A Newsy Note from the Reading Retreat

Fall leaves rustled in the slight breeze. From my vantage on a slightly tilted wraparound porch, gardens sent up their final autumn flourish in front of historic homes lining the street. A glass of ice water sat next to a book on the table while I wound yarn into a ball, too nervous to sit still. My hostess, Kay, completed the house preparations. Goody bags waited on beds.

All that was left was for the participants to arrive.

The Reading Retreat started over a decade ago, a dream of a house filled with nooks and crannies to cuddle into with a book, wider spaces where people could chat and discuss the books they’d been reading. A station with coffee, tea, water and snacks available all day. Easy breakfast, light lunch, full dinner with book discussion and debrief. Then more reading and off to bed.

Bliss!

Last year I revealed this dream to a friend who connected me with Kay Keppler, the owner of Birdy’s House, a retreat for creatives (especially writers) in the Catskills of Upstate New York. Kay agreed it would be a great project to host. For her part, she would house and feed everyone. All I had to do was get them there.

In the spring, we set the weekend for September 27-30. The leaves would be beginning to change, resulting in crunching meanders down quiet sidewalks to the nearby local bookshop. Any rainshowers would be easily weathered with our piles of books. And to the east, we could visit Hobart, the Book Village of the Catskills.

Beautiful setting - check!

Lots of available books - check!

Book-related adventure - check!

Now all I needed was the people.

I set the price at $100 per person because I wanted to keep their expectations and thus the pressure on me low. Many people told me I’d made this too cheap, but any more felt like it wasn’t an experiment. Who knew if I’d have a bunch of people show up or just one or maybe none? And I needed the freedom to allow the experiment to be what it would be. I really only had three bedrooms to work with, and that made a total of five people who could come, and even then people would have to bunk together. One with me!

In the end, three people signed up. A couple from Maryland who discovered the event through another creativity coach and a woman from Ithaca who had seen my flyer at a bookshop.

During all of the sign-ups, Kay wanted to know everyone’s dietary requirements so she could plan her menus. In our first in-person conversation, Kay said to me, “I think I can handle anything but vegans. That seems too hard to me!” Thus, vegans compiled two-thirds of our participants for this event. But Kay put on her chef’s hat and sprang bravely into action, discovering recipes and compiling amazing menus. I volunteered to source a few items in Ithaca and arrived in Delhi with vegan meatballs, butter and ice cream in my cooler.

The couple arrived first, hopping out of the car and walking across the street carrying a pizza box. “We brought apple pie,” they called as a greeting. It sat sturdy in the box, held together by nothing but its crust. Kay served it as dessert that evening. Yum!

Later in the afternoon, our final person arrived, having driven from Ithaca after work. During email conversations before the event, she offered apple pie rolls and delivered two boxes of iced buns that looked like cinnamon rolls but with apple pie filling.

Yep. The Apple Fest might have been officially in Ithaca that weekend, but we had our own Catskills version happening at Birdy’s House.

The husband anticipated conversing with new people. Curiosity poured out of him. At one point on that initial Friday afternoon, he asked Kay about the art hung on the wall over the couch in what I called “the conversation den,” a room sitting between the kitchen and dining room with a comfy seating area, as well as Kay’s desk and a television. She explained the significance of the framed works and then he asked, “If you could walk into one of those paintings, which one and why?”

How does someone just think of that question? And don’t you want to know the answer?

The wife looked forward to reading and crocheting all weekend. She set herself up in the conversation den, reading when people weren’t there and crocheting while she chatted with whoever showed up. She hoped for a bit of peace, to get some direction for her retirement through our creativity coaching session (included in the weekend), and to enjoy this quiet adventure.

Our final participant just wanted to read like a child on summer vacation with a library card and unlimited borrowing privileges.

With everyone’s stuff settled in their rooms, we enjoyed getting to know each other before dinner. The vibe was more “reconnecting with old friends” than “hello new person.”

Could this be true? Could this group really be meshing so well?

Yes. Oh my goodness, yes! For the whole weekend, I fluctuated between releasing the worry that all of this wonderful energy would disappear and floating in a cloud of joy that everything was going so well.

After dinner, we plopped ourselves into cozy chairs and did reading sprints. These sessions were uninterrupted periods of reading to build up our stamina, like a runner but with our brains. First, twenty minutes and then two thirty-minute sessions. Each sprint ended with me announcing the end, making folks look at me while I told them the length of the next session, and then sending them back to their reading.

In the midst of the second session, a siren whooped outside the house. This blaring went on long enough for me to check in with Kay. “It’s calling the volunteer fire department,” she reported. “They live all over the county and whenever there’s an emergency, this is how the station tells them to report for duty.”

At the end of that reading sprint, I let everyone know what the siren meant and that there was no cause for alarm.

But, the siren seemed to also be calling us to gather together and read. To form this tiny group, finding respite from the busyness of our lives. To report for our duty of reading to relax and discover our next focus. To renew our energy and purpose so we could return to the outside world and serve our larger community once again.

After the reading sprints, I showed everyone where the lights were if they wanted to stay up and read.

Because reading late in a comfy chair got celebrated and enabled at this retreat!

Coming down on the first morning, I found the husband and our host chatting over coffee. The group slowly gathered in the kitchen as people awoke, and then spread to the conversation den for conversation over breakfast. Though much more talking happened than I expected, I made sure to take time occasionally and let everyone know that they were absolutely able to leave the circle and read at any time. No excuses needed. After all, that was what we were there to do.

The husband and wife each participated in their own coaching sessions, one before and one after lunch. Everyone but our host and me went to an author’s event at a local art collective at 3pm while we collapsed, decompressed and chatted with wonder about how well everything was going. Kay even felt comfortable enough that she went out to dinner and to see a series of short films with her friends.

Saturday ended with me and our single lady reading in the front room and the couple reading in the den. Or rather, the wife reading and kindly chiding her husband for snoring.

Sunday morning, Kay emerged from the kitchen with fresh baked vegan carrot-walnut muffins. This treat set the day in motion with more chatting, reading and snacking. After lunch, we piled into my car and headed to Hobart, the Book Village of the Catskills!

A twenty minute drive through changing leaves, old tractors, and livestock grazing dropped us into the tiny town. We entered the bookshops like Olympic divers, lots of strategy and no splash.

All of the bookshops there dealt in used books, some focused on specific subjects, some antiquarian and rare books, and some that held a general array. Our bookish swim resulted in treasures for everyone!

Upon returning to Birdy’s House, the goodbyes began. The participants talked about how they loved the house, how it felt so comfortable with all of the little nooks where we could hide out and read and be alone but together. How everything was taken care of. How we could avoid social media and enjoy connecting with the people here. How we could join a conversation or not, and there was no judgment about that. All was optional but all was available. That “these were our people.” That I made it their program instead of mine.

But that was my plan all along.

One particular compliment I have to include was how our hostess, Kay, rocked those vegan meals. Our amazed single lady said that this was the first time she’d gone anywhere and not had to go into her vegan snack box to alleviate her hunger.

Everyone seemed satisfied in every way.

Finally, after everybody left, Kay and I debriefed over a yummy lunch at a local cafe. She discussed her surprise at how much she liked everyone, how they were good houseguests, that they treated her like the hostess at a weekend house party rather than a waitress and she loved it.

Big hugs and then back to Ithaca. On the drive, I wondered how I could possibly describe this magical space where strangers meshed together like old friends. How they enjoyed each other and the freedom and wonder of reading books. How we all experienced it together.

Here’s my best try:

Imagine going to an old house in the Catskills filled with little nooks and crannies for reading. A large front room with comfy chairs and sofas, convenient tables for drinks and stools for elevating your legs. A wrap-around covered porch where the breeze cools just enough that the warm autumn sun doesn’t overheat. Overstuffed chairs and desks in each upstairs bedroom with bedside tables and lamps for warm light. Back downstairs, just off the kitchen, a den and dining room where people can gather, eat, craft and chat.

Now, put people in there. Just five. Plop them in different spaces throughout the day. Listen closely and you’ll hear the murmur of folks chatting, of needles clicking and hooks shifting fiber through loops. Occasionally, you’ll hear a woman’s voice say, “You’re snoring.” Before mealtimes, the clatter of pots and cupboard doors and refrigerator searches sing through the quiet air.

And then, when no one expects it, the siren peals.

Come embrace your reading community.

---

What books would you read if you attended the retreat? Have you ever tried Reading Sprints? Who would you want to join you in the group?