Tag: dreaming

Rural Living

My mind has been wrapped around our move, but was suddenly kicked into higher gear this past weekend when I saw the documentary on Netflix called The Biggest Little Farm. It’s about a couple who lived in Los Angeles and decided to start their own 

The Winds of Winter

This morning I took transit to work since it has been super cold and somewhat snowy and there are still icy patches here and there on the roads. At one point the train passed a forest, and it was just in an instance my mind 

The Deep Autumn

So many things have been happening lately that it is hard to stop and get my bearings. Our move to Halifax has been approved and will happen in the spring in late April or May. The sheer amount of things to do before then is pretty daunting, but as I was just joking with one of my authors who also moved to Nova Scotia and built a new off-grid home, our move won’t be as crazy as his since he moved things bit by bit on a float plane from the middle of nowhere at a wild lake Saskatchewan. But we will have to fly there with our cats, ship our most nostalgic things, ship our electric car, and auction off everything else. We will have to coordinate dates so that when we move we will rent a place for a month or two while searching for a house, unless one of us can go out early and get all that ready. All this planning is actually super exciting for me, and I imagine the future in several scenarios: hiking along the coastal trails or sitting around a fire while a snowstorm brews outside.

Last night I watched a couple great documentaries (this is what I do when it’s pouring down rain and have a moment to breathe): This is Personal and Feminists: What Were They Thinking? The former was mostly about the Woman’s March but also about Trump’s wall and other complete injustices. I still get a lump in my throat when I think about the march, which we went to. The march was born of pain and love. I thought about all of us, not just women of course, but everyone working for woman’s rights. Similarly, the latter documentary was equally powerful.

I understand that we, all of us, standing up for rights come from different places, have different perspectives and experiences, and many have more pain than others. Many have more privilege than others. We, all of us, must work together while dignifying and completely respecting and bowing to others whose pain is marked.  It is they whose voices are heard the loudest who also have the most to say. It’s also about working together and healing, and ensuring that the crimes of the past never happen again. There is also a time for anger in seeing those times again.

When I think about all that, I always go back to: where did I come from? I got interested in researching my family tree after my dad died. Fortunately, others before me really fleshed out part of both sides of my family, which mostly come from Europe and Ireland. I might see names and dates and locations, but really don’t know much about these people. I don’t remember anyone past my great-grandmother CC. My father’s side is mostly English and some Norwegian, and my mother’s side mostly Scot-Irish. Both sides became bare-bones farmers in Kentucky in the late 19th century or so. On my dad’s side, they migrated to Grayson County; my mother’s side lived in the poverty-stricken Appalachian area. Both did sustenance farming to feed themselves and extended families. Pappaw also worked as a coal miner. My grandad on the other side, on my dad’s side, in the early to mid-1900s became a foreman at a whiskey barrel making company in Louisville. There were hardships on both sides; of course the Great Depression happened in my parents’ young lifetimes, and coal miners were mostly without representation and treated horribly and suffered lung diseases to boot. However, out of these my particular parents emerged into more privilege than their ancestors. When I was born, they were poor and had to borrow money to buy food sometimes, but they worked their way into upper-middle-class, a lot of that due to housing turnaround. Dad got promoted a lot, and we moved every few years, and housing costs were eventually skyrocketing, allowing them bigger and bigger profits after each sale.

I often talk about the love I felt in my family growing up, however, so when I think of riches, it was from that. Not from material wealth. My parents were penny pinchers. They weren’t really into having all these possessions. It really wasn’t until after I left the coop that I went through some bad times, having to do with my naive side when it came to trusting people who treated me rottenly. Luckily, I met the love of my life about 16 years ago and was done with the previous crap.

Looking at where I came from, I do feel a sisterhood with other women who have gone through similar things. Some of us go through things that are hard to truly talk about, but I have my own #metoo experiences from the past. I also, fortunately, was raised in a good family that gave me a solid foundation to summon when times got horrible, which they did. So watching the feminist documentary listed above was eye-opening. Women of color, lesbians, Jews, women in the workforce–all had and have unique perspectives and varying forms of mistreatment and cruelty simply for being themselves. The woman’s movement to me has always been so powerful. These days, our men usually march with us, but many still live in the dark ages and they think it’s fine to continue to treat women like objects or as if they don’t matter. Or as if their work doesn’t matter.

In the documentary, Jane Fonda said she had always been a tomboy, and I got that. That was me. I was a tomboy. I ran everywhere that anyone else would just walk. I had to be outside every waking moment. I climbed trees. I rode my bike. I hiked and swam and swung on tire swings and big vines in the forest. Jane said that when young she felt she was not markedly different from the expected behaviors of boys in that she wanted to climb mountains and ride horses and lead the charge. I felt like that too. I guess for me, I was fortunate in that even though the small Midwestern towns I grew up in were very conservative about how girls should be proper, I never was, and that was okay. My parents encouraged this surge of being and running.

Discovering where I came from has more to do with my own memories than trying to find out who it was that came before me. Or what they did. I may never know.

I think about all this on a dark Monday evening when perhaps I should get back to “spring cleaning” to prepare for the big move. But then I’m reminded that American Thanksgiving is next week, and we’ll have a house full of people again. I have a ton of things to do right now. How is the holiday next week already? It’s our last Thanksgiving meal in this house. I’ve lived longer in the Vancouver area than any other town I did before. It’s our last holiday dinner and party in this city. In this province. I look around me and bask in the season. The oranges and reds and browns. Winter is coming (I will never tire of that phrase). I’ve gotten back to hiking lately and wonder how much more before the first snow. The air is crisp at night, and the moon has been bright. The first 14 days of November were the longest dry spell in November that we’ve ever had in Vancouver. It’s usually our rainiest month. But this past weekend made up for it somewhat as it poured rain so hard our cats even became frightened. This deep autumn is my favorite time of year. That golden light when the sun fades, the last lingering leaves letting go and whispering to the ground, the gales bringing in a cacophony of rain: it is always foreboding yet with punctuation of clarity and pleasantness. And yet, there is something underneath that harbors a bigger thing in the future. Maybe it is that we’re moving 4,000 miles away. But I can’t help but feeling like Jane Fonda described: I am so excited for it. I really am. I’m not afraid of change. I haven’t changed that much since I was running wild in my grade school years. But it seems that something else is coming. Bigger than a move. Bigger than anything before.

I guess I feel like I want to hang on before being swept away in the changing world. And by that I mean the climate-changing world. Unprecedented floods, wildfires, ice and glacier melts, high and low temperatures, storms. They are all happening now. I think we have to hang on, because we’re in for a wilder ride. While I started this blog years ago and have always been so happy in the autumn season, I know that in the coming world, seasons will change too. I wish I could hang on to seasons like I might hang on to a branch saving me from a flooding river below. I wish to hang on to something solid I can feel. A tactical thing. But I’ve learned to roll with the changes.

Today is Margaret Atwood’s 80th birthday. She said climate change is everything change. Everything is starting to change already. I guess having gone through hardships, those of us who have experienced pain may also know that love is just about the most tactical thing we have to hold on to. And if we have been treated cruelly, pain can evolve into strength and determination and the desperate knowledge that we will not give up, no matter what. I cry when I hear televised voices of children at Trump’s wall screaming for their departing relatives. I seethe in anger when I look at old videos of lynchings and new realities of people who would do the same if they could, or they do. I feel empowered by watching the beautiful women who came before me, women of all color, singing their pain songs and making changes and not allowing old white men to disparage them anymore. I feel hope in seeing the youth of the world carry on the battle.

It’s not always just a battle but a way of life. A way to bring memory forward to the present and to make it better moving forward.

This time next year, unless something weird or terrible happens, I will be living in the Halifax area. I will be sitting in a kitchen overlooking trees out back and loving the autumn while there is still autumn. I will be lighting fires and candles and listening to Joni Mitchell or Ramin Djawadi or Gord Downie or Led Zeppelin. I will be pouring red wine with friends and family. I will find others to march with in a new city. We already bought an electric car, and when we move we’ll install solar panels on our house. I will spend many hours ruminating in a garden or even building a wildlife sanctuary, sort of like Jeff VanderMeer is doing in his backyard in Florida. I hope to find new friends for new Thanksgivings and finish novels and come up with new ideas. I can’t wait, even though I know the world right now is changing drastically and I cannot predict how things will be, only dream.



We used to do this all the time. I’m doing it now on a slow afternoon while I try to stay awake and get through a bad cold. Who is your hero? Probably Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, and I hope she becomes president someday. If you could 

The Desert, Revisited

At age 13, my parents bought me a Spanish guitar and I took guitar lessons. My first songbook was called “Peaceful, Easy Feeling,” and that became one of my lifetime favorite songs. I like the way your sparkling earrings lay Against your skin so brown 

When Dreams Might Become Reality

I hinted in my last post that we’re considering a big life move–all the way to Halifax, Nova Scotia, from our home near Vancouver, BC. Some hurdles need to be jumped over first, including my husband securing with his job that he could transfer there. His boss was supportive of it, but it’s not final. And because it’s not final, allow me to write about it, even if we end up staying in our current home, which of course we love as well!

I recently read something where a person wrote of being “free” and not living a life like everyone else, as if their perception of freedom and living the way they wanted was somehow better than the “common” folks’ version. Arrogant people just irk me–I want to put a LOL there, because I’m not like mad about it. But guess what, folks? There’s some real tragedy in the world, and many people do not dream or do not have a way of getting into their dreams. I’d take a gander most of us do enjoy our lives, and if we don’t, then maybe we’re just in the middle of things. I think it’s harsh to pretend those of us who might be able to follow our dreams are somehow better or freer than everyone else. Or that our dreams are better than everyone else’s. As Yeats pointed out in his poetry, freedom from cultural trappings is another kind of prison, and this particular person seems perpetually trapped in things despite their constant egocentric viewpoints (this is not someone I know, by the way, nor who knows me; it’s just something I read recently). And it’s doubly ironic that this person pretends to embrace diversity but still acts as though their own life and their own dreams are better than anyone else’s. I’m just trying to say that dreaming is good for all of us, even if it sits in the head or on the pen. Being able to move upon our dreams does not make one better or freer than anyone else; it’s just a way to live, a way to wander. And we’re just all wandering on this planet anyway.

My dreams have culminated from a lifetime of certain experiences, some of which I want to get back to, like living in an unfettered rural area. Like having land to run around in. Like getting out of the city. I don’t like crowds or big noisy affairs. I’m at the point that some of my nostalgia is coming full circle. I’m so lucky to have Morgan, who also is into a big change. Also, to move to a place named as the “New Scotland”, above the wild Atlantic across the ocean from my dreamy Ireland, a place close to my heart, seems like the next best thing. To move back to harsher seasons–more snow and cold–would make me feel at home too. A slight less rain. It’s an eastern-maritime climate, which is slightly milder than that inland.

However, if we don’t move, I don’t mind. We love our jobs; mine is getting better with a newer office and a good understanding of the work I do. I’ve been at the job almost seven years. British Columbia is beautiful as well, probably more so than the east coast, though the ocean here lacks waves due to islands to the west. This province is where Morgan’s family all lives. It’s slightly closer to my daughter and niece in fly time. If we move to the Halifax area, we likely will not fly much due to carbon emissions. We will be slightly closer by road or flying to the rest of my family in the Midwest. There are pros and cons. Sometimes the weight of this dream to move gets a little scary, but most of the time I feel hopeful in doing what it takes to do this. I have lived all over North America, or visited it, and do not feel afraid by change. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve been in BC just a little too long, going on 12 years now. The longest I’ve lived in any place ever.

We’ve been spending a lot of time looking at houses near Halifax, out in the country. We have a few “wants” in mind. Some land, not a lot but maybe 1-3 acres and a place for a real garden. A front porch where we can hang a swing. A wood-burning fireplace or woodstove. A way to make the energy otherwise solar and possibly with a wind turbine. (I learned from my friend Ron, who has lived off grid for decades, that in colder seasons–which Nova Scotia has a lot more than we do–his wife cooks on a wood stove in the morning and the heat rises and helps heat the house for the rest of the day.) Maybe a claw foot tub. I want an office window looking out over trees, to inspire my writing. Yes, I was always envious of John Boy Walton who sat at his desk to write each evening, overlooking Walton’s mountain. Those are the main things I have always wanted in a house. Morgan wants some kind of outbuilding for a a wood-working shop. I might want to have some chickens. Self-sufficiency is key to us. Outside that, I guess we’re not too picky. I am kind of looking for older homes with hardwood floors and some character, which we may need to do a little work on.

We’ve started a list, in case all this happens, and have tried to figure out the cheapest way to do the move. We’ll auction off most of our current possessions and transport only some things we don’t want to get rid of: our cats (of course!), computers, some clothes, and some books. We will slowly accumulate things in the new place but really want to live a minimalist lifestyle–buying only used or repurposed things in the future. And only what we need.

We figure that we may have to ship our electric car across the country. It’s hard enough finding working or available charging points here in Vancouver. We don’t feel we can rely on finding them  on the over 6,000 KM drive to Halifax. Almost 4,000 miles. And that’s dipping into the US. It would be easier, but probably slightly longer, to stay on Canada highways. We figure it would be most convenient to rent an RV for a one-way trip, which is cheaper than staying at hotels or shipping cats (and I really doubt our cats would like being shipped anyway; they can ride with us). I once moved from Indianapolis, IN to southern California and took with me my daughter, our cat (who did splendidly), some books and clothes, and my computer, all in a Ford Taurus. Similarly, when I moved to Vancouver, I drove up with my husband, from Indianapolis, IN, across the country again. I drove back by myself to help take care of Dad one summer and to sell my jeep. We relied afterward on public transportation.

If we do this, it would likely be by spring 2020. There’s so much to do. Selling all our stuff, cleaning the current house, notifying our jobs, preparing the cats for such a long trip, trying to stay with relatives and friends along the way–Kamloops, Fruitvale, Toronto, etc., or just at RV parks. Looking for a new job for me once there. Finding a house.

Thanks for letting me dream on the page! I will update the blog about whether this happens.

The featured image is by Dennis Jarvis from Halifax, Canada – DSC01066 – Peggy’s Cove Lighthouse, CC BY-SA 2.0

It Finally Feels Like Summer

This morning I am sporting a sunburn from Rib Fest yesterday. We went again with our friends Ross and Dara, and had a good time hanging out in the beer garden, eating some truly authentic BBQ, and listening to live bands for a few hours. 

I Sit by the Fire and Think

I haven’t blogged for a while, because life is hectic and full. I was just reading this poem by JRR Tokien, credit to LOTR Fandom. Reading it has always made me feel good inside. What was written so long ago still rings true. Also, enjoy 


With a bum foot and lack of running this year, along with a lot of writing, editing, and reading, I am really looking forward to getting outside and staying there for a while. Last Friday night I spent hours mesmerized by my own back yard while sitting outside until past dark, warming myself eventually by the fire pit after the sun went down. The cherry tree had blossomed, but by now has lost its blooms, like normal, and is growing nicely. There are northern flickers and robins and songbirds and insects and squirrels and who knows what else that comes into the yard when I’m not there.

Truth be told, I’ve been completely immersed into stories and in a lot of my free time I’ve spent time writing and reading and watching–missing the outdoors. Tonight we watched season 8’s episode 2’s Game of Thrones, for instance, and I continue to be completely mesmerized. I’m reading two different books at the moment and have some exciting interviews lined up.

But I also miss being outside a bit more. It has been rather gloomy here lately, mostly rainy, with peaks of sunshine now and then. I took advantage Friday night before another onslaught of rain, and mowed the front and back yard. Last night we had decent weather for an Earth Day reading, which I’ll talk about more later (it was awesome!).

But this is the time of year we are planning some tent camp trips, which I’m sure will bring me back to where I belong. Our first one is at the end of May, near our anniversary. We’ll see if the electric car can make it to Golden Ears Provincial Park and back. Then in August we have reserved, with family and friends, a three night tent camp on Salt Spring Island. In October we’re camping near Lake Mead in Nevada. I am looking forward to these times, because my best memories in life are in the outdoors and this will continue to be the case until I’m 80 or 100.


I follow nature writing in the news, and saw an article in The Spectator today about Amanda Craig’s recent novel The Lie of the Land. The author of the article, Lauren Freeman, starts out with: I’ve diagnosed myself with early onset cottage-itis. It’s not supposed