy but to come right in.

Things generally tend to work out in situations like this, and I've been through enough to know this. Still, it doesn't make it any less stressful while it's happening (nor does driving down the freeway then trying to find your way through an unfamiliar town without brakes.) I made it to the Belgrade garage okay though, and they worked me right in. Sure enough my brake line had rusted though, and the whole thing needed to be replaced. They were willing to get right on it, and said it would be a few hours. It would also be several hundred dollars. My stomach dropped, though I knew that was a reality that was coming (also a huge contributor to the stress.) I didn't have a choice, but there went next months rent. Now I really had to get to that Whitefish show. 

Set up in Whitefish was to run until 9:00 last night, with the show starting this morning at ten. (Twelve minutes from now as I'm writing this, in Belgrade, five hours away...) As all of this played out yesterday morning I figured as long as I could be on the road by one in the afternoon I'd still get up there with plenty of time to set up. The mechanic was supposed to call me when they were done, and I walked to a nearby park to hang out. I actually ended up falling asleep on a park bench (I've been struggling with some insomnia lately too) and was rewarded with a nasty sunburn on the one leg I apparently had draped over the back. It's a good look. Kind of like a farmers tan only with one leg beet red while the other is all white and pale. 

The shop still hadn't called at one thirty, so I walked back to see how things were going. The guy at the counter saw me and just shook his head. 

"Your master cylinder is shot too..." he explained. He said they had luckily found one at the Napa in town and it was on its way. It would be another couple of hours to install by the time they put my fuel tank back on and everything back together. And of course, another couple hundred dollars. 

I felt sick. I came into this walking such a fine financial line between eeking out survival and total bust. I couldn't afford the delay. I couldn't afford the extra for hotels. I couldn't afford a new brake line, and I certainly couldn't afford this. Ironically, there is a pawn shop right next to the mechanic here in Belgrade and as I walked back to kill what I thought would just be a couple more hours in the park, I had to face some hard truths. I wondered what I might be able to unload in order to help get me on my way. Unfortunately, as far as items of value that I have with me, my camera and lenses are about all that's worth more than a few bucks. 

I sat in that little park in Belgrade for two more hours feeling completely despondent. I feel really lost right now, and kind of like everything is flashing before my eyes. For so long I've fought to hold on, to chase my dreams, even when the world seems to insist that I just knock it off. I've watched as the list of those who believe in me has gotten shorter and shorter, heard rumblings from some who don't know why I don't just go settle into some labor job, get my shit together, accept my lot and fade into time. And honestly, some days it's hard not to question this myself. I've worked my entire life to be different, and I know that I am, but when you're trying to follow your own path the odds always seem to be stacked against you, and when things like this happen that stack grows higher yet. 

I don't know what happens from here. They weren't able to finish the repairs yesterday, and I'm still waiting to hear if they can today. The first master cylinder they received was defective. They got another from Bozeman late yesterday afternoon, but it ended up being the wrong part. They had to try and get one trucked in from Billings, which was supposed to come in this morning. If that doesn't work, I'm stuck here for at least the weekend, or who knows how long. I was able to get ahold of the show director up in Whitefish. She's been very understanding. When at first I didn't think I'd be in until late last night she spoke with the security guard to give me permission to come in and set up this morning before the show began. I called her back later and explained what was happening. She'll let me still take part, I can come in and set up tonight and still have Saturday and Sunday for the show... if I can get there. That's still unknown. So much is still unknown.

Without a vehicle last night I really didn't have many options. I do have some old friends here in the area, but haven't spoken to them in a few years. Last night I wasn't in the mood for catching up. I ended up walking to a motel and staying the night. I'll be leaving here as soon as I send this to walk the mile or so back to the mechanic and see where my life goes from here. 

But in all of this, I've also had plenty of time to think, and when you've chased your dreams and fought to find your own path as hard, or for as long, as I have, that doesn't die easily. It wears on you for sure; especially in times like this- and so often it becomes a matter of how much can you take before you break. I don't know if I'm there yet. I don't know where I am in the grand scheme of things. I just know I'm in Belgrade, Montana... and I'm supposed to be back up in Whitefish, doing a show right now. 

I'm not going to pawn my camera. Not today, anyhow. I'm going to try my best to get up there. Like I say, I didn't make it this far without learning how to fight. And while the list of those who believe in me has gotten pretty small, I am still very determined to prove those people right, and to make them proud. I'll keep fighting to do that until the very end. And I'll fight to keep believing too.

After I checked into the motel last night, I was trying to decompress and started somewhat mindlessly scrolling thought Facebook. One of the first things that I saw was one of my favorite quotes, from one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver. 

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

I'm going to keep dreaming. I'm going to try my best to keep chasing those dreams. I'm going to send this email, walk to that mechanic, and see where my story goes from here. I'm going to get to Whitefish if I can, and I'm going to see what the next chapter has in store.

I'm not going to give up. 

I'm going to get out there, and I'm going to try my best. 

I'm not sure how this wild and precious life is going to play out.

All I know is that I'm going to try. 

*******

Be safe everyone, and please enjoy your Fourth of July weekend. I may not be able to respond to messages for a few days from here. I'll either be living under a bridge in Belgrade while my vehicle stays the shop (just kidding, I do have people I can call) or I'll be up in Whitefish doing a show. And hopefully after, I'll be heading into Glacier to take some pictures. I'll write again in a couple weeks to let you all know how this turns out.