A beautiful place, silence, and time

 Last week I got to do something I’ve always dreamed about doing; I went on a personal writer’s retreat. A beautiful place, silence, and lots of time. For six days.

Having a beautiful place available made it all possible. Called simply, “The Writer’s Cabin,” it’s a new addition to Camp Tilikum outside of Newberg, Oregon. The cabin sits among the trees on the edge of a meadow and overlooks the lake. This was the inspiration of Quaker writer Richard Foster whose initial grant got the project started. The pandemic slowed construction down (as it did everything else), and it’s been hard to get it going again, but it’s finally finished.

The past few years Hal and I would drive out to Tilikum every few months to see how the cabin was coming along. We could even go inside, but it seemed all we ever saw were boards and tools and dust. But we had faith, so much so that I sent in my application a year ago. (I was probably the first.)

But it really is finished, and last week I was its first “Writer in Residence.” I got a pendant with those words on it which I proudly wore whenever I went outside.

I brought a specific writing project with me, a book of poems based on the life of Jesus. I already had a collection of these from the four Gospels; they all needed crafting, honing, polishing, and, in some cases, drastic editing. And I set myself to write new poems on areas of Jesus life not yet covered. It’s an ambitious project. Time to work on it, and on nothing else, was just what I needed.

I learned some things about myself during the week. While not exactly new information, the week reinforced things I’ve been observing for some time now.

I learned that I can’t do now what I could as a younger person. I had envisioned myself sitting in quiet bliss, writing for hours at a time, taking advantage of the wonderful opportunity I’d been given. I used to be able to do that in the middle of non-retreat circumstances (minus the “bliss”). A college student working into the night to finish a term paper—I could do it. As a young adult, I wrote a series of Bible school textbooks while the kids were in school, and back then, it was on a typewriter.

Not anymore. Not only age, but other physical challenges make impossible that kind of concentration for long periods of time. I found I needed to take breaks after only an hour of work. Fortunately, the retreat center offers miles of trails around the lake and into the forest, as well as a deck to sit on and watch the water. But I had to talk myself out of the guilt of taking those breaks. Can you believe it? I guess I’m still in the process of coming to peace with my changing body and mental energies. The week at the cabin actually helped me in this process. (Hal had told me previously, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Nancy.” He knows me.)

I rediscovered that I need to move my body. This is something I “rediscover” every week. If I sit too long at the computer, I get up stiff and aching like an old person. Strange. Again, I had to remind myself of the need for rhythms of movement and rest. Even just standing up from time to time to stretch my neck helped tremendously. And of course those short walks in the forest rejuvenated me (literally “made me young again”).

I rediscovered that I need people. I had envisioned the joy of solitude. And it was joyful. But only up to a certain point. Those daily phone calls with Hal became a point of encouragement and grounding. I still crave solitude. But I also need meaningful interaction with people, maybe more so now than in other stages of life. It’s another case for finding the rhythms of solitude and companionship. I need both.

As ever, I discovered I need to fight the negative voices, even on a retreat. I can never retreat from myself. Everywhere I go—there I am. My negative inner voices tell me I don’t deserve this retreat, I’m not really a good writer, this project is too big for me, etc., etc., etc. I’ve discovered these voices are fairly typical; other writers and creative people hear their own versions. And I’ve learned when to rebuke them, how to be patient with myself, and even when I need to listen to any truth in them. I don’t fight with the voices all the time; in fact, more often than not, I’m free to just get on with whatever I’m working on. But I didn’t think it fair that they should come along on my special retreat.

In all, the time was refreshing and productive, and I intend to make use of this gift again. I heard God reaffirm my vocation as a writer. I gained some guidance for the path ahead with this current project. (I have a lot of work to do.)

I began my practice of writing from Scripture several years ago, mainly as a devotional exercise and a way to pray and write through the Word. When I sit down with the Bible in my lap, I begin by praying Psalm 119:18—“Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your word.” During my retreat, I received the second part of that prayer. God answered me from Revelation 1:11, “Write what you see.”

One side note about the retreat I want to mention, concerning the silence of being by a lake, among the trees. It’s that God has a sense of humor. I noticed these strange sounds the first evening. Animal sounds, somewhat like a wild goose, or so I told myself. As the evening darkened, the sounds grew louder, coming from all sides of the lake. So for several days I was on the lookout for geese flying north for the warm months. But not a single goose did I see. And the sound wasn’t exactly gooselike. It was somewhere between a goose and a pig. Between a honk and a grunt.

And then it struck me. Bull frogs! That’s what it was! I wondered if it was mating season and they were singing love songs. Actually, it was hilarious. At its loudest, I was in the middle of this vast choral performance. Then it would stop and be absolutely silent (beautiful!) for a couple minutes. Soon, across the lake, one lone soloist threw out his voice. Silence again. But soon another voice from my side of the lake answered. And little by little others would join in, tentatively at first, but quickly growing to a full triumphant chorus of frog music. They kept it up all night long and into the next morning. I missed the absolute silence, but what could I do but laugh?

When I needed silence, I just walked up the hill and into the trees.

Personal retreats of all kinds, not just writer’s retreats, are so valuable.  I think we never outgrow (“out-age”) our need to come apart from our familiar routines and scenery to reflect, to pray, or to do something purely for fun.  A retreat provides time to reaffirm our identity as children of God, to remind ourselves of our deepest values, and to hear once again God naming our particular call to service.

At some point in the aging process, it becomes harder to physically retreat to some beautiful place in the mountains or by the ocean. When such time comes for me, I hope my kids occasionally take me on day-trips to the beach. More than that, I hope I will have found that interior place of retreat where I can rest in the presence of the Creator of all mountains and oceans. In the presence of the Creator of bull frogs.

Destination walk--Camassia Nature Preserve

 On Friday I took a break from my routine of writing, editing, keeping up the apartment, reading and etc. Hal and I got out of town and walked the trail at Camassia Nature Preserve.

Every month the retirement community organizes “destination walks,” hikes in one of the many wilderness areas or nature preserves that abound here in the Willamette Valley. These walks are for the hardier residents, those who exercise regularly and have a certain level of energy. And who like to spend time outdoors.

I confess I’m on the borderline of being in this group as I grapple with issues that tend to rob me of energy. But I want to belong to the hardy club and I love being outdoors and away from the ordinariness of every day. So Hal and I decided to try it. This was one of the easier of the walks, being a loop of only a mile. We thought I could manage that and were willing to give it a try. (Normally my dizziness kicks in after a quarter of a mile.)

We grabbed our walking sticks and a small backpack with water and my notebook, then joined the group of about 15 people in front of the bus. Since we were among the last to sign up, there was no room on the bus, and we went with our friends in their car. The park was about an hour’s drive away.

Camassia Nature Preserve is a 26-acre natural area located on the outskirts of West Linn, part of greater Portland. It’s managed by The Nature Conservancy, a non-profit international environmental organization. Its name comes from the common camas, a purple wildflower of the lily family that blooms throughout the northwest in the spring. We were there just past the peak season when we were told that the purple blooms covered the meadow in regal splendor. Even though the flowers now only bloomed here and there in patches, they were beautiful.

 

They weren’t alone. We saw abundant buttercups, fringecups, thimbleberry blossoms, wild roses, and many small blooms I couldn’t name. The area is home to more than 300 types of plant species.

The one-mile loop is a narrow trail that winds through forest and brushland. From the viewpoint we looked down on the 205 freeway with the Willamette River and Oregon City off in the distance. Other than that view, we were in the silence of nature, away from the city. Several trails spur off the loop, one leading to a longer trail through a wilderness area. I’d love to come back and walk that trail.

A large part of the destination walk is the community of walkers and the friendships that develop. Some walk faster than others, which is to be expected. I’m not in the slowest group, but definitely more toward that end. But every one looks out for everyone else, and a designated walker brings up the end of the line. In this case it was the fitness director of the retirement community. I’m slow, not just because of my dizziness, but because I like to stop and look around me—or down at the side of the path where the tiniest flowers grow.

 

                                    Camas and buttercups

                                    Thimbleberry blossom

Viewpoint--Mt. Hood

Madrona tree

    I feel proud of myself for going on this walk. I confess I’ve been in a bit of a slump lately, partly because of lack of sleep and little energy (another subject). Motivation to get out and mingle is at low ebb and I’ve spent many days in my apartment, reading, watching movies, looking out the window and playing computer solitaire (another confession). Even in the middle of a slump, I know it’s temporary, that I’ll come out of it given time and a dash of discipline.

I also know that one way to be proactive, even when I don’t feel like it, is to get out in nature. Trees are the best listeners and therapists I know. The wind in the leaves gives such good advice. Wildflowers encourage me. And walking a trail with friends is a sure prescription for a healthy spirit.

I think I’ll join the June destination walk to the Willamette Mission State Park. You come, too!