Meeting Ms. Turtle, Part II

Where were we?

Ah yes; preparing art trades, cash and all my savings. Seller-financing agreements, good-faith deposits, one-way flights, and crying, lots and lots of crying. I was still selling paintings to get Ms. Turtle back to Charlotte as the plane took off. We were still planning the murals and trade work, still finalizing the agreement, and a massive rainstorm was brewing off the coast as I landed in Florida; and I had exactly one week for this trip.

Summer picked me up at the airport, about 30 minutes drive back to her homestead. I felt immediately comfortable and welcomed. I mostly took in the new scenery as we drove. This was my first time in North Florida, full of crooked trees and farmland. We drove through the town of Melrose, with its little shops and art class studio, before arriving at the gate of Wildflowers Meadows. It was a bit like crossing the threshold into a story book.

Light trickled through the trees, and atop the red metal roof of a dark wood house with hexagonal windows. “The hex room,” they call it. Pocket clearings peppered the property, tucked with a wooden garage, a sweet little cottage, trees and wild flowers, an open field, a bamboo forest, a full-sized converted school bus… and Ms. Turtle. Summer took me to see her first. The sweet smell of cedar greeted my nose as I walked through the shuttle doors. I sat in there for nearly an hour while Summer took a zoom meeting. Just sat there, on the floor, in the back of the bus. It’s one of those moments when time stops moving, and I can’t remember any of the thoughts I had, but I do remember the feeling. The feeling of home.

For three years, I have waded deeper into my nomadic art practice, rebuilding a business that had long been unsustainable for me. This looked (honestly?) messier than I expected. It looked like guest rooms and couches and pet sitting, like lots and lots of travel. Like taking longer than expected. Airbnb’s and hotel rooms and camping and like really, really good friends. It looked like raising my son differently than I had example for. Like a lot of time outdoors. It felt like lots and lots of crying. Like fear of making the wrong decision. It acted like problem solving, and pivoting, and prioritizing my own needs, and facing reality, and like asking for help. For three years, home looked like a back-pack and a travel easel.

And suddenly, somehow, I was sitting inside my literal dream. First though, it was time to get to work.

Which began with a materials run and racing the sunset to seal a leaky sunroof. The next two days were all about the skoolie roof, caulking and applying this sticky silicone sealant called Henri-Tropicool, meant to reflect the southern sun and keep the interior cooler. It was blinding to apply in the open daylight, even with sunglasses on, it was like staring into the sun itself all weekend. It made the brain foggy.

I almost sealed myself onto the roof at one point. Had to jump down onto the nose of the bus with Summer’s help. A friend of hers helped caulk while I brush painted around all the lights and fixtures. Summer and I took turns tackling the roller. Amidst rainclouds, drying time, and sheer effort in Florida heat, the task took all weekend.

Somewhere amidst it all we landed on a new color for the skoolie base coat. This rich green color matching the cottage sign. Off for another materials run, this time in Gainesville, while racing the rain. Summer wrote that it must be an interesting experience for me, to be silent all weekend. I told her, a new experience, yes, but in my own way silence is a regular part of my experience, so I felt very comfortable.

She made us vegetarian tacos for dinner. I honestly could want for nothing during my stay. I slept in the cozy little guest cottage, welcomed by my new friend Yoshi, with an electric tea kettle and a big box of black tea.

Summer took me grocery shopping for small meals in the cottage, and between her and her partner Mario, who arrived from Italy after the weekend, I was served delicious communal meals three times a day.

The morning after a surprise rain cut our work day, after I woke up to work in the middle of the night to stay on schedule, they surprised me with a “fancy” coffee, blended with chocolate syrup and alternative milk, served on a little wooden tray, and this joyful plate of eggs on a gold accented plate. A treat! I exclaimed. All I had to do was listen to my body and paint.

To communicate we typed out longer conversations at meal times on our laptop/tablets. We used very basic ASL on site, and I learned a lot. I also remembered that, while I know the alphabet, I am a very, terrible speller. We relied on the live transcribe app to type when we were shopping and working. I learned to count in ASL. She asked me what my favorite sound was, on the homestead. This was probably my favorite question of the whole week. I said it was the birds. Specifically the owls. The owls were always cooing.

It took nearly three more days to lay the base coat. Everywhere that was once cream turned green, and everywhere that was black became black with gold glitter. The doors were painted gold. The Cypress Skoolie was getting a whole new makeover. We were still working out the mural design on day five. The storm was turning us to soup, and mosquito food. Fifteen hour days, one long night, I was still confident it would be done.

And so it was.

To be continued… again…