The Dusty Piles

This week is filled with the slog through the piles of stuff brought home from the Mall of the Woods (and I call it that with the utmost of affections). It actually takes several weeks since I have to sort everything in my shop and put many things away for a year, while getting back into production and catching up with all the tasks that were deferred. Still, the pressure is off and I get to enjoy the heat of summer as I work.

I have to wash the rugs and sarongs and sheets and various decorative items and put them where I will be able to find them for Holiday Market or next year's fair. I try to make notes about what worked and didn't as it is a constant practice of refinement. It worked really well this year! I tried all kinds of new displays and arrangements and almost sold out of hats, once I got the display duct-taped to the post so it would stop deferring to gravity.

Of course like most people I love the pre-Fair days the most, in the quiet and soft woods with all the creatures still in place. It's wonderful to have a home where pretty much everyone I know walks by my front porch at least once, whether or not they stop to talk. Parades twice a day, the ever-amusing sweep in the late evening, so many appreciative customers and the magical dropping in of new ideas and directions all make for a fleeting wonder that really does somehow result in psychospiritual rejuvenation.

My project of the Drenched Wench didn't work, so I jettisoned it on Sunday before Fair and might not ever do it now. I was happy that I didn't print the big pile of lovely shirts I had for it, since my pattern is usually to just power through my assigned tasks without hesitation. I'm finally learning that I want to put the extra effort into things that really make me proud of myself and not just throw stuff out there. I put my Radar Angels glasses on for about 5 minutes and didn't even take any costumes to speak of, and just hunkered down and worked as hard as I could for the duration. It was worth it.

I didn't really have time for a good sauna though, so had to clean mine out and take one on Wednesday night. It was great, but being naked in the dark with a varied group of people all getting clean and rested is a big treat and next year I have to make it a higher priority. No one throws a naked party like the Ritz. I know the myth is that nights at the Fair are the best, but I went to bed at dark on Saturday night and don't regret it. I did enjoy walking the paths in my pajamas and no flashlight, drifting along in the stream of excited young people who feel free and supported, going from jazz to bluegrass to old standards from several decades, just being grateful for all the life.

For some reason death is ever-present for me there, and I always set up a little altar for our departed friends, and make a lot of jokes. I made up a little song on Monday morning about Facebooking me when I am dead, and taking my stuff to the dump. I guess it softens the re-entry into town reality which is so much more harsh. Plenty of death in the newspaper, without as much of the joy we almost get used to out there. It can be over the top. At one point I just went to the spirit tower and cried it out. I have to do something to make sure the spirit tower stays, since I swear I will hang out there after-you-know-when.

So as the afterglow fades, I will post this one great story. A baby bird fell out of a tree right in the path in front of my booth! I think it was Wednesday. Some kids found it and it was put on a pillow and the Wildlife Team called. We had a wonderful time speculating on the type of bird (Flycatcher, or maybe Warbling Vireo), looking for the nest, and listening for the parents. Since we couldn't find the nest, we put it in a box and it went to the quiet of the rehab center to be fed and cared for until post-Fair, when it will be brought back home. I love how thoughtful the Fair has learned to be about such things, even when the thoughtfulness becomes almost unimaginably complicated. So many elegant solutions.

I heard a lot of birds after that and am sure that most figured out a routine for the duration. It must be wild to try to weather that onslaught that swells without warning and then disappears. I hope it rains soon to return all the dust to the ground and feed the salmonberries and other fruit. We were ready for rain this year but luckily we just had heat, and lots of it. One thunderstorm per decade is enough out there.

So now back to town concerns and summer languishing. I plan to read and get after those weeds in the yard, and make some time for writing and coming up with new products. It's a big refresh and reboot and fling and shedding and making of a mark. I think it was my 25th year in my spot. I marked it with a little interview in the Weekly where I told secrets. I hope I don't get in trouble. I didn't tell all of my secrets though. Catch me in the sauna and ask, some summer night. I'm likely to tell, in the dark and the sweat. I have to tell them all before I go, so they can be properly Facebooked. Or taken to the dump.