Endless Upswells
service berries
To live off-grid and without running water in the woods means to become acquainted with seasonal shiftings, variances of weather, the ebb & flow of the natural landscape, and changing patterns of the local wildlife. And, as it is with most other lifestyles of living, it involves moments of delight, and moments of challenge.
It’s 6:30pm on Wednesday July 12 as I type this post. I’m sitting outside on our work-in-progress front deck, as the sun ducks behind the trees to the west. This time of year, I know this time of day is when our homestead here at Empty Mountain cools down, and I can sit out front with ease and delight amid the shade. It’s also the time of year when the flies are out in droves. Translation: I sometimes have a limited tolerance level of how long I feel like sitting outside to type, accompanied by the flies whipping and buzzing around me. But I’ll make a point to last as long as I can.
To sit outside, enjoying the ending of another summer day, the pines & firs ripe with green, is a splendor I hope not to take for granted. Mike is wrapping up a roofing job at the end of this week. He will then return back to full-time building here at EM. Our plan this build season is to finish up work on our cabin.
Summer is short here in our neck of the woods. In a month or so from now, we’ll start to notice the waning of light, which for us will also result in a reduction of sun power we can draw in through our PV panels, to store in our batteries & generate electricity.
It was less than a month ago that we were able to stop lighting fires in the woodstove in the mornings. And chances are, we’ll resume this time-honored tradition before the start of September. Every new season brings a new set of variables, especially when so much of your way of life depends on use of & access to the outdoors.
There are bugs to cohabitate with and elements to sometimes contend with when washing the dishes in the outdoor sink or walking to the outhouse. There’s the dry dusty dirt and the sweat of summer heat; the mud and rain of spring. And there are endless upswells to living how & where we do. The interplay of light & shadow in the trees; the quietude of the forest; the incredible stillness of night. The rising of the moon and setting of the sun. The birdsong and flowers and raw, undulating earth underfoot. And did I mention the quiet? (It was worth saying it twice.)
This is me, slowly becoming my own version of a woodswoman, grateful for the chance to commune in such close proximity with nature’s steadfast beauty.
