Entrance to the Maverick Writing Studios and new snow.

I’ve been fighting a damn cold since, if you can believe it, the day I left San Francisco.  Its timing was impeccable.  I managed to stave it off with homeopathic syrup and tea infused with garlic, lemon, and ginger, but it’s trying hard to take me under.  I slammed Tylenol PM last night and woke up just in time for lunch today at noon.  I considered my studio afterwards, but decided to head back to bed with a dose of DayQuil and The Best American Short Stories 2013.  I slept all day.

Last night there was a reading at the Red Mill.  Poets, creative nonfiction, and fiction writers who have been here for two weeks read from their work and it was fantastic.  So talented, their work so brave.  There were poems about love and post-partum depression, prose about a mother’s suicide, a lesbian murder mystery, and an ode to VSC.   A few readers thanked the crowd for helping them finish something they hadn’t been able to back home.  I am still contemplating if I will read next week.  Of course, I hear my own advice to our students, “Read!  It’s muscle memory.  Practice!”  I will keep you posted.  

The common area at Kowalsky House.  My painter friend, Esmerelda, and a night cap.

I sat with a wonderful group of women last night at dinner.  My original group from the airport has grown to include another poet and sculptor, one from North Carolina, the other from Pennsylvania.   Have I mentioned the food here is delicious?  I’ve already had to change my eating habits from the first few days because I was definitely coming back home with an extra ten pounds.  The fresh baked bread and hunks of cheese get me every time.  Last night they served a seafood stew with mussels, shrimp, and calamari over rice (my wife would have loved it!), made even better when the new sculptor busted out a bottle of red wine and shared it with the table.  We spoke of home ownership and the trauma of selling and buying, Dutch tulips, homeopathic remedies, Brenda Hillman and Bob Hass, and of course, always, our families and creative work. 

Everyone here has left something behind.  Jobs, school, husbands, wives, pets, children.   Many are current MFA students or recent MFA graduates.  Many are university teachers still grading papers before being able to fully commit to their Vermont experience.  The artists with families really inspire me.  They talk about balancing their artistic lives with their parental duties, about their children and spouses encouraging them to pursue their dreams, about how doing so actually makes them better parents.  I think of my friend Sara and all the other artists with children, young and old, and have so much respect for their dedication.  Couldn’t it all just slip away in the bustle of other commitments? 

Not really. 

These artists are 100% dedicated to their work and it is a magical thing to be in conversation with them, to discuss their artistic goals, to share mine, to believe that I belong here among them.  Here is another gift of being at a residency.  To understand the kind of commitment we all have to our art and the professional level to which it is (or will be) achieved blows me away.  It is this community building I imagine the people who create and support these types of environments want to encourage.  It lifts us up, makes us believe it is all possible, demands that we keep going.  

The Mason House Library

The Mason House Library where the writer's craft talk will be held on Friday.

Every day the river is freezing over more and more.  The weather and the locals are telling us to prepare for dropping temperatures and snow through the weekend.

Yesterday a few of us walked the main drag of Johnson and were tourists.  It snowed during the entire walk and I was grateful for all the snow gear my friends let me borrow for the trip.  There are a few bars and restaurants, a gas station and a grocery store.  We visited Johnson Woolen Mills, which has been around since 1842.  Inside is a plethora of legit hunters gear made from wool shorn off local sheep--red and black flannel jackets, shirts, and vests, camo, traffic-cone orange beanies and hats the hunters wear in the forest to avoid getting their heads blown off, the most beautiful handmade wool blankets.

Then we went to the Maple Sugaring Equipment and Supply store that not only sells all grades of locally farmed maple syrup in all its forms (dehydrated maple sugar, maple syrup lollipops, spreads and jellies), but all the equipment and tools necessary to farm such maple.  Only those who are official members of the maple sugar farming association are allowed to purchase the farming equipment.  What a trip.

Of course we went into Ebenezer's Book Store and a few familiar names jumped off the shelves.  The local arts supply store is owned by a woman who works for VSC and has lived in Johnson for over thirty years.  I learned this when I inadvertently sat and had dinner with her my first night here.

Finally, we headed to the Barbara White Studio's where my Latina painter friend from Los Angeles has her studio.  She's waiting for her canvases to be delivered today, but was kind enough to show us around.  We met another woman there who had her studio door open and welcomed us in to snoop around.  I love the lived in look of her studio and desk.

I felt a bit guilty for taking time out of my day to walk around and see the few sights of Johnson, got right back to writing after our walk until it was time for dinner.  I worked until 11p before taking myself back to Kowalsky House for the night.  Last night I finally Facetime'd with wifey.  I miss her and Girly Grace.  She asked how I was feeling and I said good, motivated, but starting to worry a bit about my endurance.  Can I keep this pace up for the entire two weeks?  This feels like the longest study session of my life.  I remind myself this is a marathon, not a sprint and breathe.