Today I returned from my writing retreat at the Ft. Caswell Coastal Retreat and Conference Center in Oak Island, North Carolina. I appreciated that even though I’m not of the Baptist denomination, the facility is open to folks, like me, who are not. What a gorgeous setting on the 250 acres that was part of a huge military post from 1836 – 1945 and is now on the National Register of Historic Places. As a woman traveling alone, I value the safety I felt with having to enter through a guard station and with groups staying in houses nearby the Oceana Motel where I had a room.

I scheduled three days and knew the time would go quickly–so better have a clear goal. I have a tendency to be unrealistic about what I can accomplish in a given amount of time–whether it’s housework or writing projects, often leading to disappointment. This time I set a broad, over-arching goal of graphing out the through-lines of my memoir sequel. I’d do that on paper so I’d have a visual aide as I edited each chapter. I’d rented a room that had a kitchen so I could use the table as a writing desk.

My second goal was to work on the first draft of the next chapter, a narrowed focused that covered my 2015 writer’s residency at Artcroft. When I tired of working on the storylines that had to be carried from chapter to chapter, I pulled out that Artcroft chapter and settled down to reviewing journal notes and researching facts about that Kentucky setting.

I chose to go to Ft Caswell because it offered a quiet setting with natural beauty. I established a rhythm that was familiar for me:

coffee and a walk in the morning,

breaks during the day to ride my bike around the campus

and a walk on the beach in between two-hour periods of work. In the evening, I took time to observe the sun setting behind the Caswell lighthouse and later, walked to the water’s edge to see the orangey glow of the Supermoon. Altogether, the days were satisfying with the balance of writing and flourishing in nature.

While I had a kitchen, I didn’t want to spend my precious time cooking, so I brought in enough food to keep from having to go off-island for meals. However, I can’t go to the North Carolina coast without treating myself to fresh seafood. On the way to Caswell, I stopped in the charming town of Southport and had a lunch of fried oysters.

Last night, I celebrated my time honoring myself and my art by having a nice dinner out at Rusty Hooks Dockside Grill. I treated myself to a Jumbo Lump Crab Cake and slice of Key Lime pie. I ate slowly, savoring each bite and watching the sun go down over the marina. A mother and her son, about the age of mine, sat at the table next to me. He was friendly and turned his chair toward mine.

“Eating by yourself?” he asked, and had a curious expression.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m traveling alone and this looked like a great place for dinner.

“I used to work here,” he told me. He explained that he’d lived in the area for a while and he and his mother were getting ready for a trip back to her hometown north of NYC. I told them I’d visited that area when my son did a golf course internship. His mother joined in then and said her mother stilled lived there. The son asked about how I chose to come to Ft. Caswell and I explained my writing retreat.

“What do you write?” the mother asked.

I told her about my memoir and blog, and then she asked me my name. She said she’d look me up. I wished I had a current business card–but I hadn’t updated them since my last writers’ conference. I’d put all that down over those years as I went through the separation, divorce, and reordering of my life.

Now, with her interest in my writing, this “person in my path,” I felt a renewed sense of being a writer, not just in the privacy of my retreat, but out in public. I felt a surge of energy as I told them goodbye and walked away feeling more like a writer. My artist’s retreat had yielded expected and unexpected rewards.

I was grateful.