Living off-grid. Happier than ever?
I slowly open my eyes as the robins, redstarts, phoebes and ovenbirds continue their quest to secure their territory in the trees that surround my cabin. In between the neon green leaves, I see a patch of bright blue, and I know that today it's a day to get things done.
A sunny day means that I can charge our power bank with our small portable solar panels. I can also charge our headlamps, and maybe do some laundry by hand, letting everything to dry out on the clothing line afterwards. I might leave out some trays with orange peels and mint to dehydrate, and since I'm already in the garden, I'll do some weeding. If it looks like it's going to be a hot day, I prepare the cooked meals in the morning and I chop up some veggies to roast in the solar cooker outside. Our cabin is well insulated, for winters of 200 inches of snow aren't rare here, but in the summer the heat stays trapped inside too, and there's only so much that our solar powered fan can do to cool off the space. In hot days I fill up our solar shower with well or rain water, leave it in the sun, and by the end of the day I can take a shower with water that is 105F or more.
If rain is in the forecast, we'll take off the lids from our barrels, make sure that nothing important was left outside and, most probably, we'll spend the day working in our art, music, writing and preparing yummy food!
We go to town once a week to do all the shopping. Reynard and Shanti know the protocol, so when they have their harnesses on, they jump in the backseat and get ready for a really, REALLY, boring day. We don't leave our dogs at home because going to town is a whole day thing. Plus, they get to stick their heads out of the window and smell weird stuff that can only be found in towns: melted and then dried up ice-cream on the sidewalk, nasty trash cans with mysterious contents and, best of all, urine from other dogs that most likely Reynard would hate if he met in person.
Fifteen minutes of only trees and five minutes of a couple houses here and there later, we arrive to the post office and get our weekly mail. Once in a while a letter from a friend brightens up my day, and thinking about what I'll reply makes the tasks more fun.
Next stop is the laundromat. I wash one load of clothes every two weeks, and once a month I'll wash sheets, dog towels and cleaning cloths. I realized that there's isn't much point in wearing super clean clothes everyday, since normally I don't encounter anybody but my partner in the whole week. My ego is at peace knowing that I'm probably the cleanest of the two of us anyways.
Next stop is my favorite - the Northwind Co-op. When we were searching for a place to move to, one of the requirements that we agreed upon was to be "close" to a Co-op so that we could eat mostly organic veggies. We're 45 minutes away from this one, which for living in the woods, away from most things but Nature, it isn't that bad of a drive.
Now we go to Walmart or SuperOne, which are my weekly reminder of the civilization from which I'm still part of, despite not feeling like it at all once I'm back home in the woods. The neon lights and the two dozen different brands of Ketchup confuse me, and make me wonder what "to have enough" means in a society where we're encouraged to consume as much as possible, as fast as possible. While I have my brief existential crisis, Tom goes to get wood chips to keep improving the paths in our garden, for we both know that stepping into a supermarket can truly ruin his mood. This saves us time, and it's better for the dogs too.
Our last stop is at the spring, where we get all of our drinking water. Some locals say that their grandparents lived up to 100 years of age, and they claim that it was thanks to drinking the spring water. I look at the white tube that is sticking out of the rock, with crystal clear water and shiny sparkles in the sun pouring out of it, and I think to myself that I'm content with knowing that it doesn't have heavy metals, fluoride or chlorine in it. Twenty five gallons later, now we're done! The dogs wag their tails in anticipation of the sweet potato treats that they get at the end of the errands marathon. Our car is now packed to the top, and I can't wait to be back home.
Yes, moving to an off-grid place requires a bit more planning and taking advantage of the weather as much as possible. Just three years ago I couldn't have imagined that this was how my routine was going to look like. Despite my love for Nature from a young age, I grew up in the city, and I thought that living in the country could feel uneventful and lonely. To the contrary, it seems like everyday there's something new happening in the forest — for change is what defines this place. There have been several times when I've spent ten days, two weeks or even three weeks without seeing other people, but I never felt alone. I do want to be part of a community, and I'm building connections with good people who I know I'll be able to rely on, but each time I crave more of this peaceful and silent connection with the land, the forest and the lake.
Yesterday we had one of our "Screen-less Sundays," and went to hike at the Porcupine Mountains. We found a secret spot where we could sunbathe laying down on broad bedrock, right next to a melodic stream. The cold water made my bones hurt, but the relaxation I felt afterwards was unmatchable. We found dozens of Chanterelle mushrooms on the way back home, which made me feel as excited as a child. I wondered - could these really be the happiest days of my life?
