Despite inevitable draws back to the city, my goal this year is to spend much more time at my seasonal campsite. I say this as I sit in my renovated, but not yet completely updated RV, water heater pooched (George, campground handy-man extraordinaire, will replace a wire then hopefully all good), furnace off, wrapped in a blanket and typing with cold stiffened fingers because I’m a cheap-so-and-so and want to preserve propane, lol! But the coffee is hot and good, and I have a new novel I’m working on.

I love writing here. It’s going on six years since we purchased the place. Even before the renos, I tap-tapped at my laptop, drinking in the sounds of nature instead of nerve-jangling city music. I’ve completed three novels here, a screenplay, and a teleplay. Sure, I write in the deep of winter, but I feel more connected to my work out here. Perhaps it is the generally unplugged rhythm of my days, reminiscent to a time pre-social media.

I applaud those who are able to turn back the clock and unplug completely. It would make for a quieter mind, and deeper, more considered thought. But I’m not that strong, nor disciplined.

I am lucky to have this retreat. I’ve just spent my first night, awakened only once when the door to my water heater cubby let go and clanged against the wall on the other side of my bed. Armed with flashlight and duct tape–because the thought of critters climbing in the open hatch would not let me leave it until morning–I frightened off only one scurrying critter (Racoon? Bear?) and secured it for the night. I expect George will be back today with that needed wire and will fix this too. If not today…sometime. We’re on country time.