Retreat Magic
In Mid-Coast Maine, the sun comes up just little after 5 in the morning. I stay awake, no matter what, because of the light and the singing robins and chickadees in the garden outside the Cape Cod house we’re renting. The sky is always blue, the air never above the high seventies. I see a mosquito or fly every now and then, but they’re not biting. With temps in the 70s during the day, it’s rare to need air conditioning. I go to bed at the same time as the birds—a little after nine. I sleep with open windows, and the only thing I ever hear at night is rain.
A two-week trip to Rockport, Maine, was never on my bucket list. I hadn’t got anything against Maine, but my imagination fixates on various spots in Europe and Asia. My spouse Tony does have his own bucket list, and it is linked to craft, food and other experiences more than to geography. Six months ago, Tony began researching woodworking programs across the United States. He found a spot in a small, highly popular 2-week course for amateur woodworkers in at The Center for Furniture Craftsmanship in Rockport and invited me to come for the trip.
I’m extremely busy this summer because of my sixth Perveen Mistry novel due in the fall. Still, I said yes—because days are the same whether they are in Baltimore or Rockport, right? Tony would attend his school from about 8:30 to 5:30, Monday to Friday. I realized this could give me plenty of opportunities to particpate in the Sisters in Crime “Summer Scrawl” program: a virtual writing retreat which I’d already started in Maryland on July 1. For the two of us, this would be the first vacation where we split up during the day time for intense time spent on our different crafts.
Sisters in Crime (SinC) was started by Sara Paretsky and other women writers in the 1980s to counteract discrimination against women authors and provide a runway to building writing skills and achieving recognition. I first joined in 1994, and I became a lifetime member about a decade ago. When I started with the group, I wasn’t published. I’d returned from Japan and was locked in the throes of trying to finish my first novel. The Sisters who spoke about their writing journeys and recommended classes and conventions and contests to me were the helping hand I never dreamed existed. I’m now a lifetime member of an organization that admits all genders and has more than 4500 members in upwards of 60 chapters worldwide.
SinC runs the scrawl periods three months each year. The day is set up with at least five Zoom writing sessions lasting an hour. Each session is organized into two 25-minute silent, off-camera writing periods. There’s a five0minute break at the top and bottom of the hour, and one in the middle. Indulging in this practice twice daily, I discovered that I’m painlessly writing from 1000 to 2500 words. Is it the structure and accountability? Yes . . . And I also think it’s the wind coming in through the screens, or the sight of my dog enraptured by her rare chance to romp in a fenced garden. Writing retreat joy means that after 8 a.m. writing on Saturday, I’m going out with my guy and my dog to gaze at boats dotting the cove around a beautiful seaside town. It’s a dream life because there’s none of the business of actually taking care of a house or garden, or being obligated to run errands or take part in routine matters.
Maine has long been a dream location for artists to sequester themselves and deepen their work. From the late 1800s onward, American painters have worked here, specializing in imagery of the sea, rural land, and simple living. Rockwell Kent, George Wesley Bellows and multiple generations of Wyeths have sunk into painting Maine’s land, water, and people. Formal art schools and artist colonies were the forerunners of artist retreats today like Haystack Mountain School of Crafts.
A visit to the Farnsworth Art Museum in Rockland showcases the powerful work of these early Maine painters. Another special focus is a tremendous collection of indigenous baskets and other woven wood and grass crafts. There’s a good story to it. Confederacy tribal artists famed for intricate basket weaving were dwindling in number, so in the 1990s, younger Native Americans formed a group called the Maine Indian Basketmakers Alliance that brought together elders and apprentices and has rebuilt the artistic community.
Barnswallow Books in historic Rockport Village, and Atlantic Tern Books in Rockland host visiting authors almost weekly. Between Camden, Rockport and Rockland there’s a flourishing small indy restaurant scene and outstanding farmers markets. Between writing sessions, I swim in the garden pool and eat what’s left in the fridge from the previous day. A couple of times a week, I’ll pack Daisy into the car and explore a small town with her for an hour. But only after I feel like my day’s work is complete.
There’s a friendly ease to people’s attitudes here that seems to be rubbing off. Instead of feeling tortured and pressured, I accept my writing work as something that I know I can do. Even if I don’t know how many words I’ll write in the 8 a.m. or the 11 a.m. session, I’m guaranteed to move forward at least a page or two. I’m not about to give up my writing stint because I know it won’t be long until the friendly live chat allows me to stop.
The dread to start writing that I’ve suffered over the last few years has faded. I am rebuilding my writing habit sitting in a pretty chair in a glassed-in porch, dog at my side.
Retreat Magic has also touched Tony, I gather during our dinners together. Even though he’s learning great ideas and techniques, he occasionally makes mistakes in crafting the various pieces for his Shaker style side table. But now, instead of walking away in frustration or trying to work around the mistake, he’s resolute. He buys a new walnut board at the lumber barn and cuts it correctly. His days are long, but he loves the company of the teachers and fellow students. I’ve enjoyed meeting these Brothers and Sisters in Wood (my private name for them) at the weekly potluck held outdoors on the picnic tables on the Center’s campus.
This Saturday, we drive 11-plus hours home to our old lives. Starting on Sunday, I’ll write upstairs in my study, and I suspect Tony will tread a bit more often to the basement and finish the radiator cover he’s been working on for months. My hope is that both of us will persevere while being easier on ourselves than we’ve been in the past. We can’t be on retreat all the time, but we can remember how good it felt.
