It is very difficult to stay inside these days. Everyone from chipmunks to farmers are scurrying to get everything done outside and everything needed inside before the cold. But some days lately, the air feels more like late summer and there are mountains beckoning a climb and lakes still inviting a paddle. Today the autumn colors are muted, and I sit for just a moment, hot coffee steaming, not quite anymore languishing in the Adirondack chair under the twin-Maple.
As I was helping load the woodkiln last week, the talk turned to people and places, potters and their studios. As our hands passed each glazed piece into the hands of the person inside the kiln stacking the work, I found myself thinking about old friends, the people of clay whom I had known and had the privilege of working with and learning from. An artist may leave behind an object of his or her making, but sometimes that person informs and instructs our very lives. So it was for me the day I met Paulus.
The first to show-up were the fat buds on the maple trees, the tiny Bluets in the grass, and the two Robins who return each year. And then came the ladders and paint cans; garden fencing and seed packets. Clay tools were cleaned, cobwebs swept, rotted porch steps replaced, and the Farmhouse Gallery installed. Making ready for Makers. And aren’t we really all makers?