I keep trying to capture how I feel when I’m in the Franconia, Bethlehem area this summer, and I have a hard time putting it into words. The time I’ve spent at the Frost Place seems to be at the heart of it, and makes me want to say that I’m back at my spiritual or cultural roots, but that isn’t even it, because really, Frost was never my favorite poet.
In this retrospective mode, I attended a poetry reading in the barn last night, and have to say that I just felt a feeling of peace wash over me. The view of Lafayette in the twilight, the smell of citronella candles burning around the edge of the barn, the hard folding chairs, and the magic of a poet reading words written with intention and intensity wrapped me in a feeling of belonging and of a deep connection to this place.
It was a hot summer day, and one of driving, talking, meeting with relative strangers and helping to orient a young college student to the research she would be doing at historical societies in the area. By late afternoon, I was woozy with the heat and lack of food and water and wondered why I even thought I wanted to go to the poetry reading. My room at the Kinsman Lodge was beautifully decorated, simple, and more than adequate for the night, but was about 85 degrees, with the sun pouring through the window as it set over the low-lying hills on the opposite side of the road. I hadn’t realized that the Easton Valley Rd. heads south, and even the direction of the setting sun discombobulated me.
I tried sitting on the porch, where a slight breeze ruffled the leaves of a large lilac bush, but a man was talking to the owner about his gravely ill mother or wife, the doctor’s lack of timely answers about her condition, how he was going to continue to pay for the cost of her care and the sadness of it all, and I thought that this was the last subject I wanted to contemplate as I tried to cool off and wind down. So, I decided to go eat some dinner to see if some food would cure my malaise.
Stopping at the Franconia Inn, a venue I was sure was too expensive, I walked into blissfully air conditioned heaven, and a waiter who took care of my every whim. When I voiced disappointment that gazpacho wasn’t the soup of the day, he remembered that they might have some leftover cold strawberry soup with a touch of brandy in it and brought me a cup, gratis. That was the start of a delightful meal, two glasses of water and a glass of iced tea which revived me and made me realize just how lucky I was to be experiencing this all on an expense account!
From the Inn, I drove the short distance to The Frost Place, feeling revived and looking forward to the poetry reading. I sat among strangers, though made welcome by Jim Schley, who made sure to introduce me to the poets who were present, and I felt myself just relax into the evening and the opportunity to blend past and present, business and pleasure in the small barn where I spent so much time thirty years ago. The evening air was soft and warm, the audience appreciative, and I was transported to a time in my life which has turned out to be the springboard for so much more for me.
