Retreating to SRF Greenfield

On Saturday I was let down at the last minute by a friend who I had planned to spend a day of exploring with. All my camera batteries were charged and I scratched my head for a while wondering where I could go on my own. I didn't really want to go too far afield and the day was promising to be sweltering, the air already thick and heavy with humidity, the sun bearing down unmercifully, and it was only 10am. I suddenly remembered a place close to home that Margie had discovered on line the day after my housewarming party. We'd been too late in visiting it that day but I had time today so I jumped in Stanley with my small Canon and set off.
I pass this location every day when I drove to and from work, the sign by the roadside for some reason making me assume it was the grand home of an old retired military general or someone similar. I couldn't have been farther from the truth. In fact, this is SRF Greenfield, a self realization fellowship retreat, where people learn to express and encourage the good in humanity. They allow visitors when they don't have functions and today, when I checked, their schedule was clear.
I drove down the long driveway slowly, canopied by trees with a large lake down below me to the left. A guinea fowl sign was on the side of the dusty track but I couldn't see any. Yet. I parked next to a truck, not really sure if I could park here.

  I turned off the engine and stepped out. Even though I hear hear the traffic from the road I still felt a sense of silence, a quiet and peaceful serenity. The birds were singing and an occasional bee buzzed by me. Swallowtails floated back and forth, settling briefly on the prolific blooms of a nearby buddleia bush and then fluttering around in circles before landing again. Thankfully the shade from the trees protected me from the intense sun and the grass was still heavily damp from the morning dew. I looked about and saw no-one. Not wanting to interrupt anybody, I stayed away from the buildings and walked the paths, trying to step as silently as possible on the gravel and stones.

The newly blooming bee balm flowers barely moved, there was no breeze but bees and insects buzzed around them. I spotted a stink bug having a nap in a trumpet vine flower and then heard a cheeping. Four guinea fowls were sitting on the damp grass in the shade. I cheeped back but they weren't interested in me or in having a conversation. They slowly pulled themselves up, stretched their legs and strolled over to the bushes. I felt bad for having interrupted their peace and backed away leaving them to hopefully resume their quiet banter.
As I crossed over the track to another part of the gardens I saw the back of a man with a wide brimmed hat disappear into a large shed. Maybe a gardener? I would have loved to have met someone so I could ask questions. Where was I allowed to walk? Would I be disturbing a group if I went into any of the buildings? But there wasn't a soul to be seen, it was almost eerie but I also experienced a sense of wonder that I was enjoying this little haven all to myself and I kept getting the feeling that I was expected to enjoy and relish the peace without worrying that I was stepping on someone's toes. It sounds really daft but I actually felt a few times as I walked about that I was being watched, but in a good way, and that whoever was watching was wanting me to find my peace here. And strangely enough as I turned up another path, I was a lady in flowing loose clothing quickly walk behind a hedge. I didn't feel that she was avoiding me, rather that she didn't want to break the quiet serenity of my visit here. Strange, but kind of wonderful too.

 Everywhere in the gardens were quiet places, chairs and small tables placed under shady trees, offering a quiet haven for those that wished it. Small statues were dotted about and chimes tinkled occasionally. I spotted some that were hanging by macrame ropes and made a mental note to do that myself at home. Many years ago I used to make macrame plant hangers with rope and beads. I have some old metal bells as the ones above and will hang them the same way. The insects were loving this garden, so many buzzed, flitted or zoomed past my head and I even spotted a couple of ants and a ladybug drinking crystal dew drops on leaves. Giant yellow coneflowers, like golden scepters, stood erect, slowly nodding from side to side on erect stems.
I began to walk across the grass and down towards the lake and suddenly, as though I'd hit a trip wire, the fountain started, throwing a tall column of water into the air, causing ripples to gently knock against the banks. The lawn twinkled and sparkled as I ambled down the slope, the dew soaking my shoes. Thick Japanese stiltgrass and clover made the lawn as soft as a carpet, the creeping charlie emitting a lovely minty, spicy aroma as I stepped on it.

I kept in the shade as much as possible, which wasn't difficult, there were so many trees hanging low over the lake and the trails. Little paths detoured off into the foliage and I had to investigate them, often following a mowed path until I entered a small glade, always with a wooden seat or stone bench thoughtfully placed at the end. I watched a flutter of swallowtails enjoying a damp muddy patch, drinking from shallow puddles and even stood silently as a doe, in a pool of sunlight, drank from a creek that bubbled over rocks. She was aware of me and stood stock still, as did I. She wasn't sure where I was until I spoke softly then she looked at me directly. Another sip from the cool water and then she disappeared into the dark leaves.

At the far end of the lake I sat briefly on a bench under an osage orange tree, noticing that the fruit were already large. I peered through the heavy curtain of leaves to the lake and the main house up on the hill. There were so many well placed seats around the gardens that I felt I had to try each of them out, even if it was for just a couple of minutes. It still seemed strange that I was enjoying these surroundings all on my own, it really felt that people knew I was here and were purposefully keeping out of my way so I could enjoy this tranquil time on my own. The dragonflies hummed and swished back and forth over the grasses while bullfrogs croaked, sounding like strumming elastic bands. I tried to photograph them, even pointing my camera out in front of me, ready to press the shutter at the slightest movement, but they were too quick. All I ever saw were ripples on the surface after very loud plops as they disappeared in the water.
I was aware of the time and knew the retreat had something on their schedule at noon. It was after 11:30 and I didn't want to encroach on their private time. I made my way back up to the car, noticing the multitude of bees collecting pollen from the clover. From the abundant insect life here it was apparent that no chemicals were used on the garden, a paradise for pollinators.
I got back in my car and drove very slowly back down the dusty trail and there on the lawn, which I'd walked over just a moment or two ago, were a group of people, bent over and potting some flowers into terracotta pots. Had they waited until I'd finished my quiet time before coming out? They didn't make eye contact as I passed and I was reluctant to call out, but I left SRF Greenfield after having experienced what the retreat had promised, a sense of attunement.

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