The Conference Center

“Can’t we stop the car and get out?”

“No,” Mom answered from the backseat of the Buick.

“Why not?” My sister Pat never took “no” for an answer. “It looks so cool out there.”

I agreed, but being the dutiful good daughter, I kept my mouth shut.

“It’s owned by the Baptists.” Mom’s cousin Doris sincerely thought that was the answer that would satisfy us.

So we drove, once again, through the beautiful, mysterious grounds of the Green Lake Conference Center. It was the early 1970s. We went to the Green Lake area each fall to visit Doris and Richard and to explore back roads, picking wild grapes. The drive often made a detour through the Conference Center grounds, but we never stopped for fear the Baptist police would arrest us.

Flash forward to 2010. Yes, I am here, on the Conference Center grounds. Legally. And I can explore to my heart’s desire. Well, not really because I am not here to goof around. I am here to write and learn to write and meet people who write, people who will give me the affirmation which I need.

I know that I should practice writing description and tell you about the ancient buildings, the rock walls, the romantic harbor. Maybe next time. This time you just get pictures. Besides my laptop is ill and I should try to cure it before I type much more, and lose everything.