Five years ago if someone asked me where I’d be today, I don’t know what I would have said. But I wouldn’t have said writing in the woods. The Writers’ Colony at Dairy Hollow might have been my answer if I played a game of eenie-meenie-miney-moe with multiple choice answers. In my mind, any place with “colony” attached to it was highly sketchy. A colony involved hippie living, pot growing, and Kum Ba Yah singing.
Lepers lived in colonies, didn’t they?
As a kid, I thought the Mississippi County Penal Colony had something to do with naked men and it scared me being so close to our farm. That’s another story for another time. The point is, things change in five years. Sometimes drastically. Today, I’m happy to be hanging at the Writers’ Colony, and I couldn’t pick Wall Street Journal prime interest rate from a multiple choice list.
Sometimes I’m surprised by all the change.
So I’m sitting in my favorite writing space deep in the woods writing all the words that come to me and hoping to get something accomplished. But just being here is an accomplishment. I realize that.
Yesterday we had a sunshower—bright sunshine and fat raindrops without a cloud overhead. The devil was beating his wife, or so the saying goes. This morning, thunder rolls down the hollow. Perfect writing weather.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
[tweetthis]I always thought a colony was for hippies. I’m writing in the woods. @writerscolony @Eureka_Springs[/tweetthis]
Thunder and Rain in the Woods
P.S. Bet you thought my music would be Kum Ba Yah, didn’t ya?
Or Thunder Rolls?