I write this from a twin bed, in a small room, in a line of white cabins in the woods, in the Hudson River Valley (I think. We’re near the Hudson River, so that’s what I’m assuming this region is called.) This is most definitely summer camp for grown-ups. There are canoe racks and a dining hall and rings of Adirondack chairs.

(Naomi is asleep now. Niko has sent updates. I wonder if other people have babies here they are missing? Of course, objectively speaking, none of their babies can possibly be as marvelous or funny or wonderful as Naomi.)

Here is how my day has gone:

I woke up at 5:30 am, drank a few swigs of day-old coffee, and took a Lyft to the airport. The driver was very friendly and has five children – we talked about parenting, local schools, and the drought. The airport and flight was uneventful. I ate some sesame sticks I’d brought on the plane, finished Drew Lanham’s book (my instructor for this workshop), and started Amy Irvine’s (another workshop instructor.) A little under three hours, and I was in Newark, New Jersey. I took a train to another train. (I saw a cool marsh and several little herons from the train car.) The second train was very full, but about 30 minutes later I emerged into Penn Station.

From Penn Station, I emerged into sunny Manhattan, where I had three lovely hours. I do love New York City, although it seemed smellier than usual, summer sun ramping up the odors of garbage bags and urine-soaked concrete and burning flecks of gyro meat. I bought a delicious salmon and radish sandwich and a cappuccino and ate them, luxuriously, at a table in the shade in the gardens of Bryant Park with my book, and then wrote two pages on an essay I’m working on, and then, to ramp up the luxury yet another notch, purchased this ridiculously good lemon-meringue-whipped-cream concoction and ate it in another little pocket park with my book again (Amy’s Trespass – nearly halfway now.) All in the sun, by pots of flowers, and crowds whisking by.

Then there was a third train, this one north along the Hudson River. And holy shit, readers – it’s gorgeous. Somehow I’d missed that there is this insanely beautiful, forested, rolling hills, sailboats on broad river scene here. The train zooms along the riverbank the whole time, gray and green hills off in the distance. Once I glanced up and there was a literal once-stately castle, in ruins, on a small and verdant island.

I embarked at Rhinecliff at 4:55 pm and soon found myself in a group of six others, all of us trying to get to this Omega Institute, ten miles away, for the workshop. We’d been emailed that there was no shuttle and we should just get a cab.

A few of us tried, but there were no Lyfts or Ubers available – it quoted us $32 but then spun and spun and spun with no drivers forthcoming. We then started working through the list of local cab numbers we’d been provided. Three of the numbers were out of service, and four of the others all somehow went to the same guy, who became increasingly annoyed as we kept accidentally calling him back (he wasn’t in town, anyway.) The final number – by now, it was 5:30 – got us Ken. Ken arrived in an elderly sedan, the bumper held on with duct tape, and something underneath the car visibly loose and scraping loudly along the asphalt. He quoted us $35 a person for the ride, then went down to $30 – and then immediately, $25 – when we protested. “The Uber was only $32 total for the car,” one of my new friends said tentatively, and he said, “Well, I’m the car here, aren’t I?”

Three of our gang of seven, and their suitcases, went off, reluctantly, with Ken. Myself and the other three stayed behind – I’d called our emergency travel contact, and she was working on it.

Finally, at 6:20, two cars arrived – a staff from the Institute and her husband, in their personal vehicles. I do not understand how people normally get to this place. (The boon of it all was – made some lovely new friends as we spent an hour and a half outside the Amtrak station.) Regardless, the four of us loaded ourselves and our bags in, and we had a beautiful twenty-minute drive through the very cute touristy town of Rhinebeck (which is apparently where Paul Rudd lives and owns a candy store), then down some narrow, winding, wooded roads, to the Omega Institute – summer camp.

There was an inefficient registration process, then a speedy dinner (pasta, chicken parmesan, pizza, salad bar) at the dining hall right before they closed it down. (The dining hall smells exactly like the one at the Michigan BioStation and rocked me with nostalgia for a moment when I walked in.) We all made it over to the main classroom building just in time to grab a beer or glass of wine and settle in for the big welcome speech.

There are seven incredibly talented writers here – two poets, a couple fiction writers, and a few who focus in creative nonfiction – all with a focus on environmental, science, and nature writing. After welcomes from both Omega and Orion staff, we got to meet our workshop leaders and fellow participants. Drew is friendly, welcoming, and at-ease-putting, and we’ll see what happens in workshop tomorrow morning.

(I was surprised by the average age of the workshop attendees. For whatever reason, our train station gang of seven all seemed to be between the ages of 28 and 40, but seeing the whole array of us in the classroom made it clear that the overall average age is maybe 70. Of the twelve people in my workshop, I’d guess one other person is under the age of 55. We’re not all getting a grant to pay for this, I suppose, and who can afford a $1200 workshop? Drew, to his credit, immediately brought that up – “Who’s here? Who can afford to be a part of this community building?”)

It’s late and I’m sleepy and there will be more tomorrow. I’m excited for whatever comes next.