Yellow meadow. Uploaded by Wendy Mc.
I’ve been here for a week now. I’ve been going for long hikes every day and doing ridiculously wholesome things, like eating kale for lunch (get used to it, it’s the new spinach), smelling fresh applesauce cook, and taking in deep breaths of nature with all its spores and whatnot. My room used to be a hayloft. I saw a blue heron out here. I know that just saying that makes me sound like L.L. Bean. But really, there is this big fucking bird about the size of a Vespa hopping around the bonfire clearing, and I’m told that’s what it is.
There is wireless here now, unlike the last time I was here, and so that’s a little weird, though I try to be connected for only a couple hours a day and then I go out and walk on the prairie for an hour and scrub my brain with nature. (Did you know that big bluestem is the official prairie grass of Illinois?! I found this out, and now I will be sure to ask for it by name.) And then I come back to my room and write.
I’m working on at least three different things here. I quite don’t know what a couple of them are yet. I’m sure I’ll figure it out, sooner or later. My companion Lenny will help me. Sometimes I call Jami, who is also stuck at a heartlandish rural outpost doing a artists residency (and taking better pictures) and we wander our respective plains on our cell phones. Here at Ragdale you’re not allowed to make or take calls inside, though I think they should make an exception for when you want to drunk dial or prank call other arts colonies.
Having a great time, wish you were here. But you’re not, and I’m procrastinating today, so that’s it for now. More on the weekend, maybe.
It would be awesome if there were a rival artist colony nearby and you could all sneak over when they’re out meditating and short sheet their beds. Or have midnight panty raids. Awesome, I tell you.
One of my closest friends was named Kale…mmmm…kale…(…)