According to Statistics Canada, between July, 2019, and July, 2020, more than 50,000 people left Toronto and almost 30,000 left Montreal for smaller towns and villages.Illustration by Photo illustration by The Globe and Mail; source images: unsplash
As I write this, the sun shines through the trees that surround my home. The only noise is the ticking of my clock. Soon, I’ll take my dog for a walk past horses and large yards with modest houses set far back. The occasional vehicle will pass and I’ll nod to the driver. Birds will sing from forests that stretch up the mountains and down toward the lake. In other words, my small town in British Columbia is paradise.
So why, nearly daily, do I think about leaving?
Once upon a time, I was a city person, living primarily in Calgary and Montreal. But life was hectic and the roads were literally exhausting. It wasn’t what my husband and I wanted for us or our kids.
Eleven years ago, we moved to the Kootenays. The draws: the calm, scenery and cost of housing. The fact that we could run multiple errands in a blink. That we could get to know a hefty handful of people. That our kids could run freely while others kept an eye on them.
The location has been a special blessing during the pandemic. COVID-19 took a long time coming here and it’s simple to social distance. Nearly everyone has an outdoor space of their own. “Thank goodness,” we all agreed, “that we aren’t stuck in apartments.”
Other people wanted these benefits, too, and flocked to the country. According to Statistics Canada, between July, 2019, and July, 2020, more than 50,000 people left Toronto and almost 30,000 left Montreal for smaller towns and villages. This flow has been contrary to the previous trend, which for more than one and a half centuries saw Canadians move from rural spots to cities.
In my region, the real estate market has exploded. In March, 2021, the Kootenay Association of Realtors stated that sales numbers had been record-breaking for the previous 12 months. My own street, which used to be a farmer’s field, has seen five homes constructed in the past couple of years, with foundations waiting for a sixth.
But two main factors have marred the rural ideal for me.
First: my career. While being a freelance writer is a great gig, it’s hard to constantly come up with ideas. A permanent job seems so much simpler. Close to home, though, there are none, and I don’t know how much teleworking will continue postpandemic. (Plus, this area’s internet sucks.) As a registered nurse, my husband has also pondered new work possibilities – few of them local.
Second: boredom. A “sleepy” town is wonderful when you’ve had enough of traffic, but so is the odd boost of adrenalin. Sure, I can hike, hang at the beach, eat at the only restaurant we like. Yet I crave museums, a plethora of food, book shops and cafés where I can linger anonymously. A bit of buzz and breathlessness would be nice.
Add to that the annoyance of constantly stacking wood to feed our furnace. That our children had to move out to attend university, the closest one being 235 kilometres away. That I can’t take a dance class – my lifelong pursuit until I moved here. A pottery class would also be cool. As for the local activities I have taken up – a book club and writing group – the pandemic curtailed them. I’ve started Zoom-based options instead, but they hurt my eyes and, as mentioned, the internet connectivity sucks.
Pandemic aside, this grumbling runs counter to a recent study of about 20,000 Canadians aged 45 to 85, which found that rural people are more satisfied with their lives than urban ones. By e-mail to me, co-author Philip St. John, a professor of medicine at the University of Manitoba, wouldn’t speculate on why this was so, but the paper indicated possibilities such as closer social networks in rural spots, more stable long-term relationships, less economic uncertainty, lower population density and an established sense of community. The paper also mentioned the 2020 World Happiness Report, which found higher scores of life satisfaction in rural areas in North America compared to urban ones.
So why do I dream of the city?
Because the grass always looks greener.
Then again, I visited Edmonton in August and roamed down Whyte Avenue. The sidewalk was packed. Cars practically brushed my shoulders. Heat sizzled off the buildings and pavement. Ambulance sirens blared. Is that the life I truly want?
Deep in my heart, I’m pretty sure the answer is no.
Hopefully, the activities my community does offer will restart postpandemic and I’ll remember the joy of rural living. So will vacations, which no longer consist of seeking “paradise,” but aiming instead for bustling urban centres to get my busyness fix. Because when I leave my house in the country to walk the dog or do chores, I swear there’s no place better.
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