My first Ragdale visit was four years ago, and I didn’t have any idea what to expect from it. What I got was a quiet room at the end of the second-floor hallway in the main house, Alice's Room--an easy place to hide out and do nothing but work.
I’m staying in the main house again, but this time I’m in the Blue Room (aptly named for the painted blue woodwork and wild, leafy wallpaper. That’s right, blue leaves.) My room faces west, so as I sit here typing I can look down on the back lawn, where deer sometimes wander out to graze, and into the south edge of the prairie preserve. I also have half of a screened porch to enjoy—I share it with another resident, and our halves are divided by a privacy screen. But there are so many porches in the Ragdale house that I’ll never have trouble finding a place to enjoy the outdoors. (Last night I heard a coyote howling just before I went to bed. I love that this place is designed to communicate with its surroundings instead of sealing them out.)
New things: the Barnhouse was under renovation last time, so this was my first opportunity to see the beautifully updated space. I hope I’ll have a chance to stay there sometime, though those rooms tend to be assigned to the visual artists. Regin Igloria, the director of artist residencies, tells us that plans are in the works to renovate the main house before too long (though the plan is to leave the house esentially as it is--just in better repair, and with updated plumbing. To which I say, "Hooray!") Also new is the presence of wireless Internet access, which I'm going to try to use sparingly. Part of the point of being here is disconnecting; I had a conversation with another writer at dinner last night, and I told her that one of my favorite parts of being at Ragdale is the change of pace that occurs when you give up a car and every little errand involves a longish walk.
I’m going through the usual stages of residency: yesterday afternoon was panic (“Why did I do this? I’ve made a terrible mistake. I have nothing to write about, and I’m stuck here for two weeks.”) Once I’d taken a nap and had an excellent dinner and met the rest of my resident cohort, that feeling subsided a bit. Now I’m in the settling stage (“Okay, at least I can read and relax and have some time to myself, even if I can’t write a lot. This won’t be so bad, and two weeks isn’t that long.”) As I recall, this fairly quickly resolves into a productive writing groove, after which the time begins to fly and it’s clear that two weeks is nowhere near long enough to do what you’d like to do.
The last time I was here, I was intent on having something to show for my residency (since I was missing my son’s birthday, and a visit from my sister, in order to be here) and I made an effort to do little more than write. This time, I need to wander as much as I write—both in my thoughts and on the grounds. I need to look around, get my bearings, figure some things out. I need to read and think and rejuvenate the writing part of my brain. Clearly the folks who put Ragdale together know what that involves—note the nice little library and cozy reading chair beside my bed (complete with a throw, lest the reader should take a chill.)
This time, what I needed most from Ragdale was a peaceful room with a view that encourages lots of daydreaming. And magically, here I am.
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