It's been an entire week of attempting but failing to set aside time to write, for myself. I did a lot of writing for my classes; each had an essay due. Still, I've had a nagging urge to pen a little poetry or a short story. The wilderness that surrounds Bread Loaf seems to provide a quiet beauty that stirs my desire for creativity. The problem is that between classes, waiting on tables and spending time with the many interesting people who are also on Bread Loaf Mountain, the days pass and my writing pad remains un-inked.
In lieu of writing, I visited Robert Frost's cabin where he spent the final 40 summers of his life. Each year, Bread Loaf opens the house to its students and throws a picnic. Inside, I examined Frost's cups, orange juicer, icebox (that's really what it was, not a frig) and books. Then I plopped down in Frost's chair and silently petitioned him to send beautiful words to fill my pages. My hope is to carve out time this evening to find out if I was heard.
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| Frost's cabin on Bread Loaf Mountain |
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| The cabin kitchen |
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| Sitting in Frost's chair |
I like the painted dishes on the middle shelf of Robert's kitchen. Is that a chicken design? I like the mismatched glassware, much like my own cupboard.
ReplyDeleteYes, you and Frosty share a similar aesthetic. Perhaps that's why I felt so at home in his cabin. The design is a floral one on the upper shelf and a pastoral scene on the lower one.
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