For two weeks I didn’t cook. I didn’t run after the B103 bus to meet my son at school. I walked on weathered linear planks of wood to a sliding door and into a space where time didn’t exist unless a giant Pavlovian bell rang calling me to a home cooked meal followed by a never ending stack of cookies. And instead of Michael Barbaro’s voice on a podcast reminding of everything that scares me about living in a city, I opted for a silence that made me feel safe enough to leave my bag in an unlocked cabin and eventually my phone with it for most parts of the day. Thank you Maine for your mossy paths that led to Narnia, blurred horizons on foggy days and the unexpected double rainbows celebrating everyone that came together, present and willing. Thank you Edward Larrabee Barnes for designing architecture for people who create and for allowing the light to focus on how we convene in the spirit of craft. Thank you to the Windgate Foundation for financially supporting 50 artists to be away for 2 weeks from our families and friends to create new ones, an excuse to return to another home. Thank you to everyone who said yes to a residency during a pandemic and made for delightful conversations both short and long. (You are all amazing to me and your work equally so). Thank you to @haystack_school and your entire staff for continuing a tradition of community during what feels like relentless chaos outside of it. Haystack began in 1950, the same year my mom was born at the dawn of the Korean War. While warfare began in one country so began a peaceful place in another, a place I found myself in 72 years later. There is always another side to the coin in which we see ourselves and I truly believe Haystack is an idea worth continuing whether you’re actually there or not. Thank you and see you again one day. -Julie *Shouts to my husband and extended family for taking care of my son while I was away. Your love and support means everything to me.