Weekend in Brandywine Country

A group of writers I met at Juniper have been getting together annually for the last three years. The last two years we have been meeting at a charming Bed and Breakfast in the Brandywine country outside Philadelphia, a pastoral property owned by Grace Kelly's nephew. This annual get together with writers, but more importantly women writers, has become an event I look forward to with greater anticipation. This year's meeting was no less enjoyable, all of us settling into the ebb and flow of conversation, meals and drinking wine in front of a fire place.

This year, unlike last year's red eye flight, I traveled on Amtrack from Penn Station, the entire trip taking just over an hour. It was remarkable to see how dramatically my life had changed within this one year since last year was spent, aside from discussing the writing, with my ceaseless complaints about living in LA, yet again. And how I felt exiled, marooned in this place that was so foreign to me.

On the train ride down, I noticed the splendor of leaves that had turned color without the notice of any of us. The vista of reds, orange, and yellow was a startling splash of color amid the gray of the day as the train chugged its way down the short corridor from New York City to Philadelphia.

This year I was able to catch the train at 30th Street station, a place I know as well as any after so many years traversing the Northeast corridor by train, for Penn Station. Before I could get truly comfortable, the train was pulling into the city. A quick cab ride later, I was putting my key into our front door where my son and husband were waiting. Again, I couldn't help but be taken back by the dramatic difference of our lives within a few short months.