Back on the Grid

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.

Rain & "Two Weeks" (#10)

If you leave a bulldozer on my land, I get to play with it. Only seems fair.

I came home the other night (and the camp now feels as much like "home" as anywhere else), to find a bulldozer sitting on my front yard.

Progress! Site work was slated to begin the next day.

But after perfect weather for a week -- 72 and sunny, breezy, perfect weather for either working outside or sitting at Two Goats drinking beers -- it started to rain. And of course, it started to rain on the day excavation work was supposed to begin.

I write about energy infrastructure all the time, and delays and cost-overruns are more the norm than the exception. So I suppose there's no reason to think my own project, with its minor set of permits and contractors and budget, would be any different. But the weather is set to clear up in a few days, and site work should be done by the end of the week.

That said, if you've never seen The Money Pit ...

So yeah, two weeks ... Who knows. I'm trying to schedule delivery of the cabin as soon as possible. Woodtex came out and looked at the site and said everything looked pretty straightforward, so here's hoping. ...

My neighbor walked over last weekend. "You put your mailbox on the wrong side of the street," he said. I asked him how he knew, and he said "because I deliver the mail." Fair enough.