I think I found where the mennonite hippies gather.

I don’t mean that in a derogatory way. I’ve always been intrigued by hippies and by how they hold their beliefs steongly.

“If I wasn’t a mennonite,” I told my friend recently, “I think I’d be a hippie.”

But maybe mennonite hippies are a thing.

I spent a weekend with barefoot, bearded poets and philosophers.

We read and studied poetry and thought thoughtful thoughts.

It was beautiful.

I loved finding others who shared the lonely poet life.

I loved that it wasn’t me saying “It almost puts words to the ache.”

I loved hearing the snippets of literature that became part of other families’ lore.

I loved staying up late into the night because the conversation was too good to end.

I even loved that everyone there knew so much more than I do.

I think it was Einstein who said, “If you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room”.

This weekend, I was in the right room.

If you love poetry, check out The Curator. A blog full of beautifully fresh poetry written by anabaptist people.

Literature Camp 2019 was the first of it’s kind. It will not be the last.

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