(If you missed Part One, you can read it here.)
Despite the comfortable bed, I struggled with sleep. It was my first night in a new space and my insomnia is ever at hand. I woke repeatedly to hear the Great Horned Owl talking outside, and sometime around 3:30am I gave up and quietly turned on a light to read and write. It was finally light enough outside to go for a walk at 5am, and I quietly slipped out of the bunkhouse. I chose a walking path and let my body move, the blood flowing, the aches soothing out.
I startled ducks onto the pond, and songbirds out of song. There was evidence deer had been through but I didn’t see the deer themselves. I could hear the wild turkeys but found only a feather. The rock structures were amazing and everywhere. I’d walk til I came to one that needed photographing and then I’d move on. I went to the echo chamber, modeled after one in Scotland, I’m told. It was stunning, fascinating, and it worked.
I stood inside on the central stone and whispered my gratitude, listening to the hundreds of me’s saying “thank you.”
By the time I hiked back my boots were soaked through. They’re the most comfortable work boots I’ve ever had and I wear them for everything, but apparently they’re water resistant, not water proof. I grabbed my notebook from my room and went over to the Lodge where smoke was coming from the chimney. I sat by the fire, took off my boots and socks to let them dry, and I wrote.
The ever amazing staff said “good morning,” let me know when coffee was ready, asked how I’d slept. I was overwhelmed by the kindness, thoughtfulness, and care. “Thank you,” I said, over and over, an echo chamber myself.
The coffee was perfect, the fire was fantastic, and I wrote and wrote and wrote, stopping when breakfast was announced. The other women slowly trickled in, all in various stages of morning, grabbing cups of coffee, grabbing plates filled with food, all of us congregating at the table. I don’t remember what we spoke about aside from the general panic when it was determined we were supposed to be in the school house in ten minutes. The rush as women took their plates to the bussing station, called their thanks into the kitchen, grabbed a bit more coffee on their way out.
Every building felt like my favorite, but the schoolhouse: with the bell-pull on the right and the bathrooms in the back, the light streaming in from all sides…I could live in it happily for all my days. There were snacks laid out and more coffee and water, but it was evident these things were here as fuel: we’d come to work. We ran exercises, learned several writing lessons, ran more exercises. When we finally broke for lunch it felt like we’d been there the entire day already, although part of this feeling could be attributed to my lack of sleep, I’m sure.
Every meal was phenomenal although I can’t recall what we ate. After lunch I put my things away because I was heading off-site to the ranch of a horse whisperer. I met Bobbi at her cute little VW Bug which whipped us through the traffic of Whitefish in no time flat. The ranch was a sea of horses, all out in three or four pastures, all out in enormous herds. We discussed how to see through the eyes of another, how to claim our energy and space, how to communicate with movement.
It was fascinating and overwhelming and I found myself having multiple epiphanies about how I exist in this world, how I show up or don’t, how my mixed signals confuse more than just myself. I met several horses and the one in the photo is the one who reminded me I don’t have to acquiesce.
Bobbi raced me back to the retreat in time to wash my hands before social hour, a mandatory event that I would have skipped if it weren’t because I needed to work on my piece for that night and because I’d much rather be an introvert. I would be reading a piece that night along with one other writer, and my piece needed to be cut in half and still make sense, still be emotionally moving. I had all of ten minutes to pull it off, and with the exception of one little hitch, something I likely would have taken out if given a bit more time and opportunity, the piece went well.
The feedback that night was phenomenal, it was all the things I wanted to get from a roomful of peers.
Continue to Part Three here.
Sunday Dutro, Author - Official Site 