That evening, somewhere within the third or fourth week of the federal government shutdown, I booked a plane ticket to Mexico for the following morning. At that point, the days had begun to blend together. It was like a perpetual Sunday evening; that strange period of the week when you’re still trying to make the most of your free time but yet already worried about being prepared for the Monday morning meetings, and what clothes you will be wearing. I was a federal contractor working under the Endangered Species Act, aiding in efforts to protect and restore salmon and steelhead populations and habitat across Idaho. But with my full-time job showing no signs of return,  there I was at noon the next day: sitting alone on the patio of a restaurant overlooking the Sea of Cortez. 

Not knowing how long the government shutdown would last, I spent my time in Mexico as frugally as possible. I had packed enough Clif Bars to live off of for a few days (the Apricot bar is a new favorite). I was proud of my tiny rental car for navigating many miles of rough dirt road. Instead of staying in hotels, I laid my sleeping bag on the beach under the stars. During the day, I walked amongst the foreign landscape and thought about how lucky I was just to be standing there. To me, this quick trip sure beat sitting at home and saying to myself day after day, “Maybe the government will reopen tomorrow”. 

Although budget-minded, I decided to savor everything on that first day. After all, this was my first time in Mexico. The waiter came over to my table with an ice cold Pacifico beer and lime wedge on a tray and said, “there were whales about a mile off shore a few days ago. You never know what you’re going to see out there.” It was mid-January 2019. The sun was warmer and brighter than I had felt in months, and the shrimp tacos were certainly the best I will ever taste in this lifetime. In that moment, life was perfect.

You can bet that at the same moment I was wondering what was happening with my life. While very privileged in the ability to afford this 4-day excursion, I couldn’t distract myself from the worry of when I might see another paycheck. At the time, I was trying to make a positive impact on our natural resources, threatened and endangered species, and future generations, yet I could no longer sit at my desk to do this due to a furlough.  I spent long hours on that solo trip thinking about how I could do more with these efforts. And this is what brought me to thinking that some sort of meaningful impact could be made through the arts. But more specifically, through my passion for watercolor painting and nature. Like a slow walk through the woods, I’ve always found that painting natural landscapes and wildlife has a way of soothing the soul. I returned to Idaho a few days later, and so began BisonFeather Designs. This is a long story short, though I hope to share more later.

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Although you likely won’t be able to hop a plane for Mexico tomorrow morning, I hope you’re taking this social downtime to savor something otherwise overlooked, and to be thankful for what you do have. Pull out the old photo albums and board games. Pick through the stack of books you’ve been meaning to read. Go outside and identify the first songbird that graces your ears. Dive deep into old vinyls. Start a business. Enjoy each other’s company. If you’ve made it this far into my writing, I think you’re already there.