The Writers’ Retreat House

I had to laugh the first day I arrived at the retreat and was greeted by a gardening cart to wheel my belongings across this:

Surely, an omen of good things! This footbridge, however, bounced up and down and left and right more than any footbridge I crossed in North Carolina for Lost Crossings. It also crossed a faster moving river. Oh, and I also had my $2K laptop in that garden cart, my #1 writer’s tool fondly referred to as “my brain.”

But the isolation this little bridge affords (as if the canyon weren’t enough) is priceless. We’re tucked away on our own bend in the river here, rushing water visible from windows on both sides of the house and a plentiful “spring green” yard for strolling and lounging when it’s warm outside.

Inside is rustic and well-worn, but also well-loved. Writers sleep and write in their own rooms, utilizing the kitchen and living room as public spaces. Each night, we gather by the fire to share: