The Caribou That Followed Me Home

Being the daughter of an art teacher, I grew up appreciating art and the people who make it. My mother actually knows why something is good. I mostly stand in front of it, tilt my head slightly and say things like, “I just really like this.”

Now that Chad and I are traveling so much, one of my favorite things to bring home is a piece of art. It feels like a much better souvenir than another coffee mug, although apparently I am perfectly capable of collecting those too. I especially love finding something made by a local artist, and if I actually get to meet the artist—or, as it turns out, the artist’s husband—even better. You’re bringing home something that reminds you of the place, but also something that simply spoke to you while you were there.

This summer in Alaska, we were staying in Valdez, where our hotel’s coffee situation was not good. I don’t want to be dramatic, but I was in Alaska, surrounded by glaciers, mountains and some of the most beautiful scenery on Earth, and apparently the thing capable of breaking me was hotel coffee.

Fortunately, we discovered a coffee shop about a block away. The coffee was terrific, which would have been enough, but they also had these wonderful pieces of artwork hanging on the walls—bright, whimsical Alaska scenes printed on metal. I loved them immediately. They were playful and lighthearted, but the closer you looked, the more you realized there was a lot going on technically. The style reminded me a little of Georges Seurat and pointillism, except with considerably more Alaska and fewer French people sitting beside the Seine.

Later that day, we stopped for lunch at a food truck and noticed a tiny shack next door. Through the window, I could see what looked suspiciously like the same artwork from the coffee shop.

Naturally, I went in. Calling it a shop may be generous. It was so small that when I walked through the door, the only other man inside said, “I’ll step outside and give you some room.” This should give you an idea of the square footage.

Inside were prints, postcards, tote bags, koozies and all sorts of things featuring the artwork I had admired that morning. I poked around for a while and eventually asked the man if the artist ever sold any of her originals.

And that was when my casual little souvenir-shopping excursion took a turn. The man happened to be the husband of the artist, Rhonda Wegner Taylor. We started talking, and I learned more about Rhonda and her work. I loved it even more once I understood the technique behind it. Her paintings have this wonderful combination of skill and whimsy—they’re colorful and cheerful and just make you smile. They don’t take themselves too seriously, which is probably one of the reasons I was so drawn to them.

As we talked, I learned that Rhonda and her husband were preparing to leave Valdez to go help care for an aging parent. That, unfortunately, is a chapter of life I understand. Because they were moving and needed to downsize, they were selling some of Rhonda’s original pieces.

Suddenly, I was no longer shopping for a postcard. I ended up buying two originals, including a beautiful piece called Majestic Caribou, which I absolutely fell in love with.

There was just one small problem. Majestic Caribou was not fitting in my suitcase.

So we arranged to have the artwork shipped from Alaska to our house. I didn’t realize at the time that shipping a large piece of art from Alaska apparently involves allowing it to experience its own extended vacation. It took the slow barge from Alaska to Seattle, then apparently caught a much faster ride across the country while I periodically wondered if my caribou had decided it preferred life at sea.

Finally, the box arrived. I opened it like a child on Christmas morning, and there it was—my beautiful Majestic Caribou, having successfully migrated from Valdez, Alaska, all the way to my house. Now comes the next challenge: finding the perfect place to hang it.

And every time I look at it, I know I’ll remember Alaska, Valdez, the terrible hotel coffee, the wonderful coffee shop, the tiny shack that could barely accommodate two humans, and the completely unexpected afternoon when I went looking for lunch and somehow came home with a caribou.

This is why I love collecting art when we travel. You never really know what you’re bringing home.