NO POD: BUT NOTES ON LIFE AWAY FROM CIVILIZATION'S CHRONIC BROKENNESS.

I've got the flu

LAKE ERIE — RED SKY AT NIGHT

Too sick to record this week but on the mend. Thought I would gift you with some photos from Lake Erie so you fully understand my addiction to this beautiful place. The older I get, the stronger is my instinct to be closer to wild nature — and alone.

I stayed in our rented house for over a month with frequent visits from my kind and tolerant husband who set up his own little work station in front of what looked like beautiful frozen tundra outside the sunroom window. It was the lake. I was fully happy and even serene for the first time in five years.

The solitude was nurturing. And running a big barn of a summer rental during a dire cold snap on the lake took some thinking and planning. At times it was hard work. Overnight, while I slept, during 100 km winds, the back door blew wide-open and I went downstairs in the morning to discover ice in the toilet. No frozen pipes but this close call propelled me from sink to sink a few times each day, turning the faucets off and on. I ran them at a dribble overnight when it was really cold — which was most nights.

Drafts blew through but I welcomed not being perfectly coddled every minute. I had to work for my comfort in one way or another and that felt good. I enjoyed it all the more.

There were several massive storms and power outages were not uncommon. I’d check the forecast, drive into town and stock up on food for me and Chillie, my rescue dog. One afternoon in the market, the talk was all about the big blow coming in that night and everyone was buzzing about the power going down. I loved being part of that and raced home with candles and batteries for the flashlights by my bed way up on the third floor.

The property itself became an ice-field and barely passable to get to the car to drive to town. I did fall once. My husband came up and we purchased some sand to build small walkable trails across the ice — not wanting to use salt or chemicals on what would become a lawn again in the spring.

LAKE ERIE - MY SON AND I FOUND SOME SURFERS OUT THERE

My husband loved doing it and we both felt a huge surge of accomplishment achieving these simple beautiful things for each other. He is not by nature a demonstrative human but the effort and thought he put into my safety and comfort during my lake-time — means so much more. It felt like a renewal. And it kicked back into high gear when I came down with this nasty flu, earlier in the week.

No wonder marriages were better when life was harder. Couples needed to rely on each other in ways we don’t today. For men whose love language is action not poetry, which is to say most — modern, convenient, soft living robs them of their primary way of communicating feelings. This was a huge wake-up call for me.

LAKE ERIE — THE VIEW FROM THE COTTAGE TO THE FROZEN LAKE

I am still pondering my attachment to that isolated life. The rhythm of the days was spent organizing my needs, the house, finding warmth and then working for a few hours on my documentary and ensuring Chillie and I had lots of long, snowy beach walks. On the very blustery days when the wind sounded like a hurricane beating at the door, she learned to pee just barely outside and then race back in toward the fireplace.

So, I’m thinking about older women who choose to live alone in wild places. There is my friend Susan Musgrave, a great beauty and honoured Canadian poet who lives on Haida Gwaii and runs the Copper Beach House Inn. I met her forty years ago when she had just married the dashing bank robber from the Stopwatch Gang — Stephen Reid whom she fell for while teaching literature at the BC Pen.

THE STOPWATCH GANG IN ACTION

They stayed together until Stephen’s death from cancer in 2018. Susan remains in this remote place, mostly alone these days.

SUSAN AND STEVEN MARRIED IN PRISON

SUSAN MUSGRAVE ON THE BEACH, HAIDA GWAII

I also thought of Sophie Toscan du Plantier who bought a massive old cottage in West Cork, Ireland. A beautiful, Parisian documentary filmmaker and artist who was married to a high profile producer, du Plantier preferred her very basic life in Ireland, on a remote hillside overlooking the sea. The interiors were beyond simple and her only extravagance was to build a bed-platform high enough to look out a raised window at a special lighthouse in the distance. It may have cost her her life as she was murdered not far from her door, two days before Christmas in 1996, a case that still haunts the village of Schull. Had someone been watching her through that window from afar? I knew her story and had only a couple of fearful moments of my own but I did keep those heavy flashlights to hand on nights when my imagination got going.

SOPHIE’S COTTAGE NEAR SCHULL/WEST CORK

SOPHIE’S BODY LAYS AT THE FOOT OF HER DRIVEWAY

I recently discovered and devoured the writings of Yorkshire Daleswoman Hannah Hauxwell who lived alone in one of the most difficult places in the world. Books have been written and documentaries made about Hannah who carved a life for herself, by herself, on her family’s farm until she was discovered by the outside world.

EVER-SMILING HANNAH

Of course it is absurd that a pampered poodle like myself could survive the hardships of Ms. Hauxwell who actually ran a farm with livestock to be tended in the harshest of conditions. Writer James Herriot, who visited those barns as a veterinarian described well how cruel the Dales could be in the dead of winter. But what Hannah, Susan, Sophie and myself do share seems to be a love of solitude, hard work and wild weather. Perhaps had we known each other in another life, we’d all set out to sea!

In virtually every photo of Hannah, living in the most challenging of places, she is smiling. I was, too. For five glorious weeks.

Stay critical.

#truthovertribe

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