The Writing House

It is winter in Central Oregon, a time of the year that I have always cherished. Thomas Merton captured the essence of this special time for me when he wrote: “Love winter, when the plant says nothing.” It’s a more silent time, both in my garden and within myself. I’ve already tucked away my garden and, now in season, I go to the Writing House to remember – a place, where I spend as much time as possible.

Built with the help of many friends, this exquisitely tiny but well proportioned, separate building looks out on the Three Sisters Mountains. Positioned at the southwest edge of our property, the 9’ by 11’ Writing House fits right in with the Ponderosa pines. At the edge of the forest, the high desert, and the mountains, it is a good place to remember who I am and to write about what I have learned in life.

Earlier today, I walked the snowy, winding path from our cabin to the Writing House and I found that I wanted to tell you just how important this little place is to me. When I’m here, I feel at home with myself. When I’m here alone, I find myself thinking about the very best of my life and, of course, the not so good times as well. It’s all prelude to encouraging my brain and heart – along with my computer – to engage in the process of sense-making, of creating meaning from the remembering.

Pulitzer prize winner and recent poet laureate of the United States, W.S. Merwin writes:  “I have only what I remember.” At the onset of winter in our Writing House, I find myself taking stock. Rather easily now, at age 77, I see myself more clearly than I might have in earlier days. I’m not so much focused on what needs to be or what has to happen. There’s not as much room for change these days; I am who I am, and that’s just fine with me. I remember what I have, and I find myself to be quite content. The words of Thomas Merton capture my winter’s remembering: “What we have to be is what we are.” I am at ease.

The Writing House is a remembering and sense-making place for me. At the same time, this little place at the forest’s edge is often more than a home for one. My partner, Karen, uses it for her creative work as well. Sometimes, this small space is where thoughtful, sometimes even profound, conversations happen (on occasion during “wine time”) and where friendships deepen.  But mostly, when I’m on my own, it’s a space where I remember…and yes, I write.