The Red Road

We take a short ride up-island to visit a cousin. While there, we walk through some forest trails to a pub, where cousin's girlfriend is working, to bring her some homemade supper. We don't intend to stay long, but end up grabbing a seat on the ocean view patio in the warm summer sunset air. I don't drink at all, but the evening is pleasant and I'm in good company. After a few minutes, a waving arm catches my eye. It's a middle-aged Native man sitting alone, kept company by some colorful wooden carvings. I will call him John. 

I instinctively stand up and walk to John's table. We shake hands and I sit down for what turns into a two-hour life lesson. I knew immediately that I was at this pub just for this encounter. He sips a mug of beer and smiles as wisdom pours continually out of his mouth. He hands me a carving. It is a large eagle feather, about a foot and a half high, chiseled by his hands and painted with the traditional red and black colors of the northwest native art. I already know that it's coming home with me. (And most people that know me know that I rarely purchase much unless it's edible or wearable.) I ask John how long it took him to make it. He says about a week start to finish. I remark on how flawless it is and he tells me that he's been honing this carving skill for 33 years. It's how he makes a living, and as he points to the pink clouds over the coastal mountains, he tells me that when he can spend his time in this place using nature as inspiration, he can't possibly imagine going back and working a 9-5 job. He says he's been a logger, a fisherman and everything in between from age 16. He left home and school early to help pay for his family to survive. 

Do you sell at craft markets?, I ask. He lets out a big belly laugh and shakes his head no. Tourists got old pretty quick and I was always being asked to pose in awkward photos as "the Indian guy". I didn't like the way people seemed to view me as a kind of exhibit, instead of just a person selling beautiful art. 

I smiled at him and said good for you for respecting yourself, and said that I promised that I wouldn't ask for an awkward tourist photo.

He says he's 54 years old but I wouldn't  guess he is a day over 40. I ask what his secret is to looking so youthful. He smiles a big grin and says UNCONDITIONAL LOVE.  He tells me that no matter what life deals him, his love for his children, and grandchildren and the natural world, paired with his creativity in carving are what make life so wonderful. This makes perfect sense to me.

I ask him more about this carving. I point to the black and red stripes on the quill end and ask what they mean. He explains that his people believe that the two black roads represent darkness and anger, the Red Road down the center represents balance, spirit and divinity. He points to the line of pink clouds in the fiery sunset and tells me that the red road is visible twice every day and that we must all take a moment to be grateful for the miracle of life. 

He beams as he talks about his 3 daughters. He mentions his ex-wife and how ugly their relationship became. He looks at my fiancé (who has now joined in the conversation) and I and says very seriously that communication is the most important thing in any relationship. Keep all of your cards on the table at all times. Don't hold any emotions back. Share your gratitude with each other. Share, share, and share some more. He urges the two of us to live our passions starting now, because nothing else matters. Support each other. What you have together is sacred. None of this outside stuff matters. 

I learned all of this a bit too late, he sighs, and sips his beer. He tells us that he knows that he drinks alcohol to numb the sadness, even if it's only for a little while. Self-medicating, he calls it. John says he's been to too many counselors and therapy and it never helped him much. He had a rough life as a youngster, including attending a residential school, and it has carried on with him through the years. My heart ached for him and for all of the native people around the world. 

I finally realize how late it's getting and tell him that we have to head home. I also say that the feather is going to come home with me and that it will remind me of this great meeting. He says that his phone number is written under the base of the artwork and that if it happens to get damaged that I should call and he will try to repair it. He also mentions that he makes custom art for wedding gifts and that we should call him to come and paint a wedding piece together to symbolize our unity. 

We thank him for his wisdom and he sheepishly nods his head and slips into the pub. A few minutes later he comes back out onto the patio with another beer and a big smile. I put my hand on his shoulder and say, remember the Red Road and take it easy on the beer.