Like any crafty and anxious young thing with newfound time as an unemployed person in a global pandemic, I developed several hobbies in the past year...one of which was researching niche artist residencies. I found options hosted at apiaries, converted churches, and on sprawling vegetable farms. Each provided me with a fantasy of a potential new life. Or, maybe not new, just more enriched (fulfilled, even?). I imagined a place where the dream version of myself had the ability to focus enough to actually finish the “collection of short stories” I sometimes vaguely tell acquaintances at parties that I am working on. Maybe there, I would meet a new crush or a funky friend, someone who would give me a stick ‘n poke of a pickle or say yes to the idea of starting a co-op general store together (just spitballing here). Perhaps I’d come away from the experience with a wobbly handmade ceramic mug as a souvenir or simply a general feeling of being more In The Moment (I hear being offline is very chic?). At the very least, I was, in the meantime, having fun scoping out the catalogue of options via places like Piney Wood Atlas.
