sugarloafing
Music: Gillian Welch: The Harrow & the Harvest (2011)
Many months ago a couple of colleagues in my field invited me to join them, and a few others, for a week-long "writing retreat" in Maine. I had always wanted to do something like a writing retreat, threatening for some years to hole-up in Montana for a couple of weeks for bouts of hiking and writing; I leapt at the opportunity, which included super-cheap lodging in a house at the foot of Sugarloaf Mountain. Many summers ago I spent a week in Maine with my friend Eric (I went for a wedding, but stayed for the glorious company and weather). I've always wanted to get back to Maine. When I make my millions, I will either buy a summer home in Maine or Colorado. I've not quite yet decided, but, I have some time.
Initially I was somewhat worried because I was not super-intimate with the assembled Sugarloafers, most of whom were Iowa grads and shared a certain, distinguished advisor. I knew three of them mostly by their published scholarship, except for L., whom I've hung out with more frequently since moving to Texas. But this worry was unfounded; the leaders assembled a group that worked very well together (and even better, who cooked well together!) I think it's fair to say everyone had a marvelous time, and managed to be quite productive as well. I managed to bang out a new article, which I sent off this morning for blind review. Others worked through publications; one of us sent a manuscript while we were still there; and another completed an invited essay.
Most of us arrived a week ago Friday, and we departed last Friday (and as I've detailed, getting home was quite a challenge). On the second day we discovered a local business titled the "Antigravity Complex," apparently an indoor skate park and trampoline center. We decided to dub ourselves the "Antigravity Complex Kids" (every working group needs a band name) for fun; the name stuck. We didn't have Internet access, but my iPhone worked, and so I had fun "checking in" at our camp and posting random photos of our working adventures.
Within the first day a working pattern just sort of emerged. Most folks awoke at nine or ten in the morning. We ate breakfast (bagels or cereal) and talked, drank coffee. By 10:30 or 11 folks scattered around the rented house with their articles, books, and laptops. We would work, and then around noon or one someone would start to make lunch, and everyone would come to a stop, and we'd eat and talk. Work would then commence again in the early afternoon until around three or four. Some of us would break for a walk; others would take to the deck to smoke. Some afternoons we went for a group walk, or to a beach at a local lake, or the store to score some cooking provisions.
Overall, it was a very relaxed environment. In the evenings, we would gather on the couches to talk. Some of us shared our work in progress; others talked through the challenges of the arguments we were making. I know that on at least two evenings talking with the group I had "breakthroughs" and stole more than a few good ideas from my colleagues for my writing the next day. We also played some board games, played some pool, even got a bit goofy on a night or two.
What I especially liked about this "working" environment was, well, was that we got to play. But also I every much appreciated the sense of intellectual equality. All of us were at different stages of our careers (I was the oldest and the only tenured one there), but it never felt like intellectually we were not all on the same plane. The discussions we had were smart, but collaborative. It's one of the few academic-related environments in which I wasn't made to feel like I had to perform (or like I was stupid---something those intense boutique preconferences and so on sometimes inspires). You know, like at a conference or even a week-long, sponsored workshop, one could feel like she is put on the spot, or had to "be smart," or whatever. But in this environment, hand-selected, it was just comfortable just to say what came to mind aloud, however half-baked. I couldn't have asked for a more collaborative and collegial environment for thinking about scholarship. And hiking.
As an academic, one often has to face a disheartening reality: you work all the time. Even with a family, while the baby is sleeping in the next room, a scholar is often in the study with her nose in a book or at the keyboard. This is the life we've chosen. So why not "the working vacation?" Really, the writing retreat idea is among the best I think I've come across. And I would recommend it, highly: assemble a group of people you think you would work well with---or a bunch of friends from grad school, or both---rent a house somewhere comfortable, and spend a week or two banging out a project or two. Sure, it costs money. But I can tell you nothing is more satisfying than hiking the Appalachian Trail on the last day before you go home, knowing you've written a good dozen pages or two of pretty decent material.
Listen to me colleagues: you really need to do this, for your sanity and productivity. I'm already scheming about next summer: I want to make good on that Montana getaway I've been thinking of for a few years. If I can financially swing it (which means I need to work a summer class), this should be an annual affair. A gallery of our amazing writing retreat is here. I only wish everyone I adore in "the field" could have come with us. My sincere gratitude to Leslie and Erin for roping me in this summer!