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Illustration by Drew Shannon
One morning I admire a short, new path of dirt and gravel, it’s free of tree roots, with a slight incline that leads up to the cloister of raised garden beds. Beds that in June are bursting with poppies, lettuce, tomatoes and strawberries. What’s so remarkable about this path of 60 feet or so? It was mostly constructed by two women, aged 86 and 73, living in this retirement complex to which I recently moved.
Focusing on that walkway prompted me to consider the larger path, the bigger journey that my wife and I recently began. We sold our half-acre property, and a three-bedroom home where we had lived for 15 years. I’m in tears some days because I miss the large pink and red blooms of the rhododendron bushes, the small red blossoms of the hawthorn tree that the bees swarmed in the springtime. I miss the red-headed pileated woodpeckers coming to the suet block I hung out every winter. I miss viewing the full sky as I walked to the end of our driveway every evening. But we’re not in a care home. My wife and I are both mobile. We can hike and read and laugh. I can still follow a recipe successfully to bake our favourite chocolate cake and rhubarb cream streusel pie.
In Canada, I miss the art of haggling over prices
It’s coming up to a year since we moved. For the first few months, I found myself bemoaning that I’m living with all these “old people”! As if I’m not old myself. I’m 77. But, what I have come to discover, is that some of these elderly people have more going for them than people half their age. This group of 30 seniors that I have joined are some of the most intelligent, funny and creative folks I know. They are also kind and supportive. They range in age from 65 to 96!
More than living with a group of old folks, I am living amidst an enclave of artists. There are some amazingly creative women. And some very artistic men. A group of four or five women create scenic fabric rugs. They get together once a week to hook their creations.
One of those hookers gifted to my wife and I after our recent marriage, an exquisite rug she had made. Rectangular in form, about 24 by 18 inches, there are several tulips on the rug. Interspersed among the red, pink and yellow tulips are brown hoof prints. Deer hoof prints. If you look more closely you notice that some of the tulip blooms have been bitten off. Deer eat tulips. A beautiful work of art with a sense of humour.
Other women here are quilters and fabric artists. A quilt hanging in our common room is comprised of 13 segments, each of which represents a province or territory in Canada. There is a patch with brown bison and purple crocuses for Manitoba. A patch with a grain elevator for Saskatchewan. There are segments with orca whales and puffins, mountains and lake waters.
There are women who knit. Scarves, socks and sweaters. When my wife and I noted that we were going to be grand mamas, one of the residents, a woman in her 70s, immediately said she was going to knit a sweater for the wee one. It’s a beautiful pale green sweater with yellow duck buttons.
One of the men, who just turned 80, creates colourful cutting boards from cherry, black walnut, white maple, black ash, purple heart woods. You don’t want to cut on them. Another man, also 80, creates exquisite photographs of trees, water and boats. He plays with the light so his subjects come to life.
A third 80-year-old man sings in a men’s quartet. He has a deep baritone melodic voice.
Some women write poems and essays. A woman in her 80s produces a newsletter every month, telling the residents about birthdays, holidays, building events. She usually includes some creative writing from one of the residents. Occasionally that resident is me.
Every week my wife experiments in water colours capturing the blues, greys and greens of our island landscapes. Some of her paintings she turns into greeting cards.
Across Canada hundreds of thousands of seniors are living in retirement homes. I don’t know how many can claim the artistic presence that mine does. Living in British Columbia, with its milder climate, there are many retired folks and hence lots of ads in newspapers for retirement facilities promoting their swimming pools, fitness classes, social events and elegant meals.
What about promoting and celebrating the arts? Artistic expressions stimulate the creator’s brain, soothe the mood and give joy and delight to others. Artistic endeavours, be they musical, literary or visual, may well push back against the development of dementia. I am grateful, at this time of my life, to be living in an artistic enclave.
Lynda Archer lives on Gabriola Island, B.C.
