Built in 1832, it came with all kinds of wonderful surprises including a family of groundhogs living under the porch.
After five years of living in a tiny, off-grid cabin in the woods, I have recently made a major move and purchased a 200 year-old farmhouse just outside the village of Trumansburg, N.Y.
Of course, this is incredibly exciting—moving from a one-room cabin into what feels like a palace: with bedrooms and bathrooms and barns and a tiny pond. It is also somewhat daunting: so much to take care of, in a completely different environment.
The move is so distinct, perhaps even so jarring, that it begs the question: What is going on here?
I spent five years living in this tiny cabin, cooking outside and living under the trees. Amazing—but what did I learn?
When I moved to the Finger Lakes in 2015 there were lots of reasons and factors at play. I was looking for a new home, a new adventure, some stability and direction. I was also trying to learn more about myself—what I wanted and valued and needed. Buying the land, putting the cabin together; it was a piecemeal approach, a slow searching.
What did I find?
I spent five years essentially camping. And I learned that I can feel safe, secure and happy, with very little. By focusing on process, daily life, details and small things, I learned that much of what I thought was necessary for a fulfilling and healthy life was in fact other peoples’ ideas and opinion.
I also learned that I want more—to build something bigger; to be supported by more infrastructure; to be in closer contact with community; to have more I can offer to others.
The new house represents a major life shift. It is such a stark change that it seems impossible not to represent a new direction. Towards what? I have hunches and ideas, but I think time will be necessary to distill the right course.
And it will probably take years to truly understand all I learned by living in that tiny cabin.
In the meantime, I am enjoying this new way of living. I have been here one month, now. I cook in larger batches and smell less of the woods. I appreciate simple joys like running water, and revel in how easy it is to consume when backed by grid-supplied electricity.
I still have not cut the grass.
