HOMEWARD BOUND AND TOMORROW'S ART FESTIVAL

          Homeward Bound, the title for the article I recently wrote for Our Canada magazine is perhaps rather apt for the journey I've experienced during most of my life.  As odd as it seems, I'm not sure that I know the meaning of "home".  I've lived in many places over the years and in several different cities; each place I moved to, thinking it would be the last, however, like the "bear went over the mountain to see what he could see", greener pasture's have always beckoned.  Here on Golden Unicorn Farm, near the base of Green Mountain on the very outskirts of Fosterville, NB, I am once again calling another place "home".  I've shared my life with several women and approximately 13 kids during the many moves and different places I've lived, each time hoping my unsettled life would settle down but it never has.  Even now, I wonder if this will be my last move, the last place I will live before I take my last breath, the last journey over forever.  Maybe that's why I keep moving towards the horizon; it's unreachable.
          It's been quite a long time since I've had a book or an article published and I have to say it still feels good to have one accepted, to know that someone out there will perhaps enjoy or learn something from what I've written.  Sometimes, like many of the talented friends I've known over the years who became quite successful with their creative endeavours, I wish I had their drive to pursue getting my stories and poetry published - someone once told me they were worthwhile and should be read by others.  However, like many things in my life, I just haven't been able to get that serious about it.  I really enjoy the creative process to write a story or paint a canvas but after I've read the finished story and hung the painting on a wall; my interest in them soon goes elsewhere.  I suppose like "homeward bound", always on the move; going from place to place, project to project; never really satisfied, the horizon always beckoning; my lot in life would be to accept my nomadic ways but I think even a true nomad prefers a home base.
          I've had money, been broke and busted but through it all, the horizon has never dimmed nor has my talent ever wavered.  I've been lucky that way; I don't know the meaning of boredom.  If there is a pencil and a sheet of paper within reach, no matter where I'm at, before I move on, that piece of paper will be filled with words or doodles.

 

          Tomorrow, my wife Sarah and I are holding an art festival at our place.  At the moment, we have signed up 14 artisans that create a variety of different works.  Several others have been in touch, including a few musicians and hopefully, they will still show up - the more the merrier so to speak.  Our intention is to revive the art exhibition that used to occur annually at the nearby Hide-A-Way Inn on East Grand Lake.  Unlike the other artists that are participating, I will not be able to give any possible art lovers or fanciers my undivided attention regarding any interest they may have in my art as I will be bar-b-quing wieners and sausages for the better part of the day.  And, as I glance about my studio in total disarray, although it's still fairly early in the morning, some farm chores still needing tending, I best end this blog so I can start getting my artwork presentable - cheers - eh!