Who We Are, What We Think We're Doing, and Why
With the news last weekend that the government had taken over Fannie
Mae and Freddie Mac, the decision to chuck the standard suburban
lifestyle and head for the woods to live off-grid makes more sense than
ever.
When we moved from one of Alaska's larger towns (a truly relative term)
to come to live on our "homestead" two years ago, we had a notion that
something like this might happen. With relatives in the computer
industry, we'd heard long before the year 2000 about the possibilities
of Y2K, and began to realize that we in the United States are just not
prepared for the unexpected, whether that be a technology malfunction
like the narrowly-avoided Y2K scenario, an unthinkable event such as the World Trade Center collapse,
a severe economic downturn such as the one toward which we seem to be sliding, or a natural catastrophe such as a hurricane, fire, or earthquake. We like to
think that things will be okay, that whatever comes, our elected and
appointed officials will handle it for us. We in the Homesteader family
are not so sure of that.
Not that we made the move because of this . . . at least not entirely.
We came to the homestead as the culmination of Gardener's and my
lifelong dreams. I was born in Alaska, and did most of my growing up
here. I had always had the dream of one day living in a cabin in the
woods at the ocean's edge, but I also "knew" that such places no longer
exist, at least not for those with my middle class income. Gardener
grew up pretending she was Laura Ingalls Wilder, dreaming of a pioneer
lifestyle. What we found while pursuing other options was a property of
about 10 1/2 forested acres with a rocky ocean frontage near a small
town in Southeast Alaska.
The homestead isn't a real one. You can't really homestead anywhere in
the U.S. anymore, but we call it a homestead because it's an
off-the-grid compound (without walls) consisting of a cabin and
guest house, several outbuildings, gardens, and wind and solar power. Running water comes from two catchment systems. We heat the home and hot water with wood. To get home, we park our car on the road and hike in a mile and a quarter, taking into account the tides that fill the bay we have to cross on foot. Anything for the cabin must be hauled in on our backs or brought around to the beach by boat when conditions are right.
We
quit our jobs and moved here to try our hands at living on the edge. We wanted to live closer to the land, growing or gathering what produce we can, hunting and fishing for the majority of our meat, maybe raising a few chickens now and then. We are not completely independent by any means. Much of our food will always come from a store, we still have to pay taxes, but our need for cash has been greatly reduced by these new circumstances.
The majority of our time is spent on the homestead. Apprentice is home schooled, and we have no town-side jobs, so we only go into town about once a week.
There's a fair amount of risk involved with this lifestyle. The local fire department can't and won't come to our rescue should the cabin burn. Catastrophic illness would be just that. If we get injured, it's a long hike out for help. On the other hand, stress is largely removed from our lifestyle. As long as we focus on what we have rather than worrying about what we don't have, we are healthier. When we eat natural, unprocessed, homegrown foods, we are healthier. When we work and play as a family, and when those two concepts are intermingled, we are healthier. As we spend our days in activity and physical exertion, we are healthier. Also, we're surrounded by good hearted, educated, knowledgeable people. Our neighborhood is comprised of people we trust.
So, while wars rage and the economy tumbles, we all are living on the edge. Some of us, a little closer to it, may just have a better foothold.