Leaving Today: Pine Cone on Redwood

Pine Cone on Redwood Stump
Originally uploaded by Susan Thacker.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

I am leaving Big Sur this morning. I am cleaning the studio with a heavy heart. I am filled with thoughts about the Mudds, who I feel I got to know during this last month, thanks to the loving stories shared by Jim Cox, their ranch manager and friend for many many years. Yesterday I saw some photographs of the Mudds when they were young and vital, laughing at parties, at their daughter's wedding at Glen Deven Ranch, snapshots of graduations and intimate dinners, with horses and dogs, a photograph of their children around a Christmas fire. As I sit here writing the last entry to this blog, I am witness to the seasons changing before my eyes. Santa Ana winds have become Arctic blasts. Dusty ruts in the road are puddles now.

I intend to preserve the awe and joy of the previous weeks here, an unprecedented time where I remained spiritually open to every change. I was undaunted by carpenter ants and rewarded with rainbows. I read Walden while living Walden. I painted with energy and the work was received with enthusiasm. I met dozens of new people, every one of whom I'd like to see again. Still, as I pack up the paint and dispose of the perishables, I 'm trying not to feel sad. Though the residency has come to an end, tomorrow will be the beginning of something else. Just as the Mudds, though long gone, are surely pleased by the gift they gave me, I will find ongoing pleasure in giving gifts of my own. In January, The Big Sur Land Trust, the Big Sur Arts Initiative, Jim Cox and myself will begin to assess how this can become an ongoing opportunity for other artists. And I want to leave you with one last gift: my hope for those of you who found your way to this blog, that you too now realize it is never too late to pursue a dream. I hope I've especially shown my children (including those I did not birth --you all know who you are) that it is always good to stretch your boundaries, but also, to be occasionally very quiet and listen to what the world and nature are trying to tell you, and finally to be grateful for what you have received. I love you all.

(On the subject of gifts, that reminds me,.. I'm in deep trouble in the Christmas gift department. Unless you put in an order for tie-died socks a.s.a.p., I haven't even thought about the holidays, so forgive me if you don't get a present until March.) Today, I don't feel sharp enough to articulate an ending to this journal worthy of what the experience calls for. I'm looking our the window again at the last sunset I will see from this seat for a while. In the sky, which is beginning to fill with rose tinted clouds, a plane flies high above the Santa Lucia mountain range. I am reminded of the very first time I flew alone. I was fourteen and I went to visit Judy Murray in Carmel. The flight was from LAX to Santa Barbara to Monterey Airport. I had a window seat and my face pressed to the glass the entire flight. I wondered who lived in those little houses tucked into pines along the top of the mountain range so far below the belly of the plane. Now I know: I Do.