Chapter Two
Bottle Trees.
When preparing for my road trip, I googled to find photography worthy spots to visit along Route 66. Bottle Tree park was the first of 26 planned stops. As a photographer, it was exciting to imagine bottles on trees with light shining on and through them. The images could be amazing.
It never occurred to me what the sound might be like.
Once off the congested freeway, I drove for several miles, finding myself smack dab in the middle of nowhere. The only buildings I drove past were abandoned and graffiti’d storefronts with old rusted out cars parked in the weed-growing parking lots, with not one single human being to be seen.
Questioning whether my GPS was broken or not, thoughts started to quickly run through my head. What if I got a flat tire? What if my cell phone doesn’t work out here?
It felt as if the middle of nowhere was never going to end. I kept looking at the GPS to confirm that Bottle Tree Park was an actual place. The excitement welled up as I had only one more mile to go. But, deep down I wondered if it too, would be abandoned and empty of human life.
“Your destination is on the left”.
As I came upon my destination, I thought I had been right, it was simply an old-abandoned site with no life to it. Everything was rusted out, even the fence surrounding what looked like a junkyard in the middle of nowhere. No other cars were in the gravel area, labeled, “Park here”.
Still safely in my car, I rolled down my window, sizing up the probability of the safety of this place. It appeared to be the perfect setting for my disappearance.
That is when I heard it. The whistling in the wind allured me out of my car. The soft whistles guided my mind to search for the source of such a beautiful and unique sound. My eyes were drawn to the light glimmering off the bottles hanging in the trees, dancing to the symphony that my soul somehow already knew.
All thoughts of safety left my mind as I entered the park with sense of desperation. I needed to find it, my spirit needed to connect with the source of this sound. I quickly realized that it wasn’t just one thing. It was all the things together. It was the bottles blowing. It was the rusted cans clanging and the loose chains dangling against them. It was the turning of rusted old wheels, high in the sky. All directed by the wind.
Until this moment, I had never been to a symphony. Everything stood still within me. As I stood in the junkyard in the middle of nowhere, my senses no longer searching, instead settling into the music surrounding me.
Minutes passed and when I opened my eyes, I no longer saw a rusted out junkyard in the middle of nowhere. What I saw was a battle ground in the midst of a symphony.
There were rusted out guns pointing in every direction. An ancient torpedo was to the right of me. There was a helmet sitting on a rifle that was leaning up against an old shield.
And my conversation with God began.
“Ok, really? here? in the midst of such a beautiful sound…we are going to talk about the battle? Really?”
“Just look around.”
“I am. I see guns and ammo and army stuff. I don’t shoot guns, God. What are you trying to tell me with all this battle stuff?”
“Just look around. Look beyond.”
So, I looked at the rusted gun again and there, beyond it was a typewriter. A rusted old typewriter sat amidst this symphony, this battle ground.
“There’s your weapon.” He whispered to me.
“What the…” I say out loud, grateful at this point that no one is in the park.
Standing in Bottle Tree Park staring at the typewriter, I didn’t know what to say or do. I considered running out of there but ended up standing still and questioning my sanity like I always do when God so obviously shows up.
“This is crazy.”
“No, it’s not. It’s extraordinary. Keep looking.”
Turning, I saw another typewriter off in the distance. As I walked to see it closer, two more came into focus. It didn’t stop with typewriters. Right next to the typewriter was a trumpet. The trumpet’s call, again, in my life.
Then the wheels. There were wagon wheels held high in the sky on poles. There were machinery wheels dangling from tree branches and, my favorite, the rubber wheels propped up against the wall of an old garage in the back of the park.
I must have danced through that place trying to take in all of it.
I stood and listened again. When I opened my eyes a man and a woman were walking toward me.
“Are you the owner?” I asked the man, hoping to know the meaning of all this from the artist’s perspective.
“No. We are just visiting.” He replied.
I wanted to share what had just happened, somehow, someway. I wanted to share just how amazing Jesus just was.
“This place is amazing.” was all I managed to say.
“Yes”, the man replied, “we have been here before. It’s truly breathtaking.” The couple seemed sidetracked, their words directed at me, but their eyes searching the park.
We all lingered. All three of us slightly swaying with the wind. I don’t think words would have sufficed anyway.
The man opened the box he was carrying and took out a sculpture of a tree with deep roots.
Looking at his wife, he asked, “Where shall we do it?” She looked at me and smirked, “Don’t worry, it’s harmless, we photograph the statue at each stop! It’s our annual road trip in the RV. Bottle Tree is the last stop and then we are headed back to San Diego.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, “this is my first stop across Rt 66 and I came from San Diego!”
“How crazy is that. Super cool!” she said.
“Crazy question, but, do you feel a deep spiritual feeling here?” I asked.
“Totally… 100%. The whole trip across Rt 66 is spiritually intense. Open your eyes to it and you will have the trip of your life! We photograph and write as we go. We keep a blog.” The man chimed in.
The woman, knelt down by one of the wheels laying on the ground. She had obviously found their photo spot, “Let’s do it here, hun.”
“Yes, this is perfect.” He said as he turned toward her.
This was my cue to go. I wanted to leave them to their own experience.
The man stood up, looking directly in my eyes and said, “Jesus is the perfect Conductor, isn’t he?”
