Testimonials

On June 2-3, I pushed out some 6000 words sitting at an old wooden desk in a pretty little farmhouse in Pulaski. That’s not much by my buddy’s standards, who tosses that much out twice a week, but for me, it was a year’s worth of need and not writing, and in the comfort of a calm blue room and the company of nothing more than a ceiling fan and the whisper of the sugar maples just beyond my open windows, I sat at my laptop, and I just wrote.
That little room brought me back to myself. For a few days, all I did was write. At night, I read. I had no other distractions and no responsibilities. I explored a story I’ve been trying to write for three years now; I found a new path for its characters and grounded it. I opened it up and let it flow. I had no excuses, and nothing to stop me.
As I write now, it’s a few weeks later, and I still like what I wrote those days in early June. This morning, I found my calm, quiet place at home and wrote some more. That retreat was what I needed.
Here, I don’t get the benefit of having someone else prepare three meals a day for me. Ron and Karen promised to provide whatever I desired, and when I preferred to leave that up to them, I sat down in front of natural, organic gourmet fare, much of it from the farm around me. I arrived before dinner one night and enjoyed an Italian feast of lasagna and salad, with homemade pasta and cheese, followed by the most wonderful cherry sauce over homemade ice cream. The cherries came from the tree just beyond the extended deck on the backside of the wrap-around porch; the dairy was all fresh from the jerseys who pastured in the barn just beyond the cherry.
For the first time, I had coffee with natural cream. I have never tasted anything better, and I drank as much as I could over the course of the next few days. It was far more than the “drug delivery system” of most lattes, wherein my goal is the caffeine high. This was more delicious than any coffee I’ve ever enjoyed anywhere else. (And it brought a rude awakening when I tried “regular” coffee with the tasteless cream from the store shelf. I’m back to my own lattes till I can taste that incredible flavor again.)
When I needed to stretch, I walked in the yard among the roosters and ducks and guineas. I checked on the horses and goats and looked for the new pig. I loved on the dogs and cats that peppered the yard and porch. The air up on the hill is about 8 degrees cooler than the city down below, and I luxuriated in its breezes.
There was a cold wild rice salad with spiced pecans that I could eat every day until I die, a perfect summer lunch. Of the breakfast tart, I had to refrain from eating too much; I just kept wanting one more piece of the light puff pastry with fresh farm eggs and bacon. There was a Brazilian specialty for dinner one night that I won’t even try to spell but proved to be one of the most soothing, satisfying chicken and shrimp dishes I have ever tasted. Even now, I long for the pepper and shrimp cream sauces that accompanied it.
I have Karen Walasek and Ron Heacock and the beautiful farm up on a hill in Pulaski to thank. Hillhouse Writers Retreat was every bit that, a room of my own, away from all the projects and responsibilities that kept me from working. For a few days, I was welcomed into the easy comfort of their family—son Justin, daughter Galyn, and new son-in-law Steve were at home to help with the meals and conversations, but I was also let alone, to work and to wander.
It was marvelous, Karen and Ron. Your home is filled with art and words and wonderful food, and I had a blue room beneath the sugar maples where Persephone found herself. Thank you.
Michelle