A little over a year ago, I decided that the best way to celebrate turning 70 and retiring after forty-six years in education was to invite a slew of friends to a week on our ranch in Jackson Hole. I had considered a white water river trip, always appealing to me, but figured committing time and money so far in advance would be problematic for many of my guests. A week during which women could come and go at their convenience suited all.
Twenty-three were invited (we would have been cozy, but it was doable). Ultimately, fourteen of us gathered, ranging in age from three and one-half (granddaughters are young but surprisingly wise little women) to seventy-one. The group consisted of our two daughters; three cousins I had known since shortly after birth; church friends we met forty-eight years ago in Washington, DC; women I worked with in schools across the country; one sister-in-law. Politically and professionally, we were a somewhat diverse group with one thing in common: me. By the end of the week, new connections had been made, friendships formed, bonds recognized and celebrated. During a week in which the nation struggled with the continued perception among many that the truth of women is not to be recognized, and that we remain, unbelievably, the “weaker” sex, we on the ranch experienced precisely the opposite.
The strengths, insights, and experiences shared by my friends continue to impress, deeply, long after their departure. Among us are a few who have been divorced, some who have been married for nearly half a century, some who have remarried, some who are single. Almost all have children, with a generous sprinkling of grandchildren. Given our average age, it is not surprising that many are experiencing the kind of trials that we always thought belonged to our parents’ generation: deaths of family members and friends, surgeries, job losses, crises for some of our children, health scares, financial challenges. The women in each of those families have quietly shouldered the burdens of their loved ones, not necessarily without male support, but with constancy and steadfast reassurance. Some have been deeply wounded in the process, yet that pain is kept close so as not to inflict further worries on others. It was within the group of strangers-becoming-friends that each, in her own way, felt safe to share. One of the blessings of the week turned out to be the opportunity for those who have dealt with some pretty significant stuff this year to put The Real World aside. It turns out that my very selfish desire for a week with dear friends served as a gift for many of them. What a blessing for us all.
While we experienced and delighted in much that Jackson Hole has to offer (hikes, National Wildlife Art Museum, historical Chapel of Transfiguration, hikes to Phelps Lake and from Jenny Lake to String Lake, Dornan’s, last Farmers’ Market of the season, a day trip to Yellowstone, walks along the Snake River), it was the gatherings over breakfast or dinner, around the campfire, or in the living room of this historical cabin that were most memorable. There is much of a graceful dance involved in numerous women sharing a space. Friends, frequently duos who had never met before, took turns preparing meals. We fell naturally into teams, mixing and matching spontaneously. We ate wonderfully and way too much. (Who am I to refuse a homemade plum torte? Anyone who knows me would laugh at the notion.) Everyone took a turn at cleaning up. When I drifted into the kitchen late each night to set up coffee for the following morning (three coffee pots started each day), it was always to discover everything had been washed and put away and the kitchen left spotless.
I know each of us had been anticipating last week with pleasure and that those who were unable to attend were disappointed. I believe each who was here left with a deeper sense of herself, of her role in the world, and of her great value to others. I hope that each was reminded of her very real strengths: her wisdom; her willingness to listen and to share her own experiences when they can offer solace; her deep well of laughter; her appreciation for the beauty in her surroundings, wherever they are; her openness to new experiences and people. We each struggle with our own demons, small or large. My wish for every woman – and for every man – is the constancy of friends who endure over the years. We all need those who will be honest with us, not just placatory; who will hold us accountable and not make excuses for us; who will rejoice in life’s celebrations and hold our hands when we weep; who will laugh deeply and make us do the same. The first Wise and Wonderful Women’s Wild Wyoming Week (we weren’t actually wild at all…) was not just a “retreat.” It was an advance. It will not be the last.
Glass Full 