Gazing out past the forest of gum trees I can just make out the blue of the river and pick up the intermittent sound of canoeists making their way from the bridge to the dam. It’s a beautiful, warm day, with just enough wind for gum leaves to fall at times like very gentle rain, but not so much that my water colours or novels are affected in any way. I’ve set up the hammock and taken a couple of swims in the river. Water has been boiled and chilled for drinking and the biggest tragedy of the holiday is that I forgot to bring any chai. One smallish table fashioned from a 3 legged tree stump provides the single point of Telstra reception. Just enough to let people know I’m okay, but not enough to do any of the non-retreaty things like check facebook or emails.
This beautiful spot has been a special place for me for most of my life. Usually I’ll be here at this time of year with a group of friends, and there will be games of 500, codenames, mafia, and small groups will take responsibility for each dinner. Lunches will be a consortium of whatever everyone brought along. Someone will have brought chai or an exciting snack, or the makings of pancakes. And the sense of community that this place facilitates will abound. Over the years there have been many deep and meaningful conversations over the campfire, or in the river, or atop the “throne” rock formation above the cave.
This time, though, I’ve come on my own. Because this past year has been demanding. And through a mix of COVID fog, work pressures, a break up and family commitments, I hadn’t got my act together to invite others. Also, a retreat felt like a nice way to end the year. A time to read, reflect, and rejuvenate. Whenever I arrive, it's as if the trees are welcoming me back. A warm glow envelopes me as I walk down the hill to the hut.
A few Quaker friends were talking about personal retreats when we met just before the holiday break. One person intended to visit the local Botanical gardens every day for several days and use the time to be in silent retreat, in nature, without having to travel to a special retreat venue. That got us all thinking about how we might achieve “retreat” in different ways.
As it happened, a week or so ago mum and I visited the Botanical gardens and the Art Gallery of NSW. We followed the rainforest path mum had trodden many a time in the years following grandma's death, as she was seeking ideas and creating her own garden at the rear section of the family home. These escapes into town on a Sunday afternoon were a part of my mother's life that I hadn't been aware of.
At the entrance to the new North Wing of the Art Gallery was a welcome committee - a collection of blue statues who might be from the past or future, some with long arms and others with long legs, who were cooperating to get daily tasks done. These creatures were a highlight for both mum and me, and reminded me of the way the trees welcome me home to that special place.
So, as I attempted to wind up the hammock and sweep the fallen leaves into a sense of order, turned off the fridge, put away the cups and bowls, and brought the last of my bags up to the car, I considered how I might bring retreat into daily life during 2023. While nothing beats actually getting away, I know from the past 3 years that it's not always possible. So, I'll take time to read (I now have a decent pile that people have lent or given me recently) and maybe join a group to continue with water colour or try pottery. Swims at the local pool or beaches will be energizing. As for the lanky limbed welcome committee, they will remain in my minds eye, able to surface as needed. And there's always chai at my place.
