On Memorial Day, May 26, my husband and I celebrated our 35th anniversary. We didn’t do anything special. He finished constructing the new calf pen and milking stall so I can start milking our cow. I planted spaghetti squash and bunching onions in the garden.
Meanwhile another significant date, April 30, came and went with very little fanfare. In fact, the magnitude of this date escaped me until later. That day marked the 17th anniversary of the first time I saw my name associated with WND.
What happened on that day in April 2008 is WND gave me – a plain ordinary rural housewife with no political credentials, no platform, no following, no relevant educational background and no experience – the opportunity of a lifetime. They gave me a weekly column of my very own.
I had no restrictions on what to write. I could write anything I please. There have been times I’ve touched on personal issues – anniversaries, birthdays, events on our farm, pet losses, special events. There have been times I’ve discussed parenting issues – milestones in our daughters’ lives, homeschooling issues. There have been times I’ve tackled social matters that interest me – higher education, preparedness, feminism, simple living, farming, political correctness, victimology, faith, racism, the decline of morality. And finally, when I can’t avoid it, I’ve tackled politics. I simply hate politics, so it’s a last resort as a column topic.
So what’s it like to write a column?
It takes some discipline. Invariably, new columnists are full of brilliant ideas – I can talk about this! And this! And this! – and then the years go by and the brilliant ideas start petering out. After all, you have another column due next week. And the week after that. And the week after that. And the week after that. It’s relentless. And yet readers expect you to be brilliant, week after week. My admiration for syndicated columnists, who truly ARE brilliant week after week, knows no bounds.
I learned to keep a file on my computer with notes for possible future columns. Whenever I come across a link or a bit of info that might slot into one of those subjects, I copy it into the document. Most topics never get developed into full columns – maybe it was just a passing news story or an ephemeral interest in some issue – so invariably the files start stacking up. (Right now I have over 1,300 undeveloped column ideas in my archive.)
Quite often – generally under the pressure of a deadline – I’ll start developing a column and it doesn’t “sing,” so I abandon it. Frequently, if the week has been busy and I haven’t devoted enough time to it, the output is less than impressive. “Not a barnburner,” as my husband says.
Even as a very small fish in a big pond, having a column can morph into something in the nature of being in a fishbowl. People will read my weekly 1,000 words and make wildly inaccurate assumptions about me. I’m either a champion of the distressed (I’ve received emails from perfect strangers begging me to take on their court cases) or I’m evil personified. I’m either unspeakably brilliant or profoundly stupid. What a lot of people don’t “get” is I’m nothing more than what I’ve always claimed to be: An opinionated housewife with no political credentials, no relevant educational background and no experience. And of course most people – the vast majority of readers – are kindness itself, even if they disagree with some particular point I’ve made. Some readers have become friends, either in cyberspace or in real life.
Our daughters (currently 30 and 27) grew up with a mother who is a columnist, and long ago accepted being featured in this or that article. Over the years I wasn’t above capturing a conversation with them and featuring it in a column.
I tried to safeguard our daughters’ privacy by refusing to ever name them, either in my column or on my blog. To all readers, they are simply Older Daughter and Younger Daughter. Perhaps this is less important now that they’re all grown up, but I felt strongly about it when they were minors.
I’ve learned a few things about myself over the run of my columns. For one, I have more exposure to, and therefore less patience with, politics. Since we live on a small homestead farm and domestic life is my strength, it’s easy to ignore the swirling maelstrom of sewage that so often personifies the swamp in Washington. Writing a column forced me to cultivate awareness about national or world events I might otherwise have ignored in favor of weeding peppers or picking strawberries or milking the cow.
Through it all, WND has been a rock of support. Populated by some of the brightest minds in journalism, it offers a podium to those unbound by the chains of political correctness or liberal dominance. WND isn’t afraid to embrace matters of faith and religion, conservative and constitutional foundations, and even to take a chance in offering an unknown rural housewife a weekly platform.
In short, the chance to write for WND has enriched my life immeasurably. I’ve never regretted accepting the challenge of filling this column space, and I hope I’ve fulfilled the expectations of those who gave me that opportunity. And I thank you all, dear readers, for putting up with my weekly rambles.
The reason for this review of my years as a columnist is because this is something of a milestone: It’s my 1,000th column. It’s also another milestone: It’s my swan song.
Yes, after 17 years, I’m folding up my tent and quietly stealing away (to paraphrase Longfellow). This decision to give up my column will leave something of a hole in my life, but my focus has shifted elsewhere and the time has come.
I cannot even begin to express my profound gratitude to WND for giving me the opportunity and support through these years. I’m equally grateful to you, the reader. Whether you’re a supporter or a troll, I’ve read every comment. Some of these comments have even sparked their own columns. (Notably, while trolls can never be satisfied with anything I write, it’s worth noting they read my column every single week. Thank you!)
Though this is my final column, I’ve been invited to submit a guest piece whenever the mood strikes, something I’m certain I’ll do at some future point. But for now, it’s time to sink fully into the rural life we love.
Thank you and good night.