I spent a weekend at a beautiful location on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee, near Wolfboro, New Hampshire. This 21 mile long by 8/5 mile wide lake is the site of America’s history starting with the English Tories. The town is the oldest vacation site in the U.S. The weather was too cool for swimming and even boating in the pontoon craft available. Family was there, ensconced in a modern designed/built home with the feel of the nineteenth century. Time did not rush by. The work of the day was the next meal. I took two mile walks on the property twice daily and then what????
I looked at trees and rocks and trails and a flock of wild turkeys waddling beside me. A deer was busy at the wood edge, while I looked for bear. I’d been told a friendly bear and cubs were seen all summer, but they did not come into my view. I heard the rustling of raccoon and other animals in the wild. A blessing from the weather included miles of goldenrod displaying their beautiful color yellow as I sneezed. Ferns in green, yellow, and brown settled in beds to decorate the surrounding trees. A refurbished circa 1700 farmhouse sits on the street edge of the 19 acre property disguising the fabulous building 1/3 of a mile further in to its lake setting. This is family property but not mine. What the weekend offered me was connectedness with family and a complete emptying of my brain from ordinary life duties and cares; and I let it happen. Me, who is by nature organized and dutiful to the ordinary tasks of life, relaxed big-time. What joy was the result of this physical and mental vacation weekend. I filled the files of creativity I store up there in my grey cells with plots, and character profiles, and goodness of sprit from the tranquil beauty of God’s production. Lucky I may have been to escape to such beauty for a few days, but I did realize I would be quite capable of capturing similar beauty in my own neck of the woods, Springfield, Massachusetts. What interferes is my not allowing myself to embrace nature wherever it shows its beauty. Which is, I think, constantly; think of the flower shooting up in the cracked city sidewalk, the city trees, city and town parks, neighbors flower gardens. I will not again miss those opportunities for inspiration. K. B. Pellegrino, Author