by Laura Munson | Mar 13, 2017 | Montana
As winter melts, let’s listen to its last messages of sacred stillness. For it is in silence that our voices are born, fledge, and take wing.
Now Booking Haven Writing Retreats 2017
June 7-11 (still spaces)
June 21-25 (still spaces)
September 6-10, 20-24
October 4-8, 18-22
I feel invisible in winter. Every year, I steep myself in the varying greys, and even with a bright orange scarf…I feel like the palest grey. I’m speaking of my internal landscape. It is penury and I like it that way. Northwest Montana matches my mood– sonata after sonata of greys from October to April—sometimes panorama, sometimes stuck in treetops. But with the exception of the here-and-there sapphire skies, the blanket of snow I sleep under is a stark white-grey against the steel-grey sky. Where I tap my keys, solo with accompaniment: she is always my muse. Always. And no, it is not depressing. Not if you need to be very very quiet for a while, and I do, if I am going to hear what it is that I am to understand and say when the world wakes up. Even the Netherlands for the holidays matched my winter mood, only there it was in countryside mud walks and slick streets along the canals of Amsterdam. Still grey.
I went this winter of 2017 with purpose, and it was with this purpose that I did this parsing. What makes a person visible? Knowable? Seen not for the orange scarf, but for the woman wearing it, under the frozen bedsheets? I wanted to know what this question of voice really means. I spend so much time talking about how writing can help you find your voice. But what does that really mean? Because I don’t mean soap box. Have you ever been on a soap box? It feels good for about two seconds. But it also doesn’t feel good watching someone on a soap box and thinking that you’d never have the guts nor the words to ascend one. If we don’t listen in sacred solitude, how are we to hear behind the lies that say: I don’t have anything to say that’s important. Even if I had something to say, someone probably already said it better than I ever could. Who am I to take that stage anyway? It’s self-indulgent at best.
I live in an almost mute life in Montana in winter. Unless I am leading Haven Writing Retreats or doing a speaking engagement, I’m quiet. Writing. Watching snow fall in swirling fury one minute, and then flake by floating flake. Sun peeks. Shies. Retreats. Raven flies by. Chickadee and deer and squirrel prove themselves Bad Ass. Icicles form, drip, break. I see it through my window—the ozure dogwood, the only red. The Doug fir and larch the only green. Except my dirty truck. Which I leave in the driveway unless I am out of almost everything. There is always something in the pantry. I want to stay invisible. I have thinking to do. Writing to do. Quiet to learn. Restlessness to remind, because stillness is a better boss. Because…I have learned…that stillness is where the true voice lives. Like the frogs who will soon fill the marsh with mating cacophony. Real voice comes from quietude. Prelude. Sonata.
It’s over now. The ice dams are crashing off the roof. There is gravel showing in the tire ruts. I heard a red-winged blackbird yesterday. I saw a V of Canada geese too. Today the first robin pecked at stiff stink bugs on my roof. The deer and chickadees tell them tales of stillness and staying and yes, penury, unimpressed with stories of migration and color, juicy bugs and monkeys. My orange scarf will soon enough become kindred and invisible, next to wild honeysuckle, poppies, climbing ragosas.
And I ask: Did I listen well? Was I quiet enough? Did I sleep or sleep walk? Will I get wooed by all the waking? The color? The voices of spring that aren’t my own?
Because now is the time for greening and saying.
What is it that you have to say?
Listen to what’s left of the grey, as it melts. It is speaking to you.
by Laura Munson | Nov 7, 2016 | Montana
Now booking 2017 Haven Writing Retreats!
February 22-26 (only a few spots left)
June 7-11
June 21-25
September 6-10
September 20-24
October 4-8
October 18-22
To schedule a phone call to learn more about the retreat, go to the Contact Us button here.
As you might have noticed, I resist the formulaic Top Ten lists that are all over the internet, as much as I resist the sound bytes that have become our attention span. My blog posts are too long and likely too reflective. But when I started this blog, it was with the express intention of making easy, informal connections with people, without the publishing world as carrier pigeon. My true love is long form writing– the novel/the memoir, and I am hard at work on three books as I write this post. That said, when you fall off your horse and bust a few ribs, life reduces itself to the nitty gritty, and it’s worth noting: It literally goes step by step, and we better be grateful for each one, even though they hurt like hell-fire in our thoracic cavity. Suddenly, I am finding gratitude for two inches to the left at night in just the right painfree position. Dodging a sneeze with deep sniffing. The smell of lavendar oil. And very ungrateful when the toilet paper roll slips out of my hands and rolls…rolls…rolls…to the other end of the bathroom. What was last week “another damn trip into town to do errands” when all I wanted was to be in my bed reading and writing during this hiatus between leading writing retreats, maybe taking a little walk…is now something I long for, just like my golden retriever when he’d see our busy purposeful steps to the truck, sure of some sort of adventure that the front porch couldn’t provide.
While these ribs heal, a few minutes on the front porch is all the adventure this body can take, never mind the potholes and washboards of a country road. And so it brings me back to a Top Ten list I wrote, sort of mocking Top Ten lists, last year that sums up why I love living in my town– this town I can’t wait to re-visit hopefully next week, grateful for the wind in my hair, and a list of errands to do, and even a good old fashioned sneeze.
First, however, perhaps it might be useful to list the top ten possible reasons I fell off my horse and am in this pickle:
To stop working so hard
To feel grateful for tiny things
To stop multi-tasking
To stop letting unfinished projects bother me
To let the piles go
To leave the unpicked up things unpicked up
To make friends with the dust bunnies
To appreciate a firm pillow
To be grateful for a window with a view
To be grateful for people who bring me soup and make me tea
And now…Drum roll….
Ten+ reasons why I live in Whitefish, Montana
September 4, 2015
(*note: You’d think it has to do with skiing and golfing…but it doesn’t.)
Because I can go outside to get something out of my car naked.
Because if the UPS guy drove up while I was getting something out of my car naked, he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.
Because I can go into town in the same outfit I slept in and no one would even notice and if they did notice they’d say, “Good for you.”
Because we have old fashioned streetlights with hanging flower baskets on them, an ice cream parlor, a toy store, a hardware store, and a brewery (and a whole lot of other cool locally owned stores and restaurants).
Because when you go to the Post Office, people ask you about your kids by name.
Because the health food store owners know more about my digestive tract than I do. And they hold my babies when we load the car. (I love you Rick and Dawn.)
Because we have a Winter Carnival where grown-ups dress up like Vikings and Yetis and Queens and Kings and ride floats and jump into a frozen lake. And lots of people come to watch and think it’s fun.
Because it doesn’t matter how much money you have. And nobody really cares, if they do know.
Because we’re all the same in a snow storm.
Because we’re all the same in a forest fire.
Because we’re all the same when there’s a grizzly bear or a mountain lion on the trail.
Because the Great Northern Railroad comes right through town and I can feel connected to my hometown Chicago, and another favorite old haunt, Seattle.
Because Glacier National Park is on a lot of people’s bucket list and for us, it’s an easy answer to the question, “So what do you want to do today?”
Because we believe in our wandering rights and have 26 miles of non-motorized trail meandering through our greenbelt, with more to come. (The Whitefish Trail)
Because we have lakes and rivers all around us.
Because it serves up things to write about daily.
Because we have a Farmer’s Market that everybody goes to, even if it’s hailing.
Because people care about the Arts here, (not just about skiing and golfing).
Because on school field trips, my kids go snow-shoeing, ice-fishing, and skiing.
Because they broadcast the local high school football game at the grocery store.
Because people read the local paper. That’s all we’ve got, anyway.
Because at Christmas-time, we string the same vintage bells across the street as they used in “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
Is that ten reasons? I need to drive my kid to school in my pajamas now. Oh, and I need eggs. But maybe I’ll just get those from the neighbor’s chickens.
See more about Whitefish, Montana
by Laura Munson | Oct 14, 2015 | Montana
I saw this owl today in our meadow. I’ve lived in Montana for 25 years on this meadow. We don’t see owls during the day. We don’t see owls unless we are very lucky and unless we are paying attention.
I needed to pay attention today.
I was butting up against some things that had me blocked and I needed to stop. And learn. I’ve learned that the art of stopping has great balm. No screens. No talking. No finish line.
So I stopped.
And the owl stayed a long time.
I think it killed something in the field and was having dinner. I didn’t need to know much about it. I just needed to stop.
I didn’t realize that until I did. And a calm washed over me that I really needed. And that I really needed to remember.
I went home and wrote a few words. You don’t have to write all of it. A few words can unbreak your heart. Write. Please. It will help.
Here are a few of mine. Simple.
Journal:
What do we want?
How can we find our wholeness?
Our true purpose?
Our true nature?
Where is our fracture, and where are we in our own way?
How can we create our whole self?
Here’s how. We walk in the woods. Virtual or imagined or both. We go outside our comfort zone. That’s where life begins.
We jump
We freefall
We trust that we will land
We meet with ground, connection, love. Never alone.
I want to meet you there with your words and stories. I have a beautiful retreat for you. I want to help you with that freefall and landing.
2016 (NOW BOOKING)
Haven Writing Retreats
February 24-28
June 8-12
June 22-25
September 7-11
September 21-25
October 5-9
October 19-23
by Laura Munson | Sep 4, 2015 | Montana
Haven Retreats: find your stories…find your voice…
Haven Writing Retreats: 2015 (full with wait list)
2016 Haven Retreat Calendar:
February 24-29
June 8-12
June 22-25
September 7-11
September 21-25
October 5-9
October 19-23
Booking now.
(*note: You’d think it has to do with skiing and golfing…but it doesn’t.)
Because I can go outside to get something out of my car naked.
Because if the UPS guy drove up while I was getting something out of my car naked, he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.
Because I can go into town in the same outfit I slept in and no one would even notice and if they did notice they’d say, “Good for you.”
Because we have old fashioned streetlights with hanging flower baskets on them, an ice cream parlor, a toy store, a hardware store, and a brewery (and a whole lot of other cool locally owned stores and restaurants).
Because when you go to the Post Office, people ask you about your kids by name.
Because the health food store owners know more about my digestive tract than I do. And they hold my babies when we load the car. (I love you Rick and Dawn.)
Because we have a Winter Carnival where grown-ups dress up like Vikings and Yetis and Queens and Kings and ride floats and jump into a frozen lake. And lots of people come to watch and think it’s fun.
Because it doesn’t matter how much money you have. And nobody really cares, if they do know.
Because we’re all the same in a snow storm.
Because we’re all the same in a forest fire.
Because we’re all the same when there’s a grizzly bear or a mountain lion on the trail.
Because the Great Northern Railroad comes right through town and I can feel connected to my hometown Chicago, and another favorite old haunt, Seattle.
Because Glacier National Park is on a lot of people’s bucket list and for us, it’s an easy answer to the question, “So what do you want to do today?”
Because we believe in our wandering rights and have 26 miles of non-motorized trail meandering through our greenbelt, with more to come. (The Whitefish Trail)
Because we have lakes and rivers all around us.
Because it serves up things to write about daily.
Because we have a Farmer’s Market that everybody goes to, even if it’s hailing.
Because people care about the Arts here, (not just about skiing and golfing).
Because on school field trips, my kids go snow-shoeing, ice-fishing, and skiing.
Because they broadcast the local high school football game at the grocery store.
Because people read the local paper. That’s all we’ve got, anyway.
Because at Christmas-time, we string the same vintage bells across the street as they used in “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
Is that ten reasons? I need to drive my kid to school in my pajamas now. Oh, and I need eggs. But maybe I’ll just get those from the neighbor’s chickens.
See more about Whitefish, Montana
by Laura Munson | May 10, 2015 | Montana
…in honor of all mothers of every kind everywhere…
“If it’s wild to your own heart, protect it. Preserve it. Love it. And fight for it, and dedicate yourself to it, whether it’s a mountain range, your wife, your husband, or even (god forbid) your job. It doesn’t matter if it’s wild to anyone else: if it’s what makes your heart sing, if it’s what makes your days soar like a hawk in the summertime, then focus on it. Because for sure, it’s wild, and if it’s wild, it’ll mean you’re still free. No matter where you are.” ― Rick Bass
Sandhill Crane
photo credit: fwallpapers.com
There are days in Montana when you feel like you are actually dancing with flora and fauna. On just a regular Saturday drive through the woods, in addition to countless critters, today I saw some rare ones:
A Sandhill Crane
A Black Bear
A Loon
A Trumpeter Swan
A Bald Eagle with a fish in its talons
Trumpeter Swan
Arnica
And some springtime favorites:
Calypso Orchid (Fairy Slippers)
Glacier Lily
Oregon Grape
Arnica
Wild Strawberry
And my very favorite NW Montana tree: (the only conifer to lose its needles each fall) The Larch, so new and green among its fellow soldier conifers
Calypso Orchid
Larch
Glacier Lily
Wild Strawberry
Oregon Grape
Loons
I would love to share my Montana Muse with you at a Haven Retreat
2015 (now booking)
June 3-7 (full with wait list)
June 17-21 (full with wait list)
September 9-13 (almost full)
September 23-27
October 7-11
October 21-25
“Keep close to Nature’s heart… and break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean.”
–John Muir
by Laura Munson | Feb 24, 2014 | Montana
Haven Writing Retreats 2016
June 22-26 (full)
September 7-11
September 21-25
October 5-9
October 19-23
Now Booking 2017
February 22-26
June 7-11
June 21-25
September 6-10
September 20-24
October 4-8
October 18-22
Every-so-often, there is a perfect confluence in life—even in the life of a writer. When childhood romanticism meets adult sentimentalism, when whimsy and bravery stand side-by-side, when the world of possibility opens and you can see clearly through a widened “peephole,” as Vonnegut calls our limited perception of the world. That happened this weekend when I learned that Amtrak is offering free “residencies” aboard their trains for writers. Woah. Instant tears flowed fast.
You see, I come from Chicago train people. And I live in a small mountain train town where the train is the one solid thing that connects my life here to whence I came. I’ve been here for twenty years, have built my home and raised children and written and basked in the beauty of all that northwest Montana gifts us season after season…but Chicago will always be my starting point.
When I told my father I was moving to Whitefish, Montana, he got tears in his eyes (it runs in the family). “What a beautiful part of the world. I used to take the Empire Builder there when I was a young man in the 1940s, calling on railroad customers. I loved watching the city turn to farmland, and the Great Plains, and then the Badlands, and then the Rockies. I used to look out the window and just dream.”
Whenever I’m having a hard day, I go to the Whitefish Depot, like a Chicagoan goes to Lake Michigan, and watch the freight trains change tracks with names I grew up knowing thanks to my father: GATX, Santa Fe, Burlington Northern. From my childhood bedroom in suburban Chicago, I used to listen to the gentle chugging of the Milwaukee Railroad, comforted that there was someone else awake in the middle of the night. Sometimes when I see the gleaming silver Amtrak waiting at the station, I think: “I could hop on and go home.” It brings me that same comfort to know that I am still connected to “home” in this small town in the shadow of the great peaks of Glacier National Park.
The last time I took my kids back to Chicago, we went to the Museum of Science and Industry. “I want to show you something,” I told them, ushering them to one of my childhood treasures. “It’s the train room! It’s a model of the route of the Empire Builder from here all the way to the west coast. My dad used to take me here. It’s the coolest model train ever built!” I said, remembering how I’d hold his hand as he traced the lights of Chicago across the country all the way to the ports of Seattle, marveling at all his days riding those rails as a businessman and journeyer.
“Mom, why are you crying?” they both said.
“It’s all just so beautiful. Taking your time. Going slow. Watching our wonderful world go by from the safety and comfort of a train car. Meeting people in the dining car, chatting about life, comparing notes about places to see. I love trains. This used to be the way everybody travelled. They would dress up for meals. They would socialize and revel in the landscape. I trust trains much more than I do airplanes. I always feel so grounded and happy when I pull into a train station after a long ride. When I land at airports, I feel disoriented. Sometimes speed and convenience are way over-rated!”
“Look, Mom,” my twelve year old squealed. “It’s our train station!”
And sure enough, there was a little model of the Whitefish depot. I’d spent hours in this room, gazing at the Empire Builder line with my father, but I didn’t remember that building. Surely I’d watched my father point his way through the Rocky Mountains to this tiny depot, built in the design of the great lodges of Glacier National Park by the visionary train baron, Louis W. Hill who brought the east to the Rockies in comfort and style. Surely I’d looked at that little depot and wondered what the wilds of a place like Montana would be like. Talk about full circle, watching my son stand there with his eyes blazing, feeling so proud of his home. Like a game of tag from my original home to his…all connected by the Empire Builder.
A few years ago, I started leading retreats in our stunning part of the world. I realized that after leading the writing life with all my heart for almost three decades, my muse basking in the mountains of Montana, that it made good sense to share it with other kindred seekers. So I founded Haven Retreats. Hundreds of people have come to Montana to dig deeper into their creative self-expression on the page, in search of greater self-awareness, whether or not they call themselves “writers.” Some do. Some don’t. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that opened “peephole,” and Montana knows how to inspire that in spades.
Yes, people come to Haven by plane, car, bus. But they also come by Amtrak’s Empire Builder. Louis W. Hill would be proud of these stalwart travelers who have been known to ride thirty hours here and thirty hours back post-retreat. And every time, those who ride the train rave about how the rhythm of the tracks and the views from the window put them in the perfect mind-frame to engage fully in our intensive four days together, tucked into the woods of Montana, and process their experience as they make their way back into their lives, re-fueled, inspired, empowered.
I can think of no better way to come to a Haven Retreat than through that little Whitefish train depot. With this new amazing offer from Amtrak for writers to ride for FREE, it truly is the perfect confluence: experience a personal writing “residency” on the train, enjoy a Haven Retreat in our beautiful part of the world just a matter of miles from the train station, and write your way back home!
I hope that if you are considering a Montana Haven Retreat, that you will also consider this golden offer from Amtrak!
A special thanks to Alexander Chee for stating his love for writing on trains and inspiring this incredible offer! And to Jessica Gross for making a “trial run!”
From my father’s obit in the Chicago Tribune: 
John C. Munson made a run at retiring when he turned 65. It lasted three days.
“He hated retirement,” said his wife of 48 years, Virginia. “His great passion was work, and ever since he was a little boy playing with his trains he has loved the railroad industry.”
I live in an almost mute life in Montana in winter. Unless I am leading Haven Writing Retreats or doing a speaking engagement, I’m quiet. Writing. Watching snow fall in swirling fury one minute, and then flake by floating flake. Sun peeks. Shies. Retreats. Raven flies by. Chickadee and deer and squirrel prove themselves Bad Ass. Icicles form, drip, break. I see it through my window—the ozure dogwood, the only red. The Doug fir and larch the only green. Except my dirty truck. Which I leave in the driveway unless I am out of almost everything. There is always something in the pantry. I want to stay invisible. I have thinking to do. Writing to do. Quiet to learn. Restlessness to remind, because stillness is a better boss. Because…I have learned…that stillness is where the true voice lives. Like the frogs who will soon fill the marsh with mating cacophony. Real voice comes from quietude. Prelude. Sonata.
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