Messages From Carrie
Reflections on recent travels
February 3rd, 2009
Reflections on Recent Travels
Recently I traveled to perform and teach a songwriting workshop in Key West. Key West is the southern most point in the United States and in the winter is lush with flowers and foliage. The temperature hovers around a perfect 70°. My husband and I slept in a room that opened out into the dense branches of an ancient locally beloved mango tree. The next day I borrowed a bicycle and spent the afternoon exploring the island. Key West is a study in contrasts. This island at the literal end of the road is a garden of natural beauty. All night long the ocean laps the coral shores with a steady whoosh and sigh. The community has an openness and appreciation for diversity and has become home to an interesting collective of artist, authors and eccentrics of every stripe. I stopped at state park beach where a man sat on a picnic table playing a nylon stringed Spanish guitar. The seagulls quarreled over bits of a disguarded sandwich calling “mine, mine, mine.” Then I peddled along a wharf that was all dressed up with posh hotels and expensive shops, where enormous cruise ships regularly dock and issue forth throngs sun burnt tourists, looking to buy souvenirs or party like it was Mardi Gras. There are signs of huge waste and wealth in Key West, affluence living a hair’s breath from the invisible people who run the cash registers, wash the dishes in the seafood restaurants and clean all those hotel rooms everyday. I turned onto the main commercial street where everything is bright and busy. Personally, I just don’t handle commercial districts and shopping malls very well. I go to them with the intention of getting a specific item, only to leave an hour later dazed and confused by the sensory overload of all that stuff and signage. At the point when I was disoriented enough to begin searching for a side street escape route, I saw a small sign announcing the presence of a butterfly conservatory. I parked my bicycle and wandered inside. Who would ever imagine that alongside all those t-shirt stores, Margarittaville bars, ice cream shops and places they sell sunglasses, sandals and shellacked shells there could be such a refuge. I stepped out of the cacophony and into a quiet beautifully lit arboretum filled with butterflies. Butterflies were everywhere. There were blue ones the size of my open hand, glorious red and yellow striped ones, one large variety with markings like owl eyes on its wings. The air was a symphony of butterflies, a profusion of delicate wings. Butterflies were landing on wide-eyed children’s shoulders and shirts, tapping with their slender antennae, sipping from bright tropical flowers, flittering in groups, resting alone, slowing opening and closing themselves. I sat on a bench and stayed there for at least an hour, smiling like the Buddha and breathing in the gracefulness and astonishment of the scene. Who knew, who ever knows where you’ll find a miracle. Just when I think the world has gone mad with the love of things of little consequence, I step into a roomful of butterflies.
The next week, I found myself back in Minnesota during the worst cold snap in years. I realized that it was really cold when someone told me it was 27° below zero and even Lutheran confirmation classes had been canceled. When hard core Minnesotans, who are made of much tougher stock than most of us, close the schools and Lutheran confirmation class, well, then you know you’re in deep. For the second time in two weeks, I was struck by a study in contrasts. The people I met were warm and generally kind. It’s hard to be aloof or pretentious when you are wearing a fuzzy earflap hat. I discovered that crazy stuff happens in that kind of cold. You can throw out a glass of water and it pretty much freezes immediately. The steam vented from a household drier becomes a little snowstorm. Any exposed skin beings to hurt and burn very quickly. The gummy bears left out in the car become rock candy. People stay indoors and gather in warm rooms. They dress in layers for warmth and not fashion. They eat tuna hot dish for dinner and waffles with syrup and sausage for breakfast. Food is fuel for the cold and the accepted wisdom is that curvy women and broad chested men live longer. It was a hard week for someone who is not of the tribe of the frozen chosen to be in Minnesota. I wore every layer I’d brought from Key west including my pajama top, then added a few more from the local Family Dollar. I shivered and could not seem to get warm. But, by the end of the week I had begun to appreciate the stark beauty of a Minnesota deep freeze. One evening after a show in Fairbault, I wrestled my two guitars into my rental car (which ironically had Arizona plates). I stopped shivering long enough to lift my eyes to the full moon and the dark night sky. The snow sparkled like glittering dust under the street lamps, it swirled and played in a pool of pale light until a gust blew it out of view and into the blackness. I stopped transfixed by the combined effect of the light, wind, snow dust, and a Minnesota winter moon as cold-eyed as a hunting owl and just as dangerously beautiful. Who knew, who ever knows where you might just find a miracle.