Milkwood: Spaces, Retreats, and Their Place in Children’s Literary History

I’ve been thinking a bit about legacies lately. What we leave for future generations. The choices we make now that will affect the future of children’s literature as a whole, however it happens to turn out. This is probably less because I’ve grand, all-encompassing thoughts and more because I’m middle aged and there’s a bit of memento mori floating about in the brain. Or maybe it’s also because I recently attended Sophie Blackall’s Milkwood retreat and it got me to thinking all kinds of great, grand thoughts.

In the United States, at this time, there are several places that I would deem children’s literature meccas. They are, and in no particular order:

• The Rabbit Hole in Kansas City, MS
• The Eric Carle Museum in Amerherst, MA
• The Milkwood Retreat in the Catskills
• Books of Wonder in New York City
• The Kerlan Collection at the University of Minnesota
• The statues of Abilene, Texas (Storybook Capital of America)
• The Highlight Foundation Retreat Center in Milanvile, PA
• The Writing Barn Retreat Center in Austin, TX
• The de Grummond Children’s Literature Collection of Hattiesburg, MS

Naturally, there are plenty of others, but that’s a pretty good starting list. Feel free to add your own suggestions in the comments.

I haven’t been to all these locations yet, but six out of nine ain’t too shabby. Milkwood was the one I visited most recently, and it’s the place that’s been most on my mind ever since.

Described as “A Creative Retreat for the Children’s Literature Community”, Milkwood is the brainchild of multi-Caldecott Award winning creator Sophie Blackall. Started in 2022 (as recorded in this Publishers Weekly piece), Sophie renovated an abandoned barn into a truly beautiful space for all kinds of people who love children’s literature. Her husband, the playwright Ed Schmidt, works closely alongside her, making it an experience like no other. How do you attend? Each year Milkwood opens up applications for the season and hundreds of people apply. If you are lucky enough to be selected, you work with them to figure out travel and timing. Then, once you are there, the days are relatively unscheduled. You know when the meals are. There are snacks if you need them. Outside there are trails and mountains to look at. And ducks, of course. Copious ducks. Sophie raises them each year and by the end of the season they fly away for adventures unknown.

This year I was lucky enough to be chosen. I attended a retreat intended for librarians and educators. While there, I found I was particularly taken with Milkwood’s library. Each group of people who come to Milkwood are asked to bring a book to add to the collection. I did so, keeping a close eye on the academic children’s literature section. I don’t usually have time to indulge in scholarly works on children’s books, but Milkwood gave me the time and space that I needed.

It also led me to think about Milkwood within the pantheon of children’s literature spaces in the history of America. There were plenty of writing retreats out there already, of course. The most famous of these is probably Kindling Words, a professional retreat for the children’s literature world, with locations in the East and West. Actually, if you’re at all interested, I did a round-up of Children’s Literature Retreats about ten years ago that covers a whole slew of them (and should probably be updated). But Milkwood isn’t really that kind of retreat. Not in the sense that it has only one purpose (writing). Its goals align a little more closely to the Highlights Foundation, where regular speakers come to talk about different aspects of children’s literature. Still, that’s not quite what Milkwood strives for either.

Maybe the best way to sum up Milkwood is to look at it in terms of connection and collaboration. Long ago, Sophie Blackall and a slew of Brooklyn artists joined together to create a mutual studio together not far from the Gowanus Canal. As she puts it, the job of an illustrator is a fairly solo affair. It can be very isolating and lonely at times. With this studio, she and her friends had space for their work, but also connection if they wanted it. Milkwood, in that light, is much the same thing. Here, Sophie’s able to bring together an eclectic mix of people. New editors and editors that have been in the business a long time meet up. Librarians and teachers from across the country, discussing what they’re going through and dealing with in the current state of the world. Illustrators who may not know one another. Members of the kidlit queer community, meeting together in numbers they may not have experienced before. BIPOC kids book creators. Even poets and scientists! Milkwood then serves as a gathering place, in this sense.

That, then, will probably be Milkwood’s legacy. I’m a librarian with a penchant for history, so I think a lot about legacies these days. Considering the fact that we live in a time when book banning has reached an egregious high, spaces like these serve to ensure a continual stream of connection and creativity.

When I was at Milkwood, my group was shown thirteen large blank books (there are probably fourteen by now). Each gathering at Milkwood is encouraged to sign one of these books and to draw a horse. Yep. Draw an actual horse. Folks get awful creative when you give them as broad an instruction as that. I think a lot about those books. Naturally, I read through all of them before adding my own horse (and a little something extra that was on brand). Since Milkwood essentially boils down to being a two-person team, it’s impossible to say how long it will continue. Those books though… they’ll serve as its physical legacy long after we’re all gone. The influence of Milkwood is different. That will linger in ways we cannot even hope to predict. All we know is that it’s a undeniable force for good.

Some photos from my time (with thanks to Ed and Sophie for some of these):

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