This is a season of change. Not just on the calendar, although fall has always seemed to me to be the season of greatest transition – no more long, hot, lazy days of summer, no more running up to the cottage on the weekends (no sympathy from me for those fortunate enough to be able to do that,) kids returning to school and everyone gradually getting back into some sort of regular routine.
For me, this fall is bringing about another big change in our lives. We are moving, again, the second time in less than a year. Not standard for us, although I have lived in 17 different houses in my life. Wow, I just figured that out. I had no idea it had been that many. My husband and kids and I lived in our last house for 7 years, a record for me in my lifetime. Then, a year ago, he switched jobs and we headed to a brand new town where we knew no one, a couple of hours away from the family I had lived near pretty much my whole life. That was a big transition, let me tell you.
Not knowing the area at all, we decided to move from our big old century farmhouse, right into the heart of our new town. There were some great things about that. Greatest of all was the fact that we were within walking distance of at least three Tim Horton’s. The kids could go up the street to the park whenever they liked, and for the first time in their lives they didn’t have to take a bus to school. (Actually, that last one wasn’t a plus, as far as they were concerned, as “snow days” became a thing of the past.)
All five of us, though, have been longing to get back out into the country. I have done almost no writing over the last year. I know that some people are energized by the city, and lots of writers, I’m sure, find their creativity stimulated by the constant rush of activity and noise around them. I am not one of those writers.
A few weeks ago we found a home on a couple of acres of bush and rock. We move in 11 days and none of us can wait. I have high hopes that back out in the country, surrounded by trees, a pond with beavers and numerous species of birds and wildlife, and most of all, blessed peace and quiet, my own creativity will once again be stirred from its dormant state. I have nearly finished my second book, and now that I will not be distracted by the sounds of traffic, the frantic pace of life, and the siren call of Tim’s, maybe I can actually get at it and have it ready for a publisher by the end of the year.
Unless, of course, to the delight of my children, we have a record number of “snow days” this winter.
Press on, my friends. Press on,