A New Season -- Reevaluating My Purpose

I believe that our life purpose or the role we play changes according to the season of life we're in. When I was younger, my purpose was to learn and develop my talents and get an education. Then I entered a season where my main role was to raise my children and establish my family. I've had periods of my life that were all about prepping for the future, or focusing on my writing, or whatever.

But now I'm in the prime of my life (59 is a prime number, you see), and my life path is changing. I lost my job two years ago. Lately I've been pondering what I've accomplished in that two years and wondering where the time has gone. What do I have to show for it? I mean, I've accomplished a lot and I've been very busy. But have I grown or changed or developed in that time? And now, as my children are leaving the nest and my grandchildren are getting older, what do I want to do with this next phase of my life? How do I want to progress? What remains to be done that I wanted to do? How can I be of most use? What is my life asking of me right now? What would make me a better person?

I'm not sure of all the answers to those questions yet, but I keep coming back in my mind to the phrase: "A soft place to land." I think a lot of people need comfort and safety. Can I provide that in some way, whether through my gardening or my writing? In what ways can I be there to love and comfort my children and grandchildren? What service can I render? Do I have a larger role than just "being there" for them? All good stuff to think about.

There are times I get caught up in the politics going on in the world, and then times I think "The world's going to go up in flames anyway, regardless of what humans do" or "Why prepare for long-term retirement? The earth won't be habitable by the time I'm 70." But then I push all that noise aside and just think, "A soft place to land." Whatever the future holds, I know it's going to difficult. There may be war, or famine, or climate catastrophe... Whatever comes, there will always be a need for compassion and solace. How can I best equip myself to provide that, so I can ease the experience for my family and others?

People don't often leave comments on this blog, but I'd really appreciate some comments on this post.  What do you think lies ahead, and how are you preparing for it? Do you see your purpose changing as you grow older? In what role do you want to serve?

Garlic Harvest

One of my favourite times of the year -- harvesting, curing, and cleaning the garlic. It smells so good around here right now! I grow about 60 heads every year, perpetuating the German/Music garlic I got years ago from Bruce, a fellow piper who is no longer with us. It's nice to know his crop continues.

It's always a guess how much to hold out for planting and how much to save for eating. Last year I also sold some, but I think this year I'm keeping any extra so I can plant even more this fall. 

Last year I also tried the experiment of planting bilbuls, which grew nicely this summer. I'll leave them in the ground for another year, to see what turns out next year.

Every summer, I also find volunteer garlic growing all over the garden, thanks to the squirrels. It usually turns out small, and I think this year I'll just let it go to seed and get some more bilbuls out of them.

Don't Go Quietly into the Night

We are being bombarded with the message that there's no point in protesting, things are inevitable, and we should just accept the future others have laid out for us. This message comes from those in politics, those wanting to erect data centres, those with more money than the GDP of a small country, those in the oil and gas industry, those who want mining access to protected lands, and a host of others. Their intent is clear: if we think resistance is futile, we'll bend and cower, or at least give in and not cause a fuss. There are those who don't seem to care who and what they harm, so long as they get what they want. They have short-sighted vision and put money or personal power above all other considerations. It doesn't occur to them that some things are more valuable than wealth.

They only get what they want if we hand it to them. We don't have to. We created the billionaires, the oil markets, the demand for data. We can choose differently.

Battening Down the Hatches Under a Blue Sky

There's been a welcome break in the heat, and I've been venturing out to catch up on things in the yard. Hedge trimmed, lawn mowed, garden weeded, tomatoes and roses pruned, gravel garden zapped with weed-killer (yeah, I know, but I've been weeding by hand for years and it's getting away from me). I've also found time to take long walks, picnic outdoors, and kick the soccer ball around at the park with my grandson, but I haven't gotten back to swimming yet. The bird-feeder is full, the air conditioner is cleaned out, and we're finally getting around to fixing up the trenched side yard to deal with rain overflow.

It feels lovely to be under a clear blue sky again, after the smoke and haze from the wildfires. It's nice stepping outdoors without immediately feeling like I've been thrown into a furnace. It also feels good to get away from the couch or desk and use some muscles again. I never feel better than when I'm outside in a fresh breeze, with plants and trees around me.

My husband and I have decided every decision we make and every reno project we undertake needs to be with weather and climate in mind going forward. The heat will continue to intensify in summer, the rainfall will continue to be torrential, the winds are growing stronger, and the snowfall will likely continue to break records in winter. If I can't sell everything and build an underground house (my first choice), I need to find ways to climate-adapt this house and the church we're renovating. We have to come up with ways to shield the sides of the house from the baking sun, first off. We may not come up with the most aesthetically pleasing solution, but practicality needs to win. I also need to consider how best to continue to garden and grow food, because outdoor gardening is going to become impossible here, and it will cost a fortune to run a climate-controlled greenhouse. Maybe a walipini? Could I even get permission from the city to do that? Do I turn my garage into a hydroponic shed? Time will tell...

There's a distinct feeling of battening down the hatches and preparing for something intense. A sense of urgency to act while we still can, and while we can still get materials. To put back-up systems in place. To get creative with our limited budget. My husband's on board as never before, and now's the time to strike while the iron's hot...and getting hotter.

Dense Canadian Forest

About 35 years ago, my husband and I invested in a treatment centre for abused teens. It was located on 50 acres of scrub pine forest an hour or so west of Toronto. When we were looking into the opportunity, hubby and I tried to trek through the forest to explore the property. We thought it would be a good idea to at least walk the perimeter and see what we were purchasing. We made it about thirty feet.

You see, it wasn't just densely planted. Fallen trees, thick underbrush, and large areas of knee-deep swamp prevented us from making any progress. It was also disorienting, because once in amongst the trees, we couldn't see the sun, and we worried about walking in circles. Not to mention being eaten alive by mosquitoes. We gave up and turned back, and in the months we lived there, we never did manage to go any deeper into the forest than that. 

One day some men with rifles knocked on the door of our log cabin and told us to keep the kids inside, because they were going to hunt wolves on our property. Yes, wolves.

This was only 50 acres of new-growth forest, not old, within a short drive of Canada's biggest city. Canada has about 912,000,000 acres of forest (1,389,968 square miles). Most of it is just as impenetrable or more so, inaccessible by any roads. Stats Canada says 66% of Canadians live within 62 miles of the U.S. border on the south. There's a reason for that, and it's not just the black flies. 

My son used to live at the literal end of the road in northern Manitoba. Any intrepid people who live further north have to fly in, and the season and weather can isolate them completely for periods of time. Vast tracts of Canada are completely uninhabited, and in fact, there are parts of the country that haven't even been mapped yet. We can get an idea of what's there from satellite imagery, but no one has set foot there.

Lightning strikes can smoulder and fires can go underground and not show up until days or weeks later.

Just pointing out the scope of the fire-fighting problem.

Also pointing out how difficult a place this would be to invade or occupy. 

Heat Wave!

Today feels like 115 F. The silicone caulking around our home's windows is bubbling. Our air conditioner was working too hard and froze the coils, so a man is here now trying to get it working again. Just walking out to the back gate to let him in made my skin feel burnt. My husband cancelled band practice, because trying to play the bagpipes in this heat would be dangerous.

Tomorrow I head to Quebec, where apparently they're experiencing heavy rain and possible tornados. 

And this is really just the start of summer.

I sincerely want to sell everything I have and build a home into the side of a hill further north. Being mostly underground would mitigate the hot/cold temperature fluctuation, and it would protect us better from tornados. I'd like to be off the grid, too, or at least have better back-up when the power goes out. I think we're getting to the point where growing a garden outdoors won't be feasible anymore. It will need to be done in a climate-controlled building.

Rethinking My Pace and Space

I've been trying to pace myself a bit better this summer, dividing large chores into smaller ones and allowing myself to take a few days to do something that I used to push myself to do in one day. The heat is extreme in the late afternoon (the glue in our front door actually melted, and one of the highways buckled), so I've given myself permission to siesta. To swim. To go sit in the massage chairs at the gym. To eat salad and sandwiches instead of cooking, so I don't heat up the kitchen with the oven. I even bought yogurt this week instead of making it as I've done for years, because the idea of warming up the kitchen with the crockpot was off-putting.

As a result, I've given myself more writing time, which has been nice. But my husband and I have also been visiting more with neighbours, just sitting in the shade in the backyard and chatting. It's the first time we've really let ourselves take the time to do that, which is a shame. They're wonderful people, and we've been missing out.

I'm letting this heat-driven attitude spill over into other aspects of my life, too. Maybe things don't need 100% of my effort. Maybe it's okay to drop some activities and put less-important things aside. Maybe it's okay to just sit sometimes. I've come to this realization now and then throughout my life, but this heat is just reinforcing it now. The heat just sucks away all motivation and energy. 

It's also carried over into my stuff. We had to move the furniture to install new windows and doors this week, trying to weather-proof the house a bit better, and right now the rooms are bright and light and empty. And I like it. Maybe we won't move the furniture back in. Maybe the time has come to put it all on the curb and create more room to breathe. Less to clean. Room to stretch. I could see throwing out the couch and sitting on pillows on the floor. Using the coffee table as the dining table and getting rid of the massive square table (the whole family is only here a few times a year anyway -- we could improvise with folding tables for those times). Son #2 is heading to Korea for a year, and Son #1 will be in school downtown starting in the fall. We will have fewer people in the house. We're minus my beloved dog now, too. Maybe it's okay to live in an entirely empty house...

Except for the books, of course. There will always be books. Oh, and yarn and fabric. And, um, the guitar and banjo and bagpipes are non-negotiable. And my recipe boxes (yes, plural). And...

Okay so maybe not entirely empty. But more spacious. More bright. More open to possibility. I could use this heat wave as an opportunity to re-evaluate life more generally and make bigger changes.

A while ago, I wrote a book that talked about taking a closer look at our lived space and pace. Paring down to the essentials. Maybe now is the right time to dig that out and reread it and remember.