The Simple Life

The Simple Life
In February of 2003, my husband and I were sick and tired paying rent for our house we called the money pit because the owners were friends of ours and jumped ship during Y2K to live in a bamboo hut in the rainforest of the island of Dominique to eat bananas and avocados wild and bath in natural springs. We took responsibility for all the repairs, which we now coin “stupid tax”, but Ron is quite a handyman and we enjoyed playing house, but nevertheless it was still a money pit and it was time to get the heck out of dodge before we completely renovated a house that wasn’t even ours. After three years, we were ready for a break. After all, I didn’t get the adventure I was banking on after college because I married Mr. I’m going to be a producer in Nashville one day and settled down right after college, which my mother is eternally grateful for because she is convinced I would have ended up in some third world country promoting world peace with some terminal Africa illness that I got from wading in some dirty water or eating a meal that wasn’t properly cooked. So we started visiting this old 1850’s cabin about a hour south of Nashville that had no electricity or running water, and one morning I got the bright idea that I thought I could live out there. Ron thought I was smoking crack. My friend Annie says I am high maintenance but think I am low maintenance which she says is the worst and the best kind, but I was serious just no one believed me at first.
I sent Ron out there to the cabin one weekend to have a getaway all by his lonesome because I thought he needed to get away from work and his workaholic self and that dad-blamed basement he got lost in for hours on end coming up looking like he had been hypnotized by genie. So four days in the wilderness and he came back looking like a little boy. His eyes were bright and shiny, smile on his face like he had a father/son retreat with God himself. It was such a contrast to the man I lived with on a daily basis that I was willing to pack up my hair dryer, curling iron, coffee maker, toaster, every little electric thing you can think of, put it in storage and have an adventure with the simple life. After all, I had always been intrigued by the Mennonites that we visited to get cheap vegetables, and we had friends that lived in a Mennonite community who were all familied-out and loving and everything. I never thought I would want to do that myself, but I was sick of bills and my overworked husband and was ready to try something new. We had nothing to lose, everything to gain, and my spontaneous self was dying to get some fresh air and a change of scenery.
I got real spiritual about the whole thing and for a while thought I just might give up electricity for good and join the Amish circus. It didn’t take me long to find out that they have problems of their own and that there isn’t a perfect family or community on the face of the earth. Unfortunately, we are all human stuck in our humanity and have a tendency to make a mess out of life regardless where we are unless we get plugged into a power greater than our finite pea-brained selves.
So here are some of my journal entries, some lessons I learned and some wisdom I picked up along the way.
March 22, 2003
So we are living without electricity. Wow. I guess it sounds crazy, but so far we are loving every minute of it. Peaceful and quiet. There is nothing to agitate, no hum of a refrigerator, no cars driving by, no traffic, no cell phones, no home phones, no television, no computers, no electric appliances, no washer and dryer. I am twenty eight years old and in an age of climbing corporate ladders, industrial and technological booms and the entertainment media gone wild, I have found myself drawn to the slow, the simple and the serene. I’m like an old granny trapped in a body less than half her age.
And I seem to have a desire deep in my soul to create a haven, a safe place for my heart to be at peace, to enjoy the earth and animals, to learn to speak softly and kindly (which can be a challenge for me), to sleep soundly, to wake with the sunrise and fall asleep with the sunset, to not be rushed along with the rush, but to be still, to walk in the cool of the day with a feeling that God is near and is all around us. And to listen to that little voice inside me that longs to teach me good things.
I have a deep sense of gratitude for the opportunity to live here, to be writing by candlelight as I hear the crickets chirp, the dogs bark, the chickens cluck, the owls hoo. I hear the silence, I hear myself breathe, I hear myself think, and I have the opportunity to let myself just be, just live, minute by minute, hour by hour. I wonder if I’ll get really bored. But for now, I am choosing to believe that today truly is the first day of the rest of my life. No yesterdays, no tomorrows. Just today, my day in the woods. Too bad Laura Ingalls isn’t here to show me the ropes.
March 23, 2003
We rested this morning. They say that is what would make us healthier and happier, to actually fully rest one day each week. I have tried that, but even if my body rests, my brain is on overcharge. Today my mind seems at peace and isn’t worried about tomorrow or the hereafter.
It is hard to rest a whole day though. There is so much to do here, so much to be accomplished. Hopefully, one day, I will be able to rest a whole day without feeling the least bit guilty.
Life goes by so slow out here at the cabin. A whole day feels like a whole day, like it should I suppose. After a few days of detox, I don’t seem to miss city life at all- all the people, the traffic, the advertisements, the hustle and bustle. It feels like the quality of my life has already increased since we moved here. I am not tempted near as much by the ways of the world, keeping up with mainstream media, the latest trends, what’s hot and what’s not. I have time to live, to be with my husband, to let time go by purposefully. And it is the simple things in my day that I remember and feel important to me—walking my animals in the woods, going to the creek, sipping hot tea by the wood burning stove, lighting my many candles and oil lamps as the sun goes to sleep, lying in the bed reading quietly while my husband studies his greek interlinear. I am grateful for the opportunity to catch a glimpse of the life of those who lived before me. I think I might actually prefer it.
April 7, 2003
Life at the cabin is sweet. A roaring fire. Homemade meals from the woodstove. A husband who loves this kind of life, the simple, the sweet, the untampered. Yesterday was our first whole day of rest at the cabin. So much had to be done when we moved here that it has been kind of a whirlwind. New roof. Moving furniture. Building shelves. Staining floors. Staining shelves. Hanging curtains. Decorating. Making walkways with flat stones to the cabin and to the outhouse. Unpacking. Getting settled.
I can’t say we are entirely settled yet, but we are close. I still have a long list of things to accomplish, but then again, I’ve always had long lists of never ending chores.
God is all around me. He is in the trees. He is in the wind. He is in the eyes of my beloved husband. He is in the sky, in the stars, in the stillness. He is in death, he is in life.
Our cat died two nights ago. He ate a mouse that had been poisoned with rat poison. We have cried and cried. We buried him near the garden. It seemed so unfair. Such a beautiful and sweet animal who loved life, loved the sunshine, loved his big dog Max (our English sheepdog). They played incessantly together and slept together a lot, especially when it was cold outside. He hardly ever meowed, just one little meow if he saw me in the evenings- we had a little ritual, where I would bring him in the house, put him on my lap and love on him, pet him, talk to him, oh for about fifteen or twenty minutes, then he would be ready to go back outside in the wild. He spent his days looking for mice, sleeping in trees, playing with the dogs…he thought he was a dog I guess-he was practically raised by one. I miss him. I miss my Thomas. Life just isn’t fair. Ron said right after he died he saw a yellow Hummer, his favorite car in the whole wide world that he has been wanting for years and years, drive by. He thought to himself, “If someone offered me that Hummer right now, or my cat back, I just want my cat back.” You know, some animals we had had (well we have had twelve dogs since we got married four years ago because we always seem to have people dump their animals at our house and we just feed all of them), I haven’t really gotten attached to, and then one comes along where there is just a special bond that you don’t really know how to explain. I really loved Thomas and it was so hard putting him in the ground. Max really didn’t understand. I think he is depressed though.
We’re getting two girl cats next time. They don’t get into so much trouble. But they will never take Thomas’s place.
One thing I have noticed about cabin life is that this life is not conducive to us leaving. Farming and cabin life really go together. We wish we could have horses, farm animals and such, but we drive to town every day for school and work. Animals need someone there it seems, more than just food and water and a place to sleep.
My dream career is to be a recording artist, writer and speaker, and working with young women as a mentor/coach. The cabin encourages me to look forward to my future life as a mother, homemaker and teacher of my own children. I will be thirty years old in fourteen months and I wonder, “What has my life been about? What will my life say to my children? What do I want for my next thirty years?”
I want a loving and strong family life more than anything else in this world. Yes I want to sing and teach, but that really does not compare to the satisfaction of living day to day life with a family you love and belong to and are needed by. Thank you God for this experience here. I pray my days matter in your eyes.
April 10, 2003
I am lying on my featherbed by the wood burning fire in our bedroom, sipping tea and writing in my journal by candlelight. I am warm although it is quite cold outside. I feel so taken care of here, like I have this great big Father in the heavens whose purpose in life is to take care of me.
I am content. I am joyful inside that I have the opportunity to experience this free and abundant life. I feel grateful today for my patient husband who loves me well, for this cabin that has renewed my childhood dreams, and for my prayers that have come to fruition. I am grateful for experiencing a glimpse of the simplicity of pioneer life, even though we are commuter pioneers!
Slowly but surely, we are feeling more at peace as we have bailed out of life in the fast lane. We left the rat race for the most part, and are learning to enjoy and love and live life on life’s terms one day at a time. I am feeling alive, finally.