Leaves at SIlk Creek, by Scott Carter

Scott and I both had personal reasons for not being able to host a fully public Silk Creek Retreat this year. So we had a private one. The few individuals who were invited were unable to come, e.g.: jo(e), who went to the Monastery instead.

We hope next year to be able to host a public event, and we invite your feedback as to:

1. venue (location)
2. agenda
3. food

Silk Creek Retreat is in its eighth year and has always been hosted at Silk Creek, but various problems exist in continuing to do that, so we will probably have to seek a new venue. Silk Creek is a wild area, and the Silk Creek Retreat emphasizes nature writing and writing in nature. (Also other arts and photography--we invite artists, photographers and others to join the dialogue). Any venue suggested or chosen will have to meet the criteria of being in nature and having access to the wilds.

Do suggest other things we might consider when planning this event.

We have always camped and would like to be able to have that as an option, but we realize there are people who may not want to camp or may not, for health or other reasons, be able to camp.

We will be posting photos and writing samples from this year's private retreat and invite you to do likewise. If you want to join this blog, leave your email address or contact me for an invite.

Mary Stebbins, poetry editor for Silk Creek Review and retreat co-coordinator

The Plunge

 

Tonight was your first time.  You stepped

Toward dark waters, burdened with blankets and light. 

Your first time.   Dark weeds engulfed you,

nettles stung your bare legs.  You struck

at them with a stick, as if they were serpent,

as if they were hungry, while the weight

of the night swung precariously

on your back.  You reached out

a foot for stepping stone, a foot

for the dark water, and slipped.  Sudden,

unexpected, you plunged into the icy creek.

Water swelled up around you, your body

slid into the dark current.  Away downstream,

your hat swirled and you rose up to plunge

after it, staggering to shore with the prize, dripping,

angry, embarrassed.  Your dumped a quart

and a half from each boot.  Slogged up the hill,

home.  All these years you've lived on the creek,

and you never fell in.  Now you can laugh, and you do.

And you don't.  You're poised on the creek bank

again in the nettles, one foot stretched

toward the water.  You still have to cross

the dark water.

 

 

Mary Stebbins

For Scott Carter, At Silk Creek Retreat ‘05

WHO: Mick Mather

WHAT: "The Great New York State Fair Series" an exhibition of digital prints - manipulated
photographs taken at The Fair in August 2004

view the invitation post card

WHERE: The Westcott Community Center Art Gallery, corner of Wetscott Street at Euclid Avenue

WHEN: Saturday, October 1st, 6:00pm to 8:00pm

WHY: Because we ALL need an ART NIGHT

HOW: Drive, walk, hitchhike, catch a cab, ride the bus


MICK SEZ: "Most of you who know me already understand that I'm an active participant in the
arts & cultural community of Central New York. This is important to me and I would like to
think that my presence at your exhibitions and openings over the years was been important to
you. In the spirit of strengthening this community of artists, patrons, friends and all those
interested in the arts, I trust that you will take an hour to visit me and my artwork on
October 1st."

Mick Mather is one of our artists, so if you live in Central New York and have time, please attend! 

I would like to invite you to assist us at Silk Creek Review as an editor, assistant editor, reader, web master, assistant webmaster, or fundraiser.  Mary

If interested, visit the forum and post a note there.

The Day after Mother Died


Sharp smell from old leaves
brewed with mud and sun-
April fills the woods.

Take me!  Let me be a part of you,
let me drift with the breeze
touching each naked branch,
each brown leaf on the hillside.

Take me downstream with the fastest current,
making strands of gray hair on the rocks,
cascading down a mossy stone
following gravity, rushing here,
slowing there into a luscious pool
decked with bubbles.

Take me!  I want to obey only the laws of nature.
I want to rise with spring and lie down with autumn.
I want my heart to leap up with the spray of the brook,
with the clatter of ducks taking flight.

I want the hairs on my cheek to feel
the caress of Earth's breath.

I want gratitude to fill my heart
until it aches in my chest
and the feeling runs out from my eyes.

Please take me.  Let me know
that I am always your child,
that I can come back
to your arms over and over
until the last great return,
when my atoms enter back
into your lungs and your blood
and I am all yours.

by Ann McNeal


Previously published in Patchwork Journal


Ann McNeal says that she finds consolation and inspiration in nature at all the critical junctures of her life.  She recently retired from teaching science at Hampshire College to devote herself to writing and to living larger.

Gold Dragonfly and blue Damselfly

Dragonflies

I sit in a parade chair and watch dragonflies strafe the campsite.  They gobble deerflies, horseflies, stable flies and mosquitoes.  Biting insects are abundant here, so I am pleased to host the dragonflies.  Relaxing, my hands fall naturally into a muhdra and a dragonfly lights on the thumb of my left hand.  The camera in my pocket is useless since I'd have to move to slide it out.  Instead I sit still until a deerfly approaches and the dragonfly attacks.

Yesterday, a dragonfly and grabbed, one after another, both a deerfly and a mosquito buzzing at my ear.  I dove into the tent at one point, pursued by a swarm of deerflies, and a dragonfly cleaned up the swarm hovering around the door. 

This reminded me of an incident at Three Rivers when I sat writing on Lycopodium Knoll.  The deer flies began whirling around me until I thought I'd have to leave.  A huge dragonfly arrived, circled around grabbing the deerflies, and then landed on my knee.  It sat there off and on for an hour.  Every time a deer fly or mosquito showed up, the dragon fly zipped out, seized it, returned to my knee an gobbled it down. 

It was a wonderful symbiosis.  If only we could have them as pets or comrades.  They would make our lives more comfortable and we would provide them with food.  I delight in the image of dragonflies following like a goat on a hike, clearing the bugs from our path through the forest.

 

Mary Stebbins, Bastille Day, 2005

 

You can leave comments and vignettes on the FORUM or visit us at SILK CREEK PORTAL!

(some of the same vignettes from our journal are found there as well as LOTS of photos not found on this site!)

I went out to the creek for a walk at 7:30pm. It was
a pleasant summer evening and I was struck by the
passing frontal clouds in the northeastern sky. Then
a breath of summer fresh air came and I put my sandals
on and went down with only camera in hand. I wanted to camp but it was too late to
get even the essentials together and up there and set
up so I just went for a creek walk. I walked down to
the jaccuzzi falls and sat for nearly an hour.

Again, I had nothing more than my camera so I didn't write
anything. I was trying rather to cleanse my mind of
clutter and noise and fear and anxiety and boredom.
In the end, I was not entirely successful. I think to
be successful I will have to make it a 2-3 night
experience with just a pad and a few books. To allow
my sense of time to slow but to keep boredom from
filling the space.

Coming back after sitting there so long was kind of
spooky. It was dark and I debated whether or not to
return overland or stay in the water. I chose the
latter because I was afraid I might stray off the
trail or contact poison ivy under the dark of the
forest canopy. The creek was a guaranteed path to
where I started. Going upstream, I could not see the
bottom and was unsure where the deep parts were so I
kept to the banks where I could.

Occasionally I would
snare a thick taught spider's web on my neck or face.
There were lots of bats swirling around me.
Occasionally a strand of seaweed would wrap around my
ankle which just felt strange in the dark "invisible"
water. I was alot wetter coming back than going out.
It was a much slower return trip because I didn't want
to trip or fall.

I did trip and nearly fell in the
deep just when I passed your writing rock. I got very
wet saving myself and my camera from total immersion
there. That was a close (and very splashy) call!.
The moon would have been helpful I think but she was
nowhere to be seen on this now overcast sunday night.
Anyway, I survived the late evening creekwalk in the
dark and may be up at the designated campsite this
week.

Scott Carter

Welcome to our webjournal.  This is a place where we, the editors, can post our thoughts and concerns about the Zine, nature, and life.  We may talk about editorial policies, our thoughts on the current or upcoming issues of The Silk Creek Review or upcoming retreats at Silk Creek.  You can reply to us here using the comments or tag board or post your own thoughts at the forum.  We hope you'll enjoy our Zine.  Mary Stebbins, poetry editor and neophyte webmistress, The Silk Creek Review.