Once again in the mountains –no, in the valleys, she said

Mailbox at 505, the Usonian house that's now part of the campus

                Last week was my bi-annual trip/ trek to Eureka Springs for two reasons: one, a poetry sub-group meeting and a chance to continue work on my latest book, a memoir, “When I Had Another Name” or “Edging Past Eighty.”

                The Wednesday night dinner--a gourmet meal--included lentil soup, curly endive salad, mashed potatoes, ham slices, baked Brussel sprouts and a sweet potato-squash-mushroom galette. Dessert was pear torte.

                Five writers and one Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow board member partook of the food and—uncharacteristically for me, at least—sat around the table until 8:00 discussing subjects de jour.

                Elise was the board member. She owns both Basin Park and Crescent hotels. She sponsored one of the scholarships that Alia, from Richmond, Virginia, received and who was in residence. Elise’s the one who told us the geographical history of Eureka Springs. It used to be an ocean, she said. When the water receded, it took the soluble rocks with it leaving terrain characterized by barren, rocky ground, caves, sinkholes, underground rivers, and the absence of surface streams.

            The other writers’ homes spanned the width of the country: from San Francisco through Cincinnati, and to New York. I was the lone Arkansan. But I added my two-cents worth to the conversations, believe me (to quote a man-too-much-in-the-news). Being the eldest of the group didn’t stop me. The next-eldest told us she was the same age as Hillary.

                Thursday was spent in my suite revising the latest submission from the writers group at home––the third section of the memoir that takes me through junior high school. I also read some from the book I brought with me, Hemingway vs. Fitzgerald. And I napped.

                Thursday night was the monthly meeting of Poetluck—a potluck meal followed by readings from the Colony residents first, then from the local and area attendees. One unusual “pot” was purple sweet potatoes brought by a couple who live on Bohannon Mountain in Marshall and who grew them on their acreage. I read “Ash Wednesday” from Hiding Myself Into Safety. Later, someone asked me if I were a preacher.

                Friday noon, friend Vicki picked me up. In her VW, we crawled through the busyness of downtown out to Hwy 62 to La Familia. We had a great, needed catch-up meeting over lunch.

By Friday night, Anne Marie from near St. Louis, had joined the group. Baked chicken with roasted cut fennel bulbs, green salad, rice, and a medley of veggies comprised the meal. Dessert was tea cookies. We sat around the table afterwards, discussing various topics until 8:30!

Saturday morning, a Facebook friend, Dan, from a town nearby, dropped by for a first-ever, face-to-face visit. And eventually coffee in 505, since I didn’t have sense enough to figure out how to program the high-falutin’ coffee machine in the Main House. Dan writes a column in the Eureka Springs Independent, so I asked him to autograph my copy. We had a great time. First time I’d ever hugged a man whom I’d never seen before!

At 80, how many more ops to hug handsome men will I have? Huh? Huh?