This is a little cabin at Brighton Creek Conference Center out at McKenna, Washington. Books are sold here. It's a library.
Little ornate east-Indian bags and incense lined the windowsills, and inspirational goodies were in every nook and cranny - bookmarkers that said "The earth is One country, and mankind it's citizens"; fancy rings and necklaces, ornamental tablecloths and scarves...everything at a price that was gift-wrapped with your name on it.
You can tell this is a home-grown affair, no nonsense. The owners keep this place going by donations and community support, even the labor is voluntary. My sons come here to keep the yard nice, and it looks like Helen, Jan and Mary Jane have all brought some oregano, hens and chicks and purple sage in old garbage cans. Someone donated an old ceramic frog that squats by the front door, holding it open. Someone else jabbed a stained glass butterfly on a long pole into the garden out back...little contributions when cash was tight.
It's a loveable funky place without any pretense. Woods surround it on all sides, with the burble of Brighton Creek to soothe campers along the edge. The next door neighbors raise what sounds like 500 roosters, that squak territorial mating calls all day long.
A little mini-farm borders the garden, and I've spent hours pulling weeds there with three horses standing at the fence. I've filmed them all, in the rain, looking miserable and needful, all with the frightfully bad manners of splattering a pee while I'm trying to capture them at their best. What could they do but just bow their heads in the rain, and give a sideways glance my way, through long wet lashes.
I've pitched a tent here many times, cooked my food on the ground. It is a big place, with teepees, many little cabins, a main dining hall, big meeting building. In the fall they hold a salmon bake, and arts festival. But, I remember coming here after my dad died; I pitched a tent and just layed in it most of one day, just to rest as the buz and livliness of humanity milled around. I felt comforted, as if the place said, 'put your cares down here. We'll wait for you'.
