There are few things I love more than to wander at a moderate pace with no other distractions in my mind than the world immediately around me. Unleash me on a city without family at my heels and I can go for days. I need little sustenance but the stories spun from the landscape consumed step-by-step down a city street. In an unfamiliar place there is chance and opportunity around every corner. I hunger to find the unknown and unexpected in unfamiliar territory. My life, at this moment in time, has a pretty consistent rhythm and balance of family and food and movement and studio time, but sometimes everything gets turned on its head and we unfold into the opportunity of what is beyond the great familiar.
I long to invite adventure into our lives and so I tend to spend spare moments conjuring how we might explore the world. Oh that we were one of those families who stripped life to the bare essentials and traveled the world on a shoestring doing service projects in various locales, finding ways to connect with a culture and unpeel the mystery that lies before us. But it seems, for a mountain of reasons, that is not us, at least not now. For the moment I am the one who longs to discover the tangible world beyond my doorstep and beyond beyond my doorstep. My girls are game for adventures and willingly oblige when I announce that we are setting out on a train to St. Louis or to an orchard in Michigan or an isolated spot far far away. But their stamina for long term adventure is limited. The familiarity of home, the rhythm of the known is reassuring to their little hearts. My husband too finds great comfort in the stability of home. There is infinite possibility in our home when we all retreat into our little worlds. We imagine and create and swim into our interior unknowns. And then there is so much exploring in the immediate vicinity, people to know, places to absorb, things to learn and grow into, chances to practice and practice again a skill, opportunities to connect with wounds that are not our own, to be harrowed by them and to offer support on a long and painful road. The great wide world can be too much sometimes, too much intensity, too much possibility, too much stimulation. And so with an eye to keeping my crew in harmony, extreme upheaval will have to wait.
In the interim my curiosity can be sated by a small town just beyond the horizon. I am infinitely intrigued by that which I do not know, the place where I have not been, the people I have not said hello to. There are boundless opportunities in the small towns and national parks in our own country to learn, see or experience something new. I've lived in this country for almost 40 years and how much of it have I deeply explored? Not so very much. I have made home on the East and West Coast, in the South and Midwest, hiked and camped in the Southwest, driven cross-country, but I still feel the pull of all its peculiar nooks and crannies to dive deeper, to revel more fully in its vast expanses. Flying cross-country on a clear day is a birds eye view into the infinite unknown, into the creeks and valleys and farmlands and forests. I long to be unleashed upon this landscape. To journey deep into this countryside with a camera, a change of clothes, a water bottle and some snacks. Imagine. Imagine drinking up the grit and the beauty of each ounce of city block, each curve of path, each bend in the river. And so when my beloved decided to run his fourth marathon, I thought hmmm, where shall we explore? What town can I wander through and possibly find something old, something new, some source of sustenance in?
And so we landed in Grand Rapids, MI. It was a three hours drive from here to there through the industrial burn out of Gary, IN and on into the rolling beauty of Michigan's abundant fruit basket. As we approached the city I wondered when the slowly increasing density of outer suburbs would begin, but it was almost as if we emerged from the verdant farmland right into the city. A place of wide streets, because here in the Midwest we are less confined by our geography, space opens her arms wide to urban planners and says lay down your streets, we welcome the broadness of your back. And in 1831 when the 72 acres that make up the configuration of downtown Grand Rapids was purchased, that space became defined and began to be constructed.
Today Grand Rapids is a fascinating little oasis of art and culture amidst agriculture. There is a rich history of furniture design and production, several art museums and galleries, a thriving farmers market culture, money for the most incredible YMCA in the country, I'm sure of it, a number of universities, sweet places to eat, what looks like a cutting edge children's hospital and oh so much more. Upon our arrival I was chomping at the bit to catch a few hours of exploring before the fleeting light left us in darkness and in need of rest. My family, not so much. I promised samples of Loves Ice Cream or the Grocer's Daughter Chocolate, playing in parks and adventures in museums, but what my girls really wanted to do, I mean really Really really wanted to do was draw for a few hours, swim in the pool, explore the lobby of the hotel in all its splendid grandeur and eat take out sushi, so rather than struggle, coerce, cajole I let it be. They felt like they had just arrived at a little magical hub, a sort of Eloise meets some unknown swimming adventure story. They wanted to settle into this place, to draw what they thought its visitors of yesteryear might have looked like, to find a space of sanctuary in their momentary home. And so my illogical bribery with sugar lost an unnecessary battle and I took up the mantle of the loan adventurer.
The morning's rain had dried up and the light had begun to shift, sinking back toward the earth. I had a few short hours to get lost, find beauty and return, so I grabbed my camera and made like the wind. And oh my goodness, oh my goodness did I ever loose myself in the enchanting light of autumnal early evening, the bricks and mortar buildings reflecting stories of lives lived, lost and reimagined, the brilliance of innovative small businesses, bits of art left behind from the recently celebrated ArtPrize, the humble beauty of Heritage Hill home to some 1,300 homes once slated for demolition now lovingly restored and inhabited by those who are contended to be surrounded by walls that echo stories of once upon a time before. It was a glorious two and a half hours that left me with an itch to return.
As a city it seemed to hold infinite possibility. There was space and opportunity for one to start something and be unique, to possibly offer something that others wanted to be a part of and have it take off. Maybe I'm being romantic and idyllic and provincial, but having lived in great urban centers for most all of my life there is something intriguing about these smaller clusters of inhabitants. Sometimes I feel lost in the hub-bub of the big city, like there are so many of us that nobody is quite so distinct and that to not be washed over you really have to stand up and shout. I think I'm not the best shouter. But, I have been to a few smaller places that are rich with reflections that inspire me, where perhaps there isn't the buzz of New York City, but there is the community and affordability and commitment to one's practice to allow for the chance to thrive. Viroqua, WI embodies this ideal for me. A small town of 4,000 with a huge organic co-op and thriving community of makers and artists. People are living rich dynamic lives with a certitude of space and quiet and inspired interested people who want to connect and adventure together, to share in each other's successes and failures. But I digress, let me get back on track here. Yes, during our sojourn in Grand Rapids I had a strong sense of the potential to be a big fish in a small pond.
This sense was fed by the absolute gems that I encountered while wandering. That they existed in this place I knew nothing about, that they were supported and thriving made me feel a sense of hope and probability. I'll just share two and then be on my way. The Downtown Market: This LEED certified building houses a number of independent local foods vendors making delicious things, beautiful community spaces, several rooftop greenhouses, a kids demonstration kitchen, and a number of classes and opportunities to commune. It is geothermal to boot. It all began as the idea of a few determined and devoted community members with a vision. The other spot I almost stumbled past warmed and inspired my heart to no end. I felt as if the vision and sensibility of the place was so deeply kindred as to be eerie. Have Company is a sweet little store front and gallery offering residency opportunities for artists, classes taught by said artists and beautiful hand-crafted goods. The vibe was so rich with a diversity of makings, so delightfully curated and so inviting as to feel like home. That I otherwise knew nothing about them made the encounter unexpectedly blissful. This space seems to have been conjured from a beautiful sense of integrity and community. I love this little tid bit from their website, "The shop is filled with fine art & goods that we truly believe in. Many of the items you will see in the shop are things we use in our own home, made by our friends. We hope that when you take something home from Have Company you are filled with the desire to make."
And so it seems that I found a bit of the familiar in the unfamiliar. That we can journey far afield and find points of connection makes the blazing candle in my heart burn bright and hopeful for all of humanity. Oh and I nearly failed to mention that my beloved ran his fastest marathon yet. Goes to show that we, like good wine, get better with age.