and thus not able to file regular blog posts. You’ll understand. Catwalk Institute is a ravishing place to have a writing residency.
I think I will be far too consumed with writing chapters of Heartwood here to do much else. Perhaps exercising my daydreaming muscles too. Part of the creative process, don’t you know.
My cheerfully monastic room has plenty of shelf space for my anvil collection (think I brought enough books?).
Hoping to claim the gardener’s shed as my work lair for the next three weeks.
The tiny little space seems custom made for me and my laptop. There’s even wifi.
On the way, lovely little nooks and crannies in which to lose myself.
Places to walk, think.
I am sure that I will spend time meandering around the far-flung reaches of the sixty-five acres of the estate stretching down to the Hudson River, which happens to be visible from the living room of the Caretaker’s Cottage, my digs.
Practically the first thing that greeted me was a majestic white oak.
Met Chuck the caretaker of the property, who told me he “was born a tree.”
He seems to know everything about everything. We toured the place and talked about the phlox.
The carpenter bees (“they like to play”). Chuck introduced me to one named Herman. We saw the cattail pond only partly invaded by phragmites. We ID’d a mourning cloak butterfly and a Chinese fringe tree.
The fat old deodar cedar.
And its fat baby cone.
Chuck told me he made a wooden sign for his home with the legend, “Breathing in I am a tree. Breathing out, I am rooted in spirit.” He was kind enough to prop up a kindred spirit.
Whatever I do I’ll be sure to take it slow, preferably strolling in the shade of a handsome old black locust.
Physically, at least. My brain has already begun firing on all cylinders.
Wish me the best. I am so fortunate to be a Fellow here.