[UPDATE: Homebounty Facebook Album]
“How are things going at The Anchorage?” a friend asked me this week.
We are about to embark on a new thing, and thing we’ve never done before: Hutchmoot Homebound. Historically, I have hutchmooted in Nashville and Franklin and Oxford, but I have never hutchmooted at home, and the prospect is fraught with despair and delight. Delight, because home means my favorite place in the world and hutchmoot means my favorite people in the world and this year thanks to the pandemic I get both together. Despair, because I still have to choose between Lanier Ivester and Helena Sorensen.
“What is a Hutchmoot, anyway?”
- A wealth of wonder, beauty, and magic.
- The confluence of story, art, music, and faith.
- Where makers give, enjoyers receive, and vice versa.
- A cup overflowing.
The only real way to know what it is is to go to one. Or, in this case, partake from the comfort of your own home. Livestream tickets are $20 per household, a fraction of the normal rate of $325 per person.
To sum up, Hutchmoot is where I feel most at home in the world. Is home the place you were born? Is it the place you spent your most formative years? Is it the place you long for deep in your bones?
Nearly six years ago we came across an apple tree in front of a tumbledown farmhouse surrounded by maples surrounded by cornfields and windmills, and our desires were sealed: to salvage and share what we’ve been given. Since that day we’ve hosted campouts, bonfires, stargazing, a porch concert, bread and soup and games. We’ve harvested syrup, asparagus, and apples and heard hawk cries and crane calls and pheasants and orioles and blue jays. Many an update has been made to this old house to make others more welcome. A picture window, stove, toilet, bedding, sofas, a french press and a frother, light and heat and comfort (and wi-fi).
All week I have felt a tension of paradoxical desires; missing those afar but craving ordinary quiet. Longing for community and aching for stillness. Cultivation, presence; stewardship, abundance; hospitality, hunger; restlessness, rest; Martha, Mary.
Come to Hutchmoot–or: let it come to you.
O look us out of grief and into grace–Malcolm Guite