One day while walking through some paths about 10 minutes from my apartment in Flagstaff, I stumbled upon a labyrinth.
I’d never seen nor walked a labyrinth before, so I appreciated the plated stone at its entrance—which included some background information and directions:
Labyrinths are an ancient part of the cultures of Egypt, India, Europe, and the Americas (including Hopi & Tohono O’ odham).
“How should I walk the labyrinth?” There is no “right way” to walk a labyrinth, but you may find this information useful:
There are no forks or choices on the single path to the center & back out.
Most people walk the labyrinth without talking, and prefer not to hear others talking.
Most people prefer the 2-way journey (to the center and back out). Most people sit in the center ring to reflect for a few minutes.
When people come as a group, individuals usually start about a minute apart.
It’s OK to stop and pause anywhere. It’s also OK to get bored and quit.
As long as you respect the labyrinth, the land, and other walkers, your way is right for you.
Couldn’t some of those instructions be beautifully applied to living, as well? It’s okay to stop and pause anywhere. It’s okay to get bored and quit a journey or pursuit. As long as you respect yourself, the earth, and fellow humans, the way you choose to live your life is right for you.
There are plenty more labyrinth metaphors to draw, several of which were written about in a journal of visitor comments that I discovered under the nearby bench, wrapped in a big ziploc.
It’s provided by the Flagstaff Community Labyrinth group, who also transcribes all visitor comments and posts them on their site. While I much prefer paging through the entries and seeing the visitor’s handwriting, I’m impressed by and grateful for everything the labyrinth community does to offer such a reflective space to the public and to share it.
I’ve walked the labyrinth several times during my first three months in Flagstaff, each providing the calm reflection and guidance I needed at the time, and I look forward to many more visits in 2018.
Have you walked a labyrinth before? Where was it? Would you like to install a labyrinth in your community?
As soon as this arrived, my mind built it all up into a mountain: the gear I needed to get, the amount of money I’d need to spend, the things I had to get done in the next seven days. It felt as though I were leaving the next day, even though I had a full week of unscheduled time to get everything done. Bit by bit, the world conspired to get me here with ease.
It all began with the backpack. I searched Craigslist for large backpacking backpacks and found two that fit the bill. One was listed for $75 and was green, the other was $90 and beautifully blue. They were both good brands and hadn’t been used very much. I sent an email to both, explaining that I’d just been accepted to work on the conservation corps and needed a backpack in the coming days.
The woman selling the blue backpack was free to meet on Friday morning, but the woman selling the green backpack ended up being free to meet Thursday evening. Not only was she available earlier, but she suggested meeting at the public library in my town, meaning she would drive in from out of town. To boot, she texted on Thursday to say the pack also came with a rain cover and 2.5 L water bladder, which she hadn’t mentioned in the Craigslist post. As this information trickled in, my desire for the blue pack faded. I biked to an ATM to get cash, certain I’d be making several Craigslist purchases in the next few days—this green backpack being the first.
We met at 6 in the library parking lot. I had brought some full water bottles, books, and my yoga mat along so that I could try on the backpack with some weight in it, as recommended by my friend Emily.
I put in the assorted items and tried on the backpack, not a clue as to the correct way to size it. It seemed to fit just fine, the rain cover and water bladder were awesome extras, and I was anxious to check off the first item of my mountainous to-do list. “I think this’ll work well, I’ll take it!” I said.
The woman replied, “Great, because I’m giving it to you.”
I opened the car door, pulled out my wallet, and began to count out the twenties I’d gotten earlier in the day. “Twenty, forty—
“No, I mean it,” she interrupted, “I’m giving it to you. It’s a gift.”
I froze.
“Noooooooo” I said, my tone dropping in confused disbelief.
“I insist,” she said.
Was this really happening? My emotions were swelling
“Thank you,” I mustered.
As the words left my mouth I could feel their gross inadequacy. I took a step towards the woman and gave her a hug, doing what felt right in the moment.
“Have fun on your adventure,” she said as she headed back to her car, leaving me in awe at the Craigslist kindness I’d just been gifted.
—
The following day I emailed a Craigslist seller because I was interested in his North Face sleeping bag (15 degrees). A brand new one would have cost $270, but he was selling his for $130. Once again, I briefly explained why I needed the sleeping bag. He replied to my first inquiry saying that he’s actually from Arizona!
We met the next day at a public high school and ended up knocking $10 off his asking price. Then, he gave me recommendations of where to visit and explore while I’m based in Flagstaff.
—
After buying the sleeping bag I drove to Farm and Fleet to see what they had available. It was a disappointing visit which didn’t help my to-do list, but Gander Mountain was on my way home so I decided to swing by, as this was their big store closing sale. I missed the turn, though, which meant I was even closer to my route home. It was getting later in the afternoon and I needed to be home within 45 minutes, so I considered going straight there. For some reason, though, I exited the highway, got back on, drove back, and made the turn.
Upon walking in I saw that the store was already 3/4 empty and was only continuing to get picked apart at each passing minute, so I didn’t expect to find anything on my list.
After a quick size-up of the remaining shelves, I made my way over to the shoes just for a glance. And there they were: leather boots, non-skid bottom, ends above the ankle, and no mesh on the tongue or ankle. They were half a size smaller than I usually wear, but they seemed to fit all right and my toe didn’t hit the edge. Plus, the closing special? 70% off! I bought $120 boots for $37.
(Update: These boots were also steel-toed, which, I later learned at ACE orientation, are absolutely not recommended. “No steel toe!” I wore the boots on my first hitch and they worked fine, but I now have a pair of non-steel-toe hiking boots to use on my second hitch. I found them in the “Commons Closet” of another ACE house here in town, meaning they were free!)
—
Finally, near the end of my gear scavenger hunt, I was still searching for women’s work pants. Emily recommended Duluth Trading Company in Mount Horeb, so I drove the 40 minutes to get there on Saturday, hopes high. In the end they didn’t have my size in the women’s work pant they were currently carrying. The woman helping me suggested altering or mending the pair to make them fit, but I didn’t want to spend $70 on a pair of pants and need to make modifications so quickly.
I drove to the west side of Madison and tried on men’s pants at Menards. Then I texted my aunt to see where she gets her work pants. “Farm and Fleet,” she responded, but sometimes she finds some at Savers or Goodwill, she added.
So I drove to the nearby St. Vinny’s and headed straight to the women’s pants rack. I started flipping down the line of size 4s, immediately moving past any regular pants or non-thick jeans. I couldn’t believe my eyes when my hands felt a pair of black pants that were super thick—nearly the same material as the work pants I’d just tried on at Duluth Trading Company.
I look at the tag:
Duluth Trading Company work pants – $7.99
I grabbed them and headed to the fitting room. They were a little short, but would definitely do for one pair. What crazy luck!
Then I stopped at Goodwill for kicks, since it was just a few minutes away and I was already out and about with mom’s car. Once again I went straight to the size 4 section of the women’s pants rack, and oh my goodness, the stars were aligned. Here I found two pairs of Duluth Trading Company work pants and jeans, both size 4 and this time they were the correct length. $7.99 each!
Although these work pants fit great everywhere else, I couldn’t get one pair buttoned but still bought them. The following day while out at my grandma’s I showed her my finds. As soon as I mentioned I couldn’t button the pants, she said, “Well just put on a button extender.”
A button what?
She went into her bedroom and came out with two cute little button extenders that go right on to the button of the pants. I could now button the pants!
I had all that I needed and still three days to go.
_
I reflected back on how panicked I’d felt merely four days earlier, and then marveled at all of the people, generosity, and serendipitous connections which had helped me acquire what I needed for this next adventure. I knew the frenzied feelings had only been a hindrance when I let them surface the first day, and I let this serve as a reminder to breathe and continue to take it one step at a time.
On Monday evening Emily and Liz came over for one last art night before I took off. Emily showed me how to adjust my backpack correctly and also brought along some old clothes up for grabs, which have already turned into staples for me here: yoga pants, a sun hat, a warm fleece, socks. At one point during the evening, Liz reminisced back to when she’d flown to New Zealand to study abroad in college, and how her body had manifested all of the nerves she’d been feeling on the way to the airport. I could relate; I’ll never forget the feeling of my stomach dropping as I took that first flight to Madrid in 2009.
But as I boarded the bus to Chicago early Thursday morning, there were no worries, stomach drops, or fears. My thoughts returned to amazement at how quickly my trajectory had changed. And despite the sudden shift, I felt completely at ease—thankful for the people and experiences which got me here.
All day in route I was nothing but excited to see what Flagstaff looked like from the ground and what ACE would have in store for me. Where have the butterflies gone? Have I done this so many times that I now know to my core everything will work out? Or am I so confident in my ability to adapt and find the good that there’s no room for doubt?
Or perhaps, this time I had the entire universe conspiring along to get me to Flagstaff.
Well, universe, we made it.
What It Cost
Here’s a rundown of the required gear and how much I spent to get myself to ACE here in Flagstaff:
Gear
Backpack – $0
Sleeping bag – $120
Boots – $37
Rain pants – $40
Wool socks – $18
Sleeping pad – $100
Sleeping bag liner – $40
3 pairs of work pants – $24
4L MSR Dromlite bag – $30
Headlamp – $9 Subtotal – $418
Transportation
Bus to Chicago – $30
One-way flight – $150
Checked bag – $25
Shuttle to Flagstaff – $53 Subtotal – $258
“Smile on three: One, two— stop leaning Rebecca,” said my cousin.
It was Homecoming of my freshman year in high school, and I was having my first of many pictures taken in my black dress.
“I’m not leaning,” I replied.
“Then why is your hip sticking out?” she asked.
What was she talking about? I looked in a mirror.
My cousin was right: My right hip was jutting out as if I were leaning heavily on that side.
But I wasn’t leaning at all.
That’s the day I “discovered” my scoliosis—an abnormal curve of the spine.
Exploring Options
The diagnosis was eventually confirmed by a doctor, and by February of my sophomore year I was seeing a chiropractor twice weekly. She gave me stretches to do, but my curve was at a severe degree; it had been caught late, now age 15.
I do remember my chiropractor mentioning a brace, but I never got one and I’m not sure why we (my family and I) didn’t explore this option more seriously. Would a brace have even made a difference this late in the game to a curve of my degree? I don’t know. But if I were to receive the news of scoliosis today—knowing what I know now—I would try whatever I could before turning to surgery.
But in 2004-5 we went on to visit a few different doctors before settling on a course of action. One of these doctors could lengthen limbs, and boy was I excited to meet with him. You see, we’d found out my left leg is slightly shorter than the other, so I thought if he could just make my left leg that much longer, doing whatever it is that he does, it would even me out and make everything straight again—easy as magic. I had zero concept of how unnatural it is to cut into human skin and perform any type of surgery, let alone the toll it would take on the body to heal itself.
Despite my fantasies of having two legs of equal length, the limb lengthening doctor didn’t think that was the route we should go. But to address the length discrepancy either he or one of the other doctors gave me a quarter-inch lift to wear in my left shoe. I wasn’t really instructed on how long I should wear it for; looking back it felt more optional if anything. I wore it for a time, then summer came around and flip flops adorned my feet—a shoe unfit for a lift. I know the lift is still lying around my room somewhere today, 12 years later, but I don’t wear it. (Should I be wearing it post-fusion? No idea.)
Rather than surgically lengthen my leg, the consensus was that I should have a spinal fusion. This would involve screwing a metal rod to my spine and covering the area with bone graft so new bone would grow around the fused area. I don’t recall having any sort of discussion about this with my family—it was more like a doctor recommended it, told us a bit about it, and then we picked a date: June 24, 2005. I was on board, but again, I hadn’t considered what this would mean for me long-term, nor all of the risks involved.
My main concern was getting my driver’s license, as I’d be turning 16 in April but wouldn’t be allowed to drive for six weeks after the surgery. I strategically scheduled my driver’s test for early June, two weeks before the surgery, and much to my relief, passed.
The operation would also eliminate all possibilities of becoming a future gymnast, which was a non-issue. No more botched cartwheel attempts or forward rolls in our PE’s tumbling unit for me.
Another concern brought up when learning about spinal fusions was my ability to have children. The doctor assured us I’d be able to give birth no problem with a fused spine. What I didn’t consider, however—too far from my mind at the time—is how a spinal fusion would limit positions for conceiving said child.
With no red lights, onwards we moved.
The Fusion and Hospital Stay
I had to give blood twice a few months before the surgery, which they would save and later put back in me after the spinal fusion. The first time I went to give blood, my iron count was too low. So we scheduled another date and two weeks prior I started taking iron pills (which made my poop turn green) and ate lots of broccoli. This second time my iron level was just high enough for a self-donation, but didn’t meet the level required for donation to others.
Sophomore year ended, I passed my driver’s test, and before I knew it June 24 rolled around.
The day prior appeared to be like any other summer day—I watched a Hilary Duff movie (“The Perfect Man”) with my best friend, had another friend over, and went to my neighbor’s house to watch the guys play Halo 2. My older brother and grandma returned from a trip to Ireland that evening, and then I imagine I tried to get to bed early.
I woke up at 4 the next morning and we left the house around 5. My surgery was scheduled for 7:30. I don’t remember feeling hungry or anxious, just being cold in a hospital gown and finally getting wheeled into a room.
When I came to, I was in a room with nurses and my parents. I couldn’t move my core. I had a button I could push for the pain, which pumped drugs straight into me but wouldn’t let me surpass some sort of daily limit. I was also connected to a catheter, so my pee went directly into a bag.
X-ray of fused spine — June 24, 2005
You’d think the most critical part would be over, now that the surgery had ended, but the event which marked my hospital stay happened in the hours after. I was watching “Pirates of the Caribbean” on the TV, and a nurse came in to give me a bag of my blood. She hooked it up, and all of a sudden everything went fuzzy, then black.
When I came to, there was a pile of doctors and nurses around me, one holding an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose, and my parents had terrifying looks of utter shock on their faces. Apparently the nurse had put the blood through the same line where they’d been giving me narcotics—without clearing it—so I overdosed on narcotics and my central nervous system shut down. My parents said I’d gasped for breath and then stopped breathing. They thought they were watching me go, right then and there. I was going, but the nurses/doctors gave me oxygen, stopped the blood transfusion, and then I came back.
Later that day I felt well enough to eat a popsicle, which I promptly threw up. I attempted to sleep that night, but hardly got any shut eye.
On Saturday I woke up around 6 a.m. and watched “A Cinderella Story.” That day’s events as recorded in my journal include:
Dad, Luke, Jacki came around 10 a.m.
Watched “Finding Neverland” but didn’t really watch it.
Read a little of “The Dark,” listened to CDs.
Got flowers from my chiropractor and staff.
MB called.
Drank 7-up.
Sat up in chair.
Watched “The Princess Diaries 2.”
Luke and grandma played cards.
Rolled on right side, not comfortable, rolled on back.
Took medicine, got washed up.
Yes, sitting in a chair was hard enough to warrant a line in the journal, and getting washed up involved a nurse wiping every inch of me with warm cloths.
That night was the episode I remembered most vividly. It was 3 or 4 in the morning and I had been sleeping on my right side. Suddenly I was incredibly uncomfortable and wanted to move, but couldn’t find the call button for a nurse. The pain was intense, but I also couldn’t find the green button to push for the narcotics. I was in such a panic, unable to move or do anything to get comfortable, trapped in my own skin. My newly damaged spine made my body feel foreign; nothing moved as I’d known it to. I couldn’t bear the pain nor frustration. Eventually I was able to wake up my mom—who had been sleeping on a cot next to me—and a nurse came in, but dang that was a long night.
On Sunday I sat in a chair again, got washed up, drank 7-up, took lots of pills, got a balloon and beanie baby from someone, had family visit, ate toast and juice, and then had my first walk.
It was very exhausting to stand and walk around. The nurse pushed my IV pole along, and I used all the energy I had to put one foot in front of the other.
Then an aunt and uncle came to visit, followed by my best friend MB and her mom. I went on a second walk with MB, returning to find another aunt and her friend were there to see me, armed with gifts of magazines, word puzzles, Pez candy, and a DVD.
When everyone left I napped for a while. Upon waking, I saw that my brothers and mom had used the window paint in this children’s wing to repaint the window in my room. My dad took my brothers home around 5:30, then I napped again, got my hair washed, ate mashed potatoes, and slept more.
Around 9 I woke up and went on a third walk, then watched “Desperate Housewives,” brushed teeth, and couldn’t sleep well that night either.
Monday was more of the same, though with notable progress made:
Woke up, sat in chair, took pills.
Slept lots.
“Bath.”
Catheter removed.
Walked and measured height (5’6”).
Walked up and own stairs.
Got hair washed in a “salon.”
Ate some mac+cheese, used bathroom.
Slept.
Epideral removed.
Epideral pad bleeding.
Slept on side.
They changed back pad.
Apparently being able to walk up and down stairs was what needed to happen before they let me go home. A nurse suggested we try it on the walk to get my height measured, and she seemed pleasantly surprised that I was able to do it, albeit slowly and with concentration. And that’s why at 5:30 that evening they released me from the hospital, a day or two earlier than we’d been expecting.
Recovery
Before the surgery I slept on a top bunk, so my parents brought it down and set the bed in the middle of the rug/reading area of my bedroom. I most remember spending daytime next door in my parents’ bed, however, as they had a small TV in their bedroom. I watched VH1 and MTV each morning, completely captivated and transported by Coldplay’s “Speed of Sound,” which had just come out that summer and always made the day’s top 20. I had stacks of library books next to the bed as well.
I wore a fabric brace that Velcro-ed shut, to help keep me from twisting or turning. I couldn’t shower, so we got some wet shampoo to keep my hair under control. I had a prescription of oxycodone and oxycontin for the pain, but I stopped taking them early on. I couldn’t tell much of a difference with or without them, so I figured I should stop taking them. I had little idea at the time just how sought-after the remains of these two pill bottles would be, but just last month I took them to a drug drop off here in town—the same number remaining as when I stopped taking them 12 years ago.
Later in July a friend had a birthday party and bon fire at her house. This was my first big “outing” post-surgery, approached with caution. I wore my brace under a sweater and my mom both drove me there and later picked me up.
After six weeks I got to drive again, and had a check up with a doctor sometime around there. At one point he asked me “Do you have any numbness or tingling sensations in your back?” My mind grabbed onto the word “tingling,” to which I immediately answered no. Moments later I realized this was when I should have said that yes, my lower back is a bit numb. But I didn’t say anything, and it’s remained somewhat numb ever since.
Aside from that, post-fusion changes were small and I adjusted quickly. Lying on my stomach was no longer comfortable, for example, so I stopped doing that. I was now sure to sunscreen the long scar on my back whenever I was outside in a swimsuit. Years later when I first tried yoga, I quickly learned that poses like upward-facing dog and cat pose were absolute no-nos. I’ve slept on a Tempur-Pedic pillow ever since my fusion, bringing it along for all of my year-long stints overseas. The fusion didn’t really affect my day-to-day teenage life after the recovery, though.
Life with a Fused Spine
As I finished high school, the whole spinal fusion quickly became old news to my new health problem of IBS-D—which would go on to cloud my world for nearly ten years. The funny (?) thing is, I’m fairly certain all of those digestive problems started because of the spinal fusion, or at the very least my surgery must have been a contributing factor. No one told me that all the antibiotics I’d been given would kill good bacteria in my flora, so I did nothing to restore it after the surgery. I didn’t yet know about prebiotic foods, probiotics, gut health, whole foods, “The China Study,” industrial farming, etc.
I’m now thankful the IBS happened, because it prompted self-education and experimentation through which I learned an incredible amount, flipping my view of Western health/medicine on its head. Over the past decade I’ve changed my diet from cans, frozen meals, and processed foods to a primarily whole foods plant-based diet. Very long story short, during most of my young adult life I was struggling to get my IBS under control, so there wasn’t much energy to consider physical health beyond that—meaning I wasn’t too aware of my movement.
I was most active in the no-contact sport of ultimate frisbee over the years, playing as everyone else except that I was cautious to avoid collisions and purposefully held back from “laying out” to dive after low discs.
Playing ultimate frisbee in 2009 (left, purple shorts), 2011 (center), 2016 (right, short hair and glasses)
In 2014 I brought attention to my tight hamstrings by beginning a 100-day stretching project with the goal of touching my toes. I made it to day 77, increasing my flexibility along the way, though never eliminating the gap between my finger tips and toes.
That fall I took my first Pilates and Zumba classes at our local village center. I especially liked Pilates and found I had quite a weak core to build up. There were certain twisting/rolling exercises I would modify or substitute for others, and although she’d never had a spinal fusion student before, my instructor was really good about telling me what to replace with what to keep my core in a neutral position.
When I signed up for a second session with the same instructor that winter, she requested a letter from a doctor saying it was okay to do Pilates with a my fused spine. I went back to my chiropractor all these years later and she tested my movement then cleared me for Pilates. (She encouraged it, actually, commenting on my weak core muscles.) I suppose it was during these years that I began to pay more attention to my movement and posture.
The Roost raises the screen so my eyes are looking straight out to the top 15–20% of the screen when I’m sitting straight up, rather than having to crane my neck down or slouch as I’d been doing. (I can tell a huge difference and highly recommend a Roost for all laptop/tablet users, by the way.)
I’ve notably increased the amount of mindfulness in my life over the past five years, and I’m now much more aware of my body’s position each day. I make sure to avoid slouching or putting pressure on the lower and upper ends of my fusion.
While working on a small farm this spring, for example, I was often tasked with cutting olive tree and vineyard branches into small logs and tinder. I did much of this chopping on my knees or sitting down, depending on the tool I was using. It probably looked silly, but standing and hunching over to cut said branches would have been terrible for me. I have to keep my top half straight. (For any fellow fused spine folk, I recently discovered that Julie Wilkins has very helpful videos on YouTube, such as “Home Activities After Spinal Fusion”and “Yoga With Spine Fusion.”)
I’ve read a bit on online forums about people older than me with spinal fusions who later had to have hardware removed/replaced. I’ve only read a bit and not extensively because these types of Google searches really freak me out. I absolutely do not want another surgery, but 16 was so young. If I live to be 90, let’s say, that would come out to 74 years living with the spinal fusion. I don’t think anyone’s ever had my exact type of fusion for 74 years, as medicine is always advancing, so this huge unknown worries me. Could the hardware break down inside of me or cause some other big problem in the years to come? What’s the longterm effect of having cut through my skin and installed this hardware along and into my spine?
I don’t like to think about it, so I don’t. Instead, I stay in the present and pay attention to how I move, taking responsibility for what I can control now—in an effort to prevent any future slicing and dicing.
12 Years Fused
When first researching for this post two years ago (the original idea was to do a 10-year reflection), I happened upon a story about a teen girl who wore a back brace to reduce the curve of her scoliosis. She probably cursed having to wear it every day at school, but my first thought was “I wish I had done that!” My whole understanding of health and Western medicine has changed drastically from age 16 to age 28. It feels strange to know one of my past selves so willingly allowed surgeons to alter my body in this irreversible way, to cut it up and put it through so much without trying to fix it via a more natural course first.
The word “regret” has only ever come to mind in my life when looking back on this particular past choice. Who wouldn’t wish they could move freely and bend like once before? It would be nice to be able to twist in yoga and Pilates, to shake my hips while dancing, and to have a greater variety of passion poses. But at the same time, if the surgery was indeed the main cause of my IBS, I’m thankful these struggles allowed me to learned so much about whole foods and being mindful of my body movements. Would I have learned all of this another way, without the spinal fusion? I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not.
Whenever I’ve reflected on whether or not I regret the surgery, those feelings are soon followed by twinges of guilt. You can’t feel bad just because you can’t turn certain ways and bend your back, I would tell myself. You can still walk, run, ride a bike, basically do anything you want—just a tad bit differently. It seems a very small price to pay when you consider all the things that could have happened to me. I have my sight (with glasses), I still have my awesome metabolism and size, my hands, arms, legs, feet, knees, heart, lungs—everything else seems to be functioning as it should. And that’s merely the physical. So among all of my good fortune in life, it feels foolish to regret having fused my spine together.
But still, every now and then, I wonder.
Update: In July 2017 I had a great appointment with a PT who offered specific exercises and stretches to improve my flexibility/muscle where I need it most. I also purchased a set of ten yoga-for-spinal-fusion videos by Julie Wilkins called Adapted Yoga. A full write-up about this new part to my journey can be found here.
While in Madrid in April, I happened to see an article in my hometown’s newspaper, which announced the deadline for their Trains on Main public art project had been extended to April 30. As I read more about the project and application requirements, I knew I had to apply. This was a perfect leap for me—doing something before you feel ready. I had just a pinch of impostor feelings, but knew fully that I was enough for this challenge and excitedly applied. (The bullet under “Artist Eligibility” which read “Previous public art experience is not necessary; all who are interested are encouraged to apply” very much played a role in giving myself the all-clear.)
Here’s what each artist would have to work with—a steel train made by our local Endres Manufacturing Company:
Artists would be given a $200 grant for the project and were completely free to choose materials, style, theme—no limits there.
Application Process
Applicants had to write a proposal for their train, explaining what they would do and why, and how they would weatherproof it. Which meant that in order to apply, I had to have some sort of idea as to how I’d transform this train into a piece of art. (Hello creativity challenge! This is why I’ve been building that muscle all year…)
Since I’d been thinking more and more about human connection, unplugging, and humanity (the fact that we’re all imperfect) the past three months—especially with all of my travel sketching and the memorable moments with locals that resulted from making art in public—I decided to propose something exploring those themes.
I pulled out what has since become my “brainstorming”/catch-all notebook, and sketched two different sides to a train.
I wanted one side (above) to be the messy/human side, vibrant and in motion. I’d use four different symbols of life/humanity for the wheels, and feature two people talking to one another on the train body. I wanted to incorporate a notebook somehow, which people could take off the train and write in. I planned to use string art on this side, like I’d done for the WI plaque I had made years earlier.
On the opposite side (below), I wanted to represent how technology can sometimes be divisive and prevent us from marveling at the natural world and celebrating our flaws. I wanted it to be sleek and black/white on fabric (to represent a curtain), featuring social media icons on the wheels and two people looking at their phones on the train body.
This is how it began!
I danced around the room when I found out my application had been accepted. A train would be waiting for me at Endres when I got back to the states, and a check would be sent in the mail.
The Creation Process
The Monday after I got back, I drove to Endres and picked up my train. It was heavier than I’d expected, and I had no idea how to “start.”
Some point after getting the actual train, I made another sketch:
Then I biked to Ace Hardware in town (the first of many such trips) and got a black anti-rust spray to coat the train—the only thing I knew I should do. (Tip: When you’re not sure how to tackle a huge project, just do what lies clearly at hand.)
Days later I took advantage of having my mom’s car for an evening and left home a bit earlier to stop at Savers (a secondhand store) and Michaels (a craft store) in search of materials for the train. Without a clear idea in mind, I walked through every aisle in Savers, and in the end bought the following:
a white sheet (for the “fabric” side of train)
two mugs (for flowers, with plans to break the mugs and fix them with gold—kintsugi)
a farm toothbrush holder (which I planned to repurpose as a pen holder for the notebook element)
plastic canvas circles (saw a pack of 60 for $3 and thought I could use four for the wheels)
various bags of yarn (for the wheels—later I learned I should have checked out grandma’s yarn stash in the basement first!)
a set of clips for a shower curtain (thinking I could use them to hang the fabric on the technology side)
From Michaels I got a few bottles of outdoor acrylic paint: a large tube of teal (a favorite color of mine), yellow, blue, white, black, and grey; a sponge brush; and a pack of 10 iron-on paper sheets.
With these new materials, I now had more to do lying clearly at hand. I’d work on the yarn wheels whenever I was watching Netflix, and brought one to an art night with friends and another on a 2-hour car ride with Grandma.
I went to town with the teal, covering one side of the train in one of my favorite colors:
At some point I decided to ditch the idea of doing string art on this side, which would have required attaching something like small nails around the entire perimeter of the train—to loop the thread around.
Bit by bit I began designing the iron-on images on the computer, and luckily remembered to reverse all images before printing each time.
Mistakes were plenty—there was lots of measuring of the fabric and then test-printing on thin graph paper to make sure sizing was right. I learned that I shouldn’t necessarily iron on each part once it was printed—that the random order I was going in didn’t make for the easiest ironing. Sometimes I had already-ironed-on areas very close to something I was ironing on, so I had to be very careful with where the iron was touching (and was more strategic about when/where I ironed on parts at a atime).
A flap of the paper accidentally got folded over as I was ironing on this wheel, below, for example:
During Waunakee’s Garage Sale weekend I got a few other random items for the train: a small bird figurine, gold nail polish (for the mugs), and a tiny container of spring meadow confetti-type particles (bright green with colored specks, which I thought I could use for grass on the colorful side).
As I was walking our neighbor’s dog the week after, when big items were still at the curb for pick-up, I spotted an indoor birdhouse decoration, with a fence, duck, and lights attached. I sized it up (during which the dog peed on this birdhouse base!) and then had an idea: This could house the notebook! I picked it up and carried it home, dog on leash in the other hand.
Back in the garage I took off the fence, duck, and lights, washed off the base in the backyard, then popped off one side of the roof so I could later add hinges. I had another Michaels run in here, where I got purple, orange, and green acrylic; and gorilla glue. Then once I got the hinges screwed in, I started to paint.
I used the gorilla glue to attach the yarn wheels to the train, doing one at a time and stacking books on top (with a plastic bag in between) for a tight seal.
I accidentally glued a paper towel to the first wheel I attached, the rain/water wheel on the right. I removed what I could of the paper towel and left the rest. After all, this side was all about embracing our imperfections, right?
The last main part for this side (excluding the base + birdhouse) involved selecting a quote—which ended up being two—and writing them on the train’s body. I used Copic markers to do so, which wrote on top of the acrylic really well, but later proved to be troublesome when I learned they’re alcohol-based, and would melt away when covered in epoxy (or many other protective sprays).
The fabric side progressed bit by bit. Designing the body was probably the most time consuming, as I’d take screenshots from sites like Buzzfeed and insert each headline into Pages, where I made all of the train images.
When picking my friend Liz’s brain about weatherproofing at one of our art nights in May (she did this very art project the past two years), she suggested I ask the organizer to put me in touch with the two people who had fabric on their barns last year (Barns on Main). I did, and those two women both got back to me with helpful advice, both suggesting I use epoxy to seal it.
On my final weekend, when I was getting ready to epoxy everything, cutting the fabric proved surprising and frustrating: The lines I’d been following on the fabric did not line up very well at all with the actual cut out. Whoops.
I’m not sure if the fabric changed a bit as it got ironed out, or if I simply hadn’t been exact enough when I drew the train outline onto the fabric back at the beginning, but there were some big discrepancies. I’d get the wheels and back wagon to line up on the right, then everything was way, way off on the left.
But I had to make it work as it was, so I trimmed into the design in many parts, using a spray to attach the fabric at different points as I went, and then pulling and trimming the fabric section by section to make it cover the train outline.
After covering it with epoxy, I was a bit disappointed to see that the fabric absorbed the liquid in some areas, but others remained white, giving it a splotchy look. You could also no longer read many of the headlines that had been in grey, which had originally given the train body a shaded, 3D look on the fabric, but the effect was completely lost when I covered it in epoxy.
After that had dried for three days (yeah, THREE days!) I first sprayed the colorful side with a clear coat before I got to work on the base of the statue. For that protective layer, Ace had recommended one spray which would work with the Copic markers. Before spraying the whole thing, I’d prepared a test on the bottom of the train (while the epoxy was drying) with acrylic + Copic markers. When I sprayed this area with the spray I’d purchased, the marker began to dissolve! Noooo! It was clear enough yet that you could still see what I’d written, but this is not what I’d expected to happen.
I was running out of time, briefly considered going back to Ace and trying to return the spray, then debated not protecting this side with anything, but ultimately I decided to risk it. I reasoned that if the spray dissolved the text, maybe there would be a neat messy feel to the quotes. And to my utter surprise (and delight), when I sprayed the train body outside, the Copic markers did not dissolve as they had in my test area. Phew!
Then it was right on to the base. This involved painting the base green and attaching the mug, birdhouse, and later the bird with gorilla glue. I’d bought a plant from the outdoor greenhouse in town (by Waunabowl), on my most recent run to Ace Hardware. I’d asked the man for something that could fit in a coffee mug that would grow without much care. This particular flower loves the sun and should keep blooming all summer, he told me.
Once that had all dried, I sponged on a brighter shade of green and sprinkled on that “spring meadows” confetti paper dust onto the wet paint. Finally, I finished off the grass by hot gluing some green marbles to the bottom—something I’d seen lying around the house which I thought would add more dimension to the piece.
And then, the moment of truth: The final epoxy layer.
I was worried the green confetti bits would float over to the black “technology” side, so I dumped epoxy on the black side first, so it might flow in the other direction. Success!
After the base dried (another three days later), I prepared the notebook for the birdhouse and called it good!
