LOCALadk Magazine

62 Fall 2018 LOCALadk Magazine LOCALadk When I left the Virginia suburbs of Washington DC, late summer was still lingering: green trees and warm days and windows left open. When I think of the Anne LaBastille Writ- ing Residency what I first recall is the day I arrived at Twitch- ell Lake. After hitting the empty roads early on a Sunday morning, taking the gray highways north for overcast hours, turning off onto the smaller two-lane roads and winding my way into the Adirondacks, it seemed like someone suddenly switched on all the lights. I stared at the trees on the lake's far side lit up in russet and red, umber and brown, yellow and rust. I had driven north and found fall putting on its amazing show by the side of a still lake hidden in the mountains: it was like finding a secret. I didn't know much about the Adirondacks beyond some general ideas of trees and mountains, skiing and hiking. Someone on my Facebook wall posted the call for applica- tions from the Adirondack Center for Writing (ACW) and I was drawn to the idea of two quiet weeks to work out the kinks in a manuscript of poems I had been putting together. I needed to get the poems in an order that might make some sense. I knew I would end up pulling out poems that no lon- ger fit, and that process might lead to drafting new work. I knew if I got the ACW LaBastille residency then I wouldn't have any excuse not to get this manuscript finalized. I could put it on my calendar and having that time set aside would help me to get the work done. What I didn't count on was that time is different in the mountains. Mornings began early with coffee but then seemed to stretch for hours of just drafting work while the other writ- ers went about their own schedules. This quiet time would ease up around noon when we'd all gather in the kitchen for lunch. But then again after wards the day would stretch itself out into long hours until dinner would bring us back together again. Spotty wifi, no cell phone ser vice, and six other peo- ple, seven at the most, quietly moving to their own rhythms – compared to my regular, highly-connected existence full of work and appointments and family, the world of the residen- cy was like sinking into still water. I found myself not only finalizing my manuscript, but also drafting new work, read- ing books of poems I had packed "just in case," hiking in the woods, and spending time on the Twitchell Lodge dock lis- tening to sounds of the lake. If you're lucky, you sometimes encounter a place that stays with you long after you leave. The wooden rooms and the furniture, the lake views through the windows and the way the sun hit the pines out back—Twitchell Lodge surrounded by the Adirondack woods shifting from summer into winter is a place I will never forget. But the people I was with while at Twitchell Lodge have also left a mark on me. The residency invites fellows from both inside and outside the Adirondack area. They also choose writers of various disciplines: poet- r y, fiction, and nonfiction. And so there was always more to learn from ever y writer: their ways of writing, their experi- ences from back home, their stories behind the stories they were writing. Along with the memorable writers I met were our hosts Nathalie Thill and Baylee Annis from the Adiron- dack Center for Writing. Because they are writers and stor y- tellers themselves, Nathalie and Baylee seemed to know in their bones how to make the residency run in such a way that brought out the best in ever y single day. I've always been attracted to between places—airports and waiting rooms—places we linger but rarely stay for long. They feel magical to me in some way— I think maybe we are all more ourselves in such spaces. Home maybe is too comfortable and can lull the senses, let us go on auto-pilot. Strange places, of course, need watching and so elicit a cer- tain wariness. But the in-between space is just comfortable enough to let a person slow down and look around—and still different enough to keep a person's senses alert and awake. This I believe is the ideal setting for writing. This is how I re- member Twitchell Lodge and the LaBastille Residency. I also remember finding myself often staring across the lake at the trees. During our time there, I watched their col- ors fade and their leaves fall. In my mind there is a picture of the lake just after sundown. The sky is still bright with light from a sun that has dropped behind the mountains. The lake and the shore are dark in the gloaming that has come up, as if night time has drifted up from the water and the rocks. This is the twilight time at the end of a day's writing, the moment after hours spent alone chasing some thought across the page but before the warm chatter of dinner and good com- pany. You can stand on the dock at the lodge and watch the whole thing: the long day rushes out and a cool night eases in with owl calls and a smell of snow. Writing in the woods (Pt. 2) by Noah Stetzer

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