The Solitary Writer?

After spending part of the summer with Doug and me, our “daughter-in-law” Liz has left the farm and moved to my son’s acreage near Saskatoon. She had spent many weeks working alongside Doug as he taught her carpentry skills and helped her build a tiny house. Now she and the house are gone. I’m used to being alone and, in fact, enjoy long periods of solitude. But I’d grown accustomed to her cheerful company. And now I miss it.

My situation illustrates a common dilemma. While writers need solitude in which to write, they also need social interaction. Ideally, we each achieve the balance that works best for us. Whether or not Liz is to blame (and she isn’t), I’m feeling the strong lure of Saskatoon. I want to attend Word on the Street, book launches, author readings, and celebrations of the writer’s art. I want to go to plays at Persephone, concerts at The Bassment, and performances at the Refinery. I want to meet friends and colleagues for tea.

But I love the farm and its surroundings. I write in a cozy, book-lined cedar house that (with much help from our respective fathers) Doug built forty-five years ago. I look through my office windows at beloved plantings of trees, shrubs, grasses, and herbaceous perennials. In the dining room, I gaze out at our hayfields and cropland spreading east to the Thickwood Hills. It’s beautiful here! It’s also familiar, evoking nostalgic memories of my childhood, young adulthood, middle age, and—increasingly—my senior years. Plus I two productive gardens—mustn’t forget them! I don’t want to give up this sacred place.

Doug and I are in our early seventies. We have some important decisions to make about where we spend our remaining years. How can we enjoy the best of both rural and urban life?

I guess that’s why they invented cottages and second homes. But is that the only answer?