When I was a little girl I loved to play in the woods.  As a matter of fact, my cousins and I preferred the nearby woods because it was private and we were left to our own imaginings.  During those days, we were free to roam the woods—no serial killers lurked about and in fact, we did not even know what a serial killer was.
 
Our imaginal spaces included the stories that we made up, which hosted a variety of characters borrowed from television.  Adventure was the order of the day as we roamed the woods pretending to be the Lone Ranger on a mission or Superman rescuing lost damsels (gender was not an issues back then).  The trees were both sentinels and enemies, and we talked to them as if they were real.   The trees watched over us and we delighted in using their leaves as serving plates for the many tea parties that we held, but also used their nuts as ammunition.  The trees were our friends.  We talked to them often.

I recently took to the woods traveling to North Georgia for a residency at the Hambidge Center.  I did not go there to rest--I went there to work.  I selected the Fisher Cabin.  I visited the cabin when I was at Hambidge for a residency in 2001.  I remembered its floor to ceiling windows that looked out on the forest and its close proximity to the walking trails.

I looked out through the beautiful windows and was surrounded by the tree sentinels.  I felt at peace. During short walks, I listened to the voices of the forest. They encouraged me to tell my stories--to paint, to write. I found myself returning to my childhood.

Hambidge stands as a unique experience.  It is very different from any other residency that I have undertaken and those include residencies in Australia, England, and Africa.  Most residencies require that you undertake some form of community service (which I do not mind) but at Hambidge, I was in service to no one but myself.  

It is not often that I get to be with myself, free from distractions—the telephone, the TV, someone stopping by, the Internet alerting me to new mail.  But at Hambidge, I was alone with just me.  I worked long hours, taking advantage of the time and the return of my imaginal self.  In two weeks, I conceived 6 paintings, wrote a proposal, and a short story—the result of my walking through the woods and talking to tree spirits.  My stories returned, flowing like the little brook that runs along Hambidge’s pristine grounds.  But what was really beautiful was that had I chose to do nothing at all, it would have been okay.  No one would have minded at all.  My time was my own. The trek down the hill for dinner with other residents provided a much needed and welcomed break.  I enjoyed the conversation and the food.  

Hambidge is a gift to artists and the environment.  It is a place where imagination is honored—imagine that.  Like a sage who had left her village to restore and renew her personal powers, I headed back to Atlanta refreshed and enlightened.  I’d found my stories again and my childhood imagination was restored after the many conversations with the tree spirits in the forest.  Hambidge is such a graceful place—a sanctuary. It deserves to be preserved for eternity.  I am eternally grateful that Mary Hambidge had the insight to preserve some small space on this earth for artists and the imaginal realm they inhabit.

                    Lynn Marshall-Linnemeier