8:36 a.m., Wednesday
I awaken with a start, to realize that I was to meet my fellow painters at 8:30. I have a reputation for being merciless to latecomers, and now I am the miscreant.
Receive a text: Wow...look at this...if there's one thing Chris and I can't stand, it's tardiness.
Another text: We are laughing, and doing the Donald is late dance.
I finally make it to the painting site, having hiked about seven miles to where they are attempting to paint.
They have walked through woods that Shiskin would have loved, and skirted a meadow that Metcalf might have called paradise. A rutted track, straight out of Levitan, was passed over. I'm glad I left my kit in the car.
Back at my car, to get my gear.
Todd and I go to get some food.
Sometime after lunch from Panera, Todd and I set up in the meadow. Chris is conducting a telephone interview with another artist. Todd is fuming at his French easel.
Ominous dark sky. We consider our exposed position. The wind picks up. Our easels tremble in the blast. My paper towel tries to makes a run for it.
1:46 p.m. Todd is amused by my attempts to gather it in, and photographs it. I am not amused.
1:47 p.m. We decided to hightail it.
2:12 p.m. Safely in my studio, we remember what fun plein air painting really can be, and we marvel, yet again, at our courage and steadfastness in the face of a daunting challenge.
No fish today.
Wonder how the fishing was in France.