Author: Chris M. Regier

Hello! I’m Chris M. Regier. I write stories.

Highlights Nature Retreat Highlights.

Nature Retreat for ALL Writers & Artists 2018

This summer, I applied for and was granted a full scholarship to the Highlights Foundation’s first ever Nature Retreat. It was magical.

To try to write about the entire experience would be to fill volumes. I decided to focus on ten highlights instead.

 

1. Jo, travel arranger extrordinaire, sent me my welcome e-mail with this little note at the end:

“I see you live on the West coast, and I recommend flying into Newark perhaps—we provide complimentary shuttle service…and if you need to arrive a day early, we can make that work.”

I responded:

“Could you let me know what coming in a day ahead of time would cost? Thank you!”

Her response:

“Chris,

No charge this time for coming a day early…know you have long travel time.”

The very first communication I had with this wonderful organization made me cry.

 

2. Linda, of the complimentary shuttle service, picked me up at the airport.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“Oregon.” I answered.

“Wow! I lived in Oregon in the early 80’s.”

“Small world! Which part?”

“Salem.”

I break out in goosebumps. “No way! That’s the biggest town close to where I live.”

“So, where exactly do you live?” Sharon asked.

“Between Salem and Silverton, little community called Pratum,” I answered.

“Hmmm. That sounds familiar. You know, there was this Mennonite farmer who had a basketball court in the top of his barn. My husband and I would go out there and play, sometimes.”

By now, I’m one big goosebump and I’m racking my brain, trying to figure out if there could possibly be two basketball barns near Pratum.

“Linda, that’s the farm I grew up on.”

“NO!”

“YES!”

We fist bump like kids, grinning from ear to ear.

 

3.   Sue Heavenrich, there with her critique partners doing an unworkshop, after I tell her I saw a millipede, immediately says:

“Don’t eat it!”

You know, I’ve never in my life looked at a bug and wondered if it was safe to eat. 

I do now. 

 

4. In each cabin is a notebook full of notes from previous occupants. I’m flipping through, reading their testimonials, and come to this page.20180805_163333

Ingrid Sundberg, you will never know how much this means to me. How, all my life, I’ve struggled with feeling like I was enough. How I’ve gotten so much better at feeling like I’m actually plenty, but lately have been questioning if I am enough as a writer, and how this trip is partly to help me figure this out.

And here is my answer, in writing no less.

I am enough.

 

5. If you ever are so lucky as to get the chance to meet Kate Garchinsky, ask her what the owl says. Because this lady speaks their language. And she showed us how it’s done on a walk straight out of a fairy tale. A forest concert with katydids on percussion, fireflies in charge of the light show, and Kate and the owls in a full on call and response song that filled the air.

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Now, when I walk in the woods and darkness is falling, I listen for owls. Better yet, I’m learning to talk back.

 

6. Chip took us out for a walk around the grounds and talked about taking pictures. It was a lesson in slowing down, paying attention, and being persistent. 

 

 

7. Mike and I have often bemoaned the fact there is no barn on our farm. We drive the countryside, looking at barns and saying, “That one! That one would look great up on the hill!” But none of them have ever compared to this one.

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8. Dairy farms have cows, and cows only give milk if they’ve given birth. So, dairy farms also have calves. Do you know how much fun I had introducing my city friends to the slippery, slimy joy of a calf nursing on your fingers? Sometimes I forget that I’m living a pretty amazing life on my little farm. After all, it’s a lot of work and that part sometimes overwhelms me. But this was a good reminder.

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9. I’m not a water person. (Well, except for showers. I can stay in the shower until the hot water runs out.) But deep water, flowing water, water that is WAAAAY bigger than me? Nope. I’ll stay on dry land, thank you.

However, one of my stories is about fear, and how it can both stop you from doing things, and drive you forward into doing things. So, in the name of research, I went kayaking on the Delaware while it was the color of coffee and just below flood stage. I saw eagles, dodged a rock, managed to let go of my paddle long enough to dip my fingers in the water, and, most importantly, I didn’t drown. Am I a kayaking convert?

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No. The fear runs too deep. That’s me in the background, death grip on my paddle, so focused on going in a straight line I forgot to kick back and have fun.

Smile!

But I did it. And the next time I am faced with doing something I fear, I’ll remember kayaking. And how I lived to talk about it. And hopefully it will make moving forward into that fear a little easier.

 

10. My fellow Nature Retreaters. There are not enough words to describe our short time together, but I’ve tried to capture just a few that, for me, describe the gift each of you gave me while eating and playing and laughing in a magical place in the Poconos. 

Carol: Maybe being a farmer and a writer isn’t so weird after all. Here’s proof!

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Deborah: Find a way.

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Chuck: Do what you love. (Like going fishing instead of visiting a flower farm.)

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Nicole: See the world and all its wonders.

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Sharon: Live out loud, laugh out loud, and sing with your whole body. (How I wish this photo was of you singing about a moose drinking juice.)

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Myrna: Speak out.

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Kate: Ask. The answer might be yes.

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Kim: Yes. It is real.

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Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.

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Peace and Love,

Chris

 

#50PreciousWords 2018 Writing Challenge

Vivian Kirkfield issued a challenge and I accepted! A complete story, beginning, middle, and end, in 50 words. Enjoy!

 

IMPATIENT PATIENCE

by Chris M. Regier

The hay field was empty.
“Hey.” Patience bleated.
They’d been robbed!
“Hey!” Patience bellered.
Anxious to alert the farmer, she didn’t notice the bale wagon disappearing into the barn.
“HEY!” Patience bawled.
All.
Day.
Long.
Hoarse and hungry, she finally trudged home.
Into a barn bursting with wispy, wonderful…
“Hay!”

Love

Last fall, on a camping trip, my husband found a rock painted with a mandala design. On the back was the hashtag #WCPR and the phrase, “Keep, or re-hide.”

I did a little research and discovered that WCPR stands for “West Coast Painted Rocks” and painting and hiding rocks as random acts of kindness is their mission.

And just like that, I had a new hobby.

Last night I hid painted Valentine rocks at the local grade school. This morning, I got love in return. Best. Investment. Ever.

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Even better? I’ve been asked to come to school and teach the kids how to paint rocks. And to tell them why I hide them for others to find.

Because it’s fun.

Because it’s kind.

Because it’s love.

Rock on!

Chris

Gifts

I sent a story out on submission this week that I’ve been working on for awhile. A story I wonder if I’m qualified to write, in ways, and, in other ways, know without a doubt I’m as qualified as they come. A story that made me read and reach and learn, until my brain hurt. A story that flowed like water, like air, like life, until my heart sang. A story who’s spark came out of a blackness so dark I wasn’t sure I would ever see again. A story that reminds us starlight is everywhere, the darkness just makes it easier to see.

Happy Earth Day, my loves. You are, each and every one of you, a gift to me.

Peace and love,

Chris

 

Snow Peak Rescue

We’ve had a lot of snow this year. More than normal, and it has stayed on the ground longer than normal. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to go play in more snow. Since we were kids, Mike and I have been going to Snow Peak. We have a lifetime of good memories associated with this place.

We drove up, thinking we would stop when the snow got too deep. There is a logging road that takes you to a short trail that climbs up to an abandoned fire lookout. You can see the whole world from up there, it seems like. That was our goal.

So we set off on a bright, sunny day. And we almost made it. But this year the snow was deep. So deep, we got stuck for the first time ever. And had to call for help.

We did manage to get some hiking in. We walked back down the road to meet our rescuer. Adam, you are my hero.

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Making the best of it.

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Tiny little mouse butt prints!

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We dug and spun for about an hour. Adam pulled us out in a few minutes.

Next time, we’ll wait for a warmer winter.

Peace,

Chris