By Bertha Cooper

Sheer luck. No incantations, no prayers, no pressure, simply the luck of the draw. I had the winning ticket drawn at the conclusion of the driftwood show recently held in Sequim’s Trinity Methodist Church.

I received a call from a woman who identified herself and told me that the drawing was just held and I was the winner of a piece of driftwood art. Given the totally unexpected good fortune, it took me a bit of time to process the news.

I had to rewind my mind back to when I attended the recent driftwood show held in Sequim and just how I came to even have a raffle ticket. I do not recall if the ticket was in the price of admission or a separate cost.

It could have been either. I always buy raffle tickets in these events more to support the good people so enthusiastic about showing their creative works. They are people like me who just like to do something and hope they can justify it by someone else seeing or in my case, reading, their work and buying it.

In this specialty art, artists turn driftwood found on the beach into works of art. I am certain there are many among readers who enjoy spotting pieces of driftwood and naming who or what the piece resembles.

Husband Paul and I discovered the art of making art out of driftwood when we accidentally came across displays of several pieces in a room in a school to which we came for another reason long forgotten.

We were instant admirers of this art, which for us was a discovery and learned more about the craft from those who enthusiastically shared their expert knowledge and skill.

We became frequent flyers of driftwood art shows and coveted many of the fine pieces on display.

We imagined the artists combing beaches for interesting pieces of wood worn over time and cast about through stormy ocean waves taking it to our beaches.

We can only speculate on where its home tree might have originated.

Driftwood art is clearly art that invites us to feel it, to gently fold our hand around a limb or flatten our hand to feel the smooth texture

Like any act of sculpturing, much of the pleasure is from the tactile feel of the material and the reward of creating art with our own hands.

Being an admirer, I was, of course, delighted that I won and eager to see the prize.

Except.

The prize

Not surprisingly, my delight was tempered by grief.

Paul is not here to enjoy it with me.

As I drove to collect the prize, I thought of how much Paul would have enjoyed winning something, especially something we liked and were considering purchasing for our home.

I arrived and made my way to the display room. I must have looked eager because a woman asked me if I was the winner.

I was eager or excited to see the prize.

The prize did not disappoint.

The driftwood piece was an abstract polished to a fine deep mahogany finish. It was what I call “walkable” in that one could walk around it and see several different points of view or, as I describe it, different pieces of art all in one.

Like most of driftwood art, it longed to be touched, to have soft fingers run along its curves.

I was happy that I would have this beautiful piece in my home but also sad I could not rush home with it to show Paul.

Still, I know Paul so well, I can easily imagine his delight and what he would say to everyone who came to our home.

“Bertha won this,” he would crow, his brown eyes twinkling with joy.

I marveled at Paul’s enjoyment in the last few months of his life as if his decline began to set his brain on being present at every moment and to especially experience simple joys.

In many ways, and because I know him and us so well, I can experience the moment as if it were.

I have done as much with the prize. It is not mine; it is ours.

But I cannot live there.

Alas, there is only so much of living in both sides of a split screen — happiness and despair — that I can do and not seem weird.

In fact, it would be better if I did not win another prize, at least for a while.

Or at least until I have arrived at a place more distant from now.