Saturday. The sky threatens to open up. Though there is a brief respite to the clouds, as I drive west on US Highway No.2 towards Tall Timber Days in Grand Rapids gray envelopes the landscape.
“Shit,” I mutter, sipping hot coffee as I listen to KAXE, a great independent radio station from ‘Rapids, “another rainy weekend in the E-Z Up.”
I know, I know. My son Matt, my webmaster, has implored me to be “positive” in my posts. I’m trying folks, I really am. But damn. Every time I drive off for another event, the sky seems to want to open up. Where’s the positive in that? Haven’t we had enough rain for the summer? I mean, aren’t these incessant storms causing flooding, destruction, and the loss of crops? No to mention crappy book sales for certain semi-famous regional authors?
OK. Here’s something positive. I am able to unload the Pacifica and the trailer I’m pulling and get the entire booth set up (including three of my wife’s concrete mosaic benches) without a drop of rain falling on my little head. There, that’s a positive thing, right? The author and his books not getting drenched. Very upbeat, I’d said.
The day is slow. The folks that mosey through the festival aren’t buying much. I do sell the biggest, heaviest, most ungainly of my wife’s concrete artwork to an elderly gentlemen as part of a memorial garden for his recently departed wife.
Very positive. Rene’ will be pleased about how the man chose to remember his beloved.
But the books? They aren’t exactly flying off the tables. And the weather? It drizzles for the better part of the day, making the concept of selling paper in the rain very dubious. Of course, the optimist in me (channeled there by my eldest son) is happy it didn’t pour.
When I get home, my wife’s entire family is at our house: Rene’ called them together for an impromptu picnic. Dog tired, I don’t say much to the in-laws as I wander up to the shower and rinse off the grime of the road. Later, after my belly is full and I’ve had a couple of cold ones, my mood lightens and I’m a happy guy. Leinenkuegels will do that for you.
Sunday. The sky is still gray.
What the hell good are those weather forecasters anyway?
Every television guy or gal spouting their knowledge of all things weathery said that it was going to clear up and be a sunny day. Wrong. Pewter clouds sit above the river and off to the west. I don’t leave the clouds behind as I drive towards the festival. But on a positive note, I’m listening to To Have and Have Not by Hemingway on the CD changer.
Hemingway’s the guy that showed me how to write, how to tell a story.
I’ve read just about everything Papa wrote down on paper and I still admire his unique, crisp style. A bit misogynistic but still, one of my favorites. The story makes me forget about the close sky and the likely slow sales I’ll encounter at Tall Timber Days.
The festival continues at the same snail-like pace. Some vendors literally pull up stakes: They take their tents down and leave early. But not me: I’m an optimist, always looking for a surge of customers at the end of an event to make my bottom line better. Never happens, of course. Sundays are always slower than Saturdays. Wait, that’s not true. Phelps Mill, out in Fergus Falls is an exception to that rule: Sundays at Phelps Mill are always better than Saturdays. Don’t know why. But they are. And guess what? That holds true at this year’s Tall Timber Days as well. The sales aren’t great but I do sell more on Sunday than Saturday. Maybe my positive vibe is showing. Or maybe it’s because it didn’t rain as much on the Sabbath. Or maybe it’s because local writer Tom Chapin (Poachers Caught) takes pity on my plight and starts hawking my books inside the E-Z Up with me. Whatever the reason, I drive home a bit happier. Not a lot happier: just some.
Peace.
Mark
