Today, I’m writing from the 8th floor of the Mayflower Park Hotel in Seattle. Philip and I came cross-country for the AWP conference, a gathering of some 15,000 writers. The experience has been wonderful and culminated with a hysterical talk and presentation by Tim Egan and Sherman Alexie, whose book Indian Killer is painted on one of our farmhouse steps.
It has been an incredibly rewarding and affirming trip. I’m reminded that I write because in some very deep way that resides just by my 7th vertebra, I am made to write. I’ve enjoyed the interaction with all these writers, especially my friends, and I’m going back to the farm charged up and ready.
Still, Philip and I are ready to go back to the farm. Neither of us is good with crowds, and I’m about at my limit for overcoming my fear of escalators. (I should have counted how many I rode, but I’d say approximately 5 billion.) We’re ready for the quiet of the farm, and the slurp whiny kisses of a certain puppy, whose as been residing at Camp Floyd with Philip’s parents these past few days. I’m eager to see the cats and have them blow me off.
Most of all, we’re ready to embark on this farm adventure with animals. In many ways, this trip marks a transition from a life of more frequent travel to one of stationary routine. I have no doubt this will be a big adjustment, particularly for me, but this trip has confirmed that we will welcome that change.
We’re returning to what could be another foot of snow – and just hoping to hit the runway in Charlottesville before that happens – so it will probably be a couple more days before we get to work on the garden, but stay tuned because the seeds should be on the farmhouse porch when we arrive.
Thanks so much for journeying with us on our 10 acres. We hope you’ll come visit soon.