Hedgebrook, Day Four

After yesterday's walk 

I am here at Hedgebrook with five other women residents, and we are mixed in age, in nationality and in race. We are both straight and lesbian.  We each have our own enchanted cottage, not far from one another but far enough to sit undisturbed to do our individual work. Every evening, promptly at 5:30 we walk down a forest path with baskets and meet in the farmhouse for dinner, cooked for us right there with vegetables and flowers and fruit from the garden. We help ourselves from bowls and platters, arrayed on the same butcher block where the chef has prepared them, and then we sit down to eat at a long pine table with a view of Useless Bay. Yes, Useless Bay -- a name worthy of a post far longer than these that I will be writing for the next three weeks. The food is remarkable, simple and full of flavor. The chef sits with us and eats, too. I believe there are three of them who rotate through, all women who cater to and nourish us yet have a place at the woman table. At the end of the meal, the chef clears the table and begins to clean the kitchen while we pack our baskets with snacks, coffee, breakfast for the next morning. We spoon homemade granola out of jars, yogurt out of tubs, and coffee into little bags. We take fresh raspberries from the garden, so sweet and ripe that they disintegrate into syrup, almost, by the next day. There are snacks in jars along shelves --  peanut butter and pretzels, nuts and dried fruit, salty Asian crackers, seaweed and chocolate-covered mangos. Our lunch for the following day is neatly packed into a tupperware container -- a slice of quiche or a frittata, a chickpea salad, mixed lettuces and fruit. When our baskets are full we say good-bye to one another and walk back through the forest to our cottages where, I imagine, we all bow our heads in one way or another to the grace of this place and to our work.

Buh-Bye!

I'm off to Hedgebrook in the morning, and while I am incredibly grateful and excited, I'm also feeling a little batshit crazy.

I'm not sure what my posting schedule will look like, as I'm told it's best to immerse yourself into the magic of the place with as few distractions as possible. I will, hopefully, get lots of writing done as well as respite and the chance to meet some extraordinary women. I might take photos and perhaps post them each day with something or other to keep ya'll entertained, but there'll probably only be slim pickins at the old a moon, worn as if it had been a shell. 

In the meantime, keep abreast of that whole cannabis Big Pharma thing. It's all going down tomorrow in Washington, D.C. when the big guns meet. You know how I feel about it all, and never have I been more sure and committed about an issue. Scroll down to yesterday's post, read, share and join us if you are so inclined. Just click this link: Coalition for Access Now

I miss you already.













P.S. If you want to write me a letter, email me and I'll send you the address!

Hedgebrook 2015

My hotel bed, where I lay for many hours this morning with muddled, joyful thoughts

I can't persuade myself that writing is honest work. It's great fun and I love it. 

For one thing, it's the only way I can get to sit down. 

Shirley Jackson

A few months ago, a couple of my writer friends sent me notices about Hedgebrook and persuaded me to apply for a residency, so I did -- at the very last minute -- and took no notice afterward. Yesterday afternoon, in the middle of a lacrosse game, I glanced away from the game and opened an email that said this:

Elizabeth:

Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that the Selection Committee has awarded you a 2015 residency at Hedgebrook.  

Having narrowed the original 1466 applicants to a final group of 102, the committee awarded 40 residencies for 2015.  You are one of these select few.  

Reader, I burst into tears, stumbled down the bleacher seats and into the parking lot where I cried a bit then re-read the email and began to freak out. Here's the thing: I will be staying for THREE WEEKS in a cottage on Whidbey Island this summer, where I will find comfort, solitude, land to explore and nourishing meals from our own and other locally grown gardens. The email stated Our objective is to provide you with a place to continue your work. 

I am honestly stunned and have remained so for nearly two days. I woke this morning in the hotel room in San Diego where Henry and I were sleeping and had what I call morning madness, the thoughts that plague you in those dark, dark hours before dawn. How will I pull this off? There must be some mistake! Surely there are others more deserving? It might be impossible for me to accept this! What kind of a mother leaves her kids for three weeks to WRITE? Surely this is a joke! I'm selfish for being so excited. You know the drill, right? The lazy, bourgeois byzantine rambling thoughts of the morning hours. Then came three lacrosse games and a three hour drive back to Los Angeles.

Apparently, I actually did get a Hedgebrook Writing Residency. Holy mackerel! My gratitude knows no bounds, but holy moly! Thank you Hedgebrook!