Supermoon, May 5, 2012 I wish I had a photo of the campfire, of someone holding up jumbo marshmallows flaming on the end of a stick looking like a torch, or another women eating the gooey treats like a drumstick. Or a photo of a woman sitting by the pond casting and catching fish into the night. Or of the supermoon edging the dark rain clouds with silver and then emerging glorious and bright.
On Saturday I attended the first quarterly potluck at the new Bittersweet Discoveries B&B, a new venture by a friend who, after years of thinking and praying about what to do with her lovely property, decided to jump in and see what happens.
I drove down after a long day at work but was in plenty of time to enjoy food and conversation. I reconnected with an old friend and made some new ones. On each table my friend had papers and pencils. The papers told a bit about her hopes for the B&B and a list of possible retreat or workshop topics that would be of interest to those attending. The offerings ranged from drawing, journaling, centering prayer, nature studies to how to catch and fillet fish. (I think I know who would teach that one after watching her enjoy angling for much of the evening. )
Whatever choices are made and gatherings offered, the central goal of Bittersweet Discoveries is to offer a safe place of nurture and healing for woman, wounded by relationships, family, or just difficult encounters with life. A good idea. A needed ministry.
As the evening turned into night and then late night a few women remained. One, a photographer, had set up her tripod and was taking photos of the moon. A few remained outside, enjoying conversation and red wine. I went inside and stretched out on a huge couch (thinking how nice to have a place that could hold a few of these) and listened as one woman played “Mostly Bass,” and “How Great Thou Art, on the piano.
“I didn’t know you could play piano!” our host said when she entered the room. I have a feeling many surprises await as she opens her home and heart to more women.
“The retreats will be small,” she said. “I don’t have room for many to sleep, and I am not into ‘big,’ ” she said.
I took one last long gaze at the moon, bid farwell to those who remained, and walked to my car with my friend.
“Clever,” I said, pointing the the orange parking spot lines she had spray painted on a grassy space near the barn.
“Well, I thought if I did that for a few times, folks would know where to park when they come back.”
Come back they will. They may return for specific offerings. They may come back for the quarterly potlucks. No matter. They will all return for the support and camaraderie of a gathering of women ready to share their journeys, wisdom gleaned from them, and hope when wisdom is difficult to find.
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