In the spring of 2024, I went on adventure and learned to let go. I was headed for a writing
retreat in Port Carling, Ontario – Muskoka country – but with a few threads to
pick up along the way.
Brian
Henry, long time editor and writing coach, hosted the retreat at the lovely
Sherwood Inn on Lake Joseph. To get there, I flew from my home in Whitehorse,
Yukon, to Toronto. In a nostalgic moment, I stayed the night at what used to be
called The Bristol Place Hotel, now The Westin, on the airport strip. For
ty-six
years earlier, I had stayed there for my honeymoon. I was curious to see if the
hotel had weathered the years any better than my marriage, which had not done
well at all! When I entered the lobby, I discovered that I did not remember the
place. A bit like that first marriage, I thought, as I settled into my room.
All the best to let things go.
A
luxurious bed looked inviting, but I had a terrible sleep, fretting about a
dozen things that have long escaped my memory. Primarily, I was nervous about
meeting up with my brother who was driving me to my destination early in the
morning.
Beyond
a few texts every year, I had not spoken with him in a long time. I hoped we
might enjoy catching up in person, but I knew he was not in a great head space
due to recent personal trauma. I was determined to stay positive.
At
seven am, I gave up trying to squeeze out anymore sleep and made my way down to
the lobby in hopes of finding a decent cup of coffee. After a minute of
searching, I located the coffee shop crammed into the back corner of the lobby
like an afterthought.
The
lineup was long. The food display case was next to bare, and the lone person
working was run off her feet. Exhausted from travel, I zombied my way into line
and waited my turn.
As
I approached the order station, I spotted a goldfish bowl on the counter. Sad
place for a fish, I thought. No choice but to endlessly swim in circles, never
getting anywhere, never moving on.
Fortunately,
there was no fish trapped in the bowl, just a jumble of cards. They were the
sort of card you get at a florist shop to message the recipient of your floral
thoughts. Beside the bowl was a jar of pens and a stack of blank cards.
Instructions
read as follows:
Leave a happy thought!
Take a happy thought!
While
waiting for my coffee, I picked up a pen and card and considered what I might
write. I have never been good at this sort of thing – like writing a message in
a greeting card. I never know what to say. At that moment, my coffee arrived
and instead of leaving a happy thought, I took one.
Seeing
my brother pull up, I stuffed the card into my back pocket and climbed on
board. By the time we travelled for an hour, we had worn out our topics of
choice and tumbled into silence.
On
the upside, we were beyond Toronto and past Barrie. The further north we drove,
lakes and rocks took over from urban housing and shopping malls. Ah Muskoka! As
a child, I spent many summers embracing the chilly waters of Mary Lake at Port
Sidney. Now, I could feel my lungs opening to the fresh air.
Over
the years, I had all but forgotten the jewel green of springtime leaves and how
sunlight sparkles on the water. White
clouds graced the sky and reflected across the glassy surface of the lake, a
perfect mirror image. A spring breeze blew up, and watercraft tethered to docks
bobbed in the surf, straining at their ropes like dogs’ strain at their
leashes. Boat houses dotted the shore.
And
of course, here and there, a Muskoka chair (Adirondak chair if you’re not from
Ontario) sat perched on a lakeside rock looking to the horizon. All it needed
was an occupant in the requisite Tilly hat, pen and paper ready. A cup of
coffee and a resting hound would complete the picture.
 |
| Muskoka Chairs at Sherwood Inn |
The
Sherwood Inn was welcoming and warm. Nestled into a lovely, treed setting, it
sat on the edges of Lake Joseph. I have a thing about older architecture and
was not disappointed. Dark green shutters stood out against the white building
and in the evening, the interior lighting cast a warm and welcoming glow. I
could hardly wait to explore after checking in.
Tired
from the journey, I went to my room where I was delighted to find a private
bathroom, a writing desk, a comfortable bed, and a cozy seating area. The
window looked over a large deck and beyond that to the lake.
With
time before the retreat started, I changed into more comfortable clothing to
have a snooze, hopeful I would awake feeling renewed and refreshed. As I
dropped my jeans on the chair, the card from the coffee shop fell out of my
pocket. This was the message:
Lily Elliot
You
Are
Lovd
Loved
Based on the writing,
it was hand-printed by a child of six or seven years of age. I could imagine
her standing there, elbows on the counter and her tongue held in just the right
position to form the letters.
As we travel through
each day, we never know how the little things we do or say are going to impact
the world around us. Somewhere along her journey, young Lily left a note for a
stranger to tell them they were loved.
My lucky day! I really
treasure that she felt no need to get a new card and start over because of a
spelling mistake. Lily knew. Mistakes are ok. Everyone makes them. We move on.
And in that moment,
with Lily’s lesson in mind, I moved on. Three blessed days of writing in a
beautiful place lay ahead of me. The food was delicious, beautifully presented,
beautifully seasoned, and bountiful. Great service is always a pleasure, and it
was in abundance. To be able to share this time with others who love to write –
and Brian who loves to help and encourage – was the best tonic ever.
But a note to Lily;
wherever your travels have taken you, I wanted to say a heart-felt thank you. I
don’t know how I ended up at the same coffee shop as you and I don’t know how
you came to write this card, but I have it now. It is tucked into my bedroom
mirror.
Now, no matter what is
going on in my world, every time I look at your card and your message, I feel
lighter in spirit. I recall those beautiful spring days I spent at the Sherwood
writing retreat in Muskoka, investing my time in the things that matter, and
learning to let go of the things that don’t.
Anne
Louise Pittens lives in Whitehorse,
Yukon, with her husband Michel and Gryphon – a Swiss Mountain Dog who hates the
cold. With almost a full retirement recently upon her, Anne is spending
her time writing, shovelling snow and shivering to produce a little extra heat.
Occasionally she can be found scrolling through old photos of Mexico and
Costa Rica. The Yukon is a magical place and welcoming to every person who
cares to give it a try.
See more pieces about or inspired by Brian’s retreats, workshops
and classes here.
For more
essays, short stories, and poetry by you fellow writers see here (and scroll down).
See Brian Henry's upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and four-day retreats here.
