A Day at Hedgebrook Part Three: The readings

Elizabeth and her wonderful Sunday Brunch offerings, including the apple-pear-cranberry tart 

After dinner at the farmhouse, we often adjourned to the library, a cozy book-lined room with a wood burning stove, to share what we'd written. Of the five women in residence last week, three  were working on memoirs; one focused more on her experiences in social work, another on homes and gardens and food, and the last on her mother's terrifying journey along the path of Alzheimer's. There was an eloquent poet who wrote about a recent grief and subsequent resolution. She and her two children are all poets and perform regularly in the Seattle area. Her daughter came for two days and performed some of her brilliant work. 

I shared some essays on family life, most of which were lighthearted. I'm not in a place where I have a lot of anger in my life, but for those who were, it was palpable and poignantly expressed. I like to think I lightened the mood a bit. I'm working on a novel, and I read some sections of it. I had questions about how to implement a particular point of view, and got some great and insightful suggestions. The environment was safe and intimate. Trust among women writers is something that is usually freely given and embraced. It's what I have found in several critique groups I've been in over the past ten years. And it's what I found at Hedgebrook.