Margaret Foster
Carmen Maria Machado, the writer whose work I came to Rensing to emulate, writes that setting is made alive by perspective. Places are not neutral, any more than their inhabitants.
Nothing about Rensing is neutral. Everything has a story, a history: the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf full of books by Rensing residents; the blue double-doors exiting the library that no one uses, designed by one of Ellen’s non-biological children; the art on every wall and surface; the antique furniture; the garden. Here, everything feels precious: the moments I spend brushing my teeth, normally empty, become a geography lesson as I contemplate the maps that paper the bathroom wall. Every afternoon invites a new hike, new live music, a new sky over the cows’ enclosure.
Each day, I switch through writing-places like the rooms in a Roman bathhouse: first in the tepid Forge while my coffee brews, then in the atrium off the library, which I think of as an especially hot sunroom, then the cool interior of the library, then the Forge again to boil more water for more coffee. In the late afternoons, when the sun is low enough that I can avoid sticky sunscreen, I sit in the chairs outside the library, reading or typing away. It’s in these quiet moments that I find myself wishing for more time here, yet feel so grateful to leave my own footprints in a place so full of life and memories.
I’m not a professional storyteller; I’m more like a curator, describing and archiving people and things, arranging them just so in an attempt to make meaning. Being in a place that has been marked by so many footsteps and handprints is impactful, to say the least; I’m not sure I have the words or the language to express what it feels like to be here, except that it seems to be the loveliest of dreams. It’s humbling, too: going to the Wednesday flea market, Ingles, and Bee Well is all a reminder of how much I am an outsider, a temporary visitor. This is marked most acutely by my mask, which I still wear in public even outside. But it’s marked in other, subtler ways, too: I don’t quite know how to engage in this kind of small town small talk, but I let the folks around me take the lead and try to let myself get swept up in it.
At least on the latter point, I’ve been successful: two weeks’ time is not enough here! I can’t wait to visit again, see Jon’s garden in a different season, spoil Charlie the cat some more, and enjoy more of Ellen’s cooking and conversation.
The recipe for gluten-free peanut butter cookies:
Ingredients: 2 cups coconut sugar (or 1.5 cups brown sugar); 2 eggs (preferred fresh from Jen and Mike’s farm); ½ teaspoon vanilla extract; ¼ teaspoon salt; 16-oz jar of peanut butter (or your nut or seed butter of choice—about 1.25 cups); chocolate chips to taste; sea salt garnish to taste.
Whisk the sugar and eggs together in a bowl. Add in the vanilla and salt and mix until smooth. Mix in the peanut butter until texture is smooth (make sure you get the bottom of the bowl). Add chocolate chips to your heart’s desire. Then cool in the fridge for at least half an hour (don’t skip this step!).
When your half hour is up, preheat the oven to 350F. Then roll into cookies and put in the oven. Depending on how big your cookies are, this could be 5-10 minutes. I usually make tiny cookies, start at 4-5 minutes, and check on them every minute after that. They’re done when the top looks a little crinkly and has some small holes. Transfer to a plate and sprinkle with sea salt to taste.
Link to original recipe: https://pinchofyum.com/5-
This is the recipe I used for the homemade caramel (I usually make the brownies, too, but I didn’t have baker’s chocolate): https://pinchofyum.com/salted-
And for the brownies that I stirred the caramel into (no baker’s chocolate required): https://tasty.co/recipe/the-
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