Mysterious Yaddo

When I was first married, I lived in a furnished third-floor walk-up with two sailors (one was my husband) in Ballston Spa, NY. My new spouse was training at a military center in a fictitious upstate New York location, near the equally fantastic and spooky Washington Irving country of the Headless Horseman and posh Sataroga Springs, where the rich came to bet on horses racing. While my groom worked 16-hour days I wandered about the countryside and came upon Yaddo, a mysterious, brooding structure I later discovered was a retreat for writers and other artists. I never pursued visiting officially, and Yaddo became a thread in the warp and woof of my life, adding a shimmering richness to the tapestry I take out and mentally fondle on occasions. An interesting connection occurred when I found PoetryFoundation.org: "Deeply and Mysteriously Implicated".

Carla Blumenkrantz explores an episode in Yaddo's history:

In February 1949, Robert Lowell--by then famous for the Pulitzer Prize-winning Lord Weary's Castle (1947) and an as yet undiagnosed manic depressive--had returned for his third stay at the Yaddo writers' colony in Saratoga Springs, New York. Until then, he had described the place as a half-idyll, half-prison--"a sort of St. Elizabeth's without bars," he wrote to Ezra Pound (then interned at that psychiatric hospital).

Were the shivers I felt on first viewing Yaddo psychic echoes of those earlier events? Can you tell I'm reading horror stories these days, and contemplating writing one?