Dorland Mountain Arts Colony Journal

september eighth - first full day

There's a strong, wonderful wind coming down the hills and racing through my cabin. Sunlight hits the tops of the trees as the afternoon wanes. The noisy gray cat has come off the roof and sits on a little wooden platform on the dead tree outside the south window, graking at me for attention. There are two cats that live on my roof, and I decided not to feed them or let them in the cabin, though their company at night would be reassuring. Why had I insisted on seeing The Blair Witch Project before coming here?

I spent the day reading, watching the pattern of sunlight in the cabin, and exploring the grounds. I haven't worked on the book at all, which doesn't bother me. The cabin's guest book is full of advice and praise from past residents and most say not to worry—the work sometimes takes a few days to flow. The former residents also tell me the gray cat is Harriet. The shy black and brown tortoiseshell is Miss Ellie.

Harriet is persistent—calling out to me until I look up from writing in this journal. Miss Ellie, who I've only glimpsed briefly, is more reserved. Throughout the day I notice little gray cat paws draped off the ledge outside the north window and can hear the two cats playing and talking to each other on the roof. Last night they were quite rambunctious and this morning I woke to see the silhouette of a cat butt and tail on the skylight in the bedroom.

september tenth - day three

Yesterday it rained but was sunny by the afternoon. I wrote all morning, producing 5 pages, and the words came easily.

Yesterday, as well, the cats broke down my determination to avoid them and I set a bowl of milk down outside the front door. They greedily lapped it up, but unfortunately, disaster struck. Harriet was caught unaware by Luna—adorable, goofy black Labrador puppy—who chased her up the tree and onto the roof, almost catching her. Miss Ellie, demonstrating a curiosity that outweighed her shyness, had come into the cabin, so I shut the door. When Luna was gone, I let Miss Ellie out.

Last night, both cats loitered on the wooden platform, cute and pathetic. I let them into the cabin, feeling guilty about the Luna episode. I fed them some broiled chicken breast and they devoured it as though they hadn't eaten in days, which I know isn't true.

They spent the night with me. Harriet demands attention all the time, rubbing against my legs as I sat at the desk trying to write by kerosene lamplight. Miss Ellie stayed in a dark corner. When I went to bed, I kept the bedroom door closed, but hearing the cats bumping around made me feel at home and the dark night a little more cozy.

In the morning, the garbage can was knocked over and the packaging that had been around the chicken was scattered on the kitchen floor. I gave the cats a little more milk and food and when I opened the door, Harriet shot up the tree and onto the roof as though Luna was chasing her again. Miss Ellie stayed with me all morning and turned into a major love muffin. She curled onto my lap to be rubbed, then slept on the desk as I wrote. I finally had to kick her out when I left for a shopping excursion into town. Cat food was at the top of my shopping list.

This afternoon I fed them on their platform. They loved the food, but after a while, a yellow jacket insisted on joining the party, so I won't be leaving food unattended. The cats are so sweet, but so needy. I just don't know whether I want them to get in the habit of spending the night in the cabin. Gray cat Harriet just won't leave me alone, making it impossible to write or read. But I'm in bed by 8:30 anyway and up before sunrise, so she really isn't affecting my productivity that much. There is another problem, though. Miss Ellie crapped behind the wood stove this morning and who knows where else last night. The cats may be more trouble than they're worth.

september twenty-ninth - my last full day

All my good intentions of keeping a journal went the way of the mild weather. It's now very hot and I've even had to head into town the other day and hide out in the air-conditioned movie theater. I leave Dorland tomorrow morning with a mixture of sadness and readiness. It's been a very good experience, so much better than I expected. The book is within spitting distance of completion and I've done some amazing work that continually surprised me.

The cats, as it turned out, spent every night with me and we quickly developed a routine. About four in the afternoon, gray cat Harriet would come down from the roof, remaining on the safety of the wooden platform, and grak until I opened the door. She'd look around for Luna, then scamper into the cabin with Miss Ellie close behind. They'd wolf down the food, then disappear back onto the roof until dusk, when more grakking would signal me it was time to let them in for the night.

Before sunrise, I had to feed them and let Harriet out before Luna made her morning rounds. If I got up too late, she would hide in a corner and seem to pout—afraid to go out for fear of a surprise Luna attack. Miss Ellie stayed with me, curled up on the desk or exploring the cabin until about 2 o'clock when she stood by the door and squeaked to be let out. Early on, I bought a litterbox. The cats had trained me well.

Tomorrow morning when I let them out, it will be just another day for them. But I won't be here to feed them at 4 and no one will be here to let them in at night no matter how much grakking Harriet does. It won't take them long to forget me and train the next resident. I wish I could move on as easily.

• Mornings with my coffee at the south window, watching the light change
• Writing, writing, writing
• Sunsets
• Luna and her German Shepherd pal Leika joining me for walks
• The hummingbirds buzzing outside the window, sometimes hanging in mid-air as if watching me before buzzing away
• Reading, reading, reading
• Bonding with Miss Ellie on the window seat
• The owls in the oak grove
• Lookout Point
• Harriet's feet hanging off the ledge outside the north window
• The scratching of the birds in the oak leaves
• Lake Ticano when the lilies are all open and the koi drift by
• The weird polyphony of coyotes waking me in the night
• The evening ritual of lighting the lamps
• The agave grove outside the east window
• The jerky run of the little brown lizards

I've never worked this consistently before nor had as much time for uninterrupted thought. I miss home of course, but I hope to bring back some habit of work and some of the peace I've found here. I've also rediscovered my joy of reading and listening to music. I'll take them back with me and never, never let a job keep me from remembering why these things are so very important.