Before I left my husband July 4th weekend, 1974, we had planned a three week vacation in Yugoslavia. I had been captivated by photos I’d seen of its mountains and the beauty of pre-war Dubrovnik. After I had moved out of our apartment, he called to ask if I was still going. I was incredulous – of course not. He wanted me to go with him anyway, but I refused, even when he said we couldn’t get our deposit money back.
I took very little when I left and selfishly left the rest for him to sort through and dispose of. It wasn’t my finest hour, and I knew then that it was unfair and self-centered. I have no justification. I believed I was running for my life, but I knew it looked irresponsible and heartless. I didn’t tell many people at Yale the truth as to why I left, because when I told my former boss she reacted very negatively. She was the one person I thought I could count on, but I was very wrong. A staunch feminist, she took what was then a common stand against homosexuality. Where I thought feminism set me free, she thought lesbianism tainted the fight for women’s rights.
One day in late July I was in the Provost’s office talking to her assistant, someone who didn’t reject me. I explained I had three weeks of vacation coming, but didn’t have anywhere to go or a lot of money. My husband had switched his plans around with the travel agency and went to England for a couple of weeks.
My friend told me she’d just read a letter to the editor of Ms Magazine about a women’s retreat in upstate New York. She got the magazine out, and read the letter to me. The place was in Paradox, New York, and offered a place for women to go who were re-assessing their lives. That sounded like me.
We got out a map, found the town, a tiny dot outside Schroon Lake, and I copied down the address. That night I wrote the woman a letter, explaining my situation and asking what the rates were. I told her when I would be coming – I decided to go for one week since I didn’t know anything about the place or the woman running it – and a week later received a reply. She gave me the sliding scale rates and told me to call when I arrived in Schroon Lake on Sunday, August 4, 1974.
My friend Mary helped me shop for a couple of new outfits, appropriate to a less formal lifestyle. No more hose or heels for me. She told me I had to have a denim shirt. All lesbians had denim shirts, and I couldn’t be without one. I also bought a pair of burnt orange brushed velvet jeans – remember, this was 1974 – and a pair of dark brown suede boots with gum soles.
I read incessantly, but came to hate evenings and weekends because I was so incredibly lonely. Mary spent weekends and evenings with her girlfriend. I walked around the University, often through areas of New Haven that weren’t really safe, but I didn’t care. Every evening I rode my bicycle over to hear the carillon concerts at Harkness Tower. One Saturday, I rode up to the top of East Rock and back, a ten-mile trip, but I was reminded of climbs I’d made with my husband up West Rock. I was restless and anxious, waiting for the trip to New York.
The bus left New Haven at 9:15am, and Mary came down to see me off. I was more than a little annoyed when she teased me about falling for someone during the week. Neither of us knew that the trip would change my life. The bus stopped in Springfield, MA, then on to Albany, NY, where I changed for the trip up I-87, the Northway. I dozed off and on, read a book I’d brought, and wondered what I’d find at the end of the five hour ride.
A teenage girl got on in Lake George and sat next to me. She babbled quite a bit about a church group or camp located in Schroon Lake and asked if I was part of that. I assured her I was not and asked about the woman’s retreat, but she had never heard of one in the area. That made me somewhat uneasy.
When I got off in Schroon Lake, I felt I was looking at a postcard. The majestic Adirondack Mountains soared around me. A road next to a white church ran down to a beautiful deep blue lake. From my bus companion, I knew that Schroon Lake was where the movie “Marjorie Morningstar” had been filmed. The lake was dotted with white sails and the sandy beach covered with people in brightly colored swimsuits.
I took my pack and guitar and sat on the hill in front of the church. No one was there to meet me. I felt very small.
©2009 jgschenck
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