Last week, I was fortunate enough to participate in the Board of Trustees Retreat at The Bishop's Ranch in Healdsburg, CA.
We were hidden inside wine country, surrounded by rain and mist and fog the entire three days at the Ranch. Around us, the vineyards were silent but growing. Row after row of little vines climbing their way towards the air, a unified breathing experience. In this landscape, everywhere we go are silent spaces, exhaling.
In the evenings, the fireplaces light up and shadows of people flash along the walls lined with art. Outside the refectory are empty benches looking out toward a field of green grass and trees stripped of leaves.
Twice, we found mornings silent save for the patter of rain, when we settle broken halves of our selves in wooden chairs painted white.
After lunch on the third day, we leave the muddied Ranch, heading straight into torrential rain, the expansive vineyards growing miles and miles north of us.
Last week, I was fortunate enough to participate in the Board of Trustees Retreat at The Bishop's Ranch in Healdsburg, CA. 
We were hidden inside wine country, surrounded by rain and mist and fog the entire three days at the Ranch. Around us, the vineyards were silent but growing. Row after row of little vines climbing their way towards the air, a unified breathing experience. In this landscape, everywhere we go are silent spaces, exhaling. 
In the evenings, the fireplaces light up and shadows of people flash along the walls lined with art. Outside the refectory are empty benches looking out toward a field of green grass and trees stripped of leaves. 
Twice, we found mornings silent save for the patter of rain, when we settle broken halves of our selves in wooden chairs painted white. 
After lunch on the third day, we leave the muddied Ranch, heading straight into torrential rain, the expansive vineyards growing miles and miles north of us.
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