Sissy girl

I had a meltdown walking back up the hill to the colony.

It happened suddenly and with a single sight: an unleashed German Shepard crouched in a front yard, snout lowered to his paws. For all I know, he was a love hound.

I didn't care. I may love dogs, but I'm scared of the big unleashed ones. Last night at dinner I heard that there are a lot of large, barking dogs that run unleashed, but I hadn't seen one until today. I was taking no chances.

Instead I broke down crying and called Adam. "What can I do to help?" he asked, being that boy, wanting to do something.

"Just listen to me," I said. "That's help enough."

Fifteen minutes of snuffling later, I was brave enough to peek back up the hill. The dog was nowhere to be seen and I walked by muttering hate you hate you hate you. By the time I got to the colony I was in better spirits and taking pictures of the chickens that live in a coop on the grounds.

Being here is not an idyllic experience -- not for me, at any rate. I'm glad. That's not how I learn and grow, even if it means I cry every so often.

I do not at all mean to say that I'm having a bad time, or that the MacDowell Colony is not as excellent as its reputation. I'm having a great time, and as for the colony, it amazes me every day. But no matter where I'd be, I would not have an idyllic experience. It's not in my blood.