We moved the trailer up to our clearing, next to the construction site, so we can finally say: “We live here.”
Elias and I have spent our mornings clipping branches, breaking old rotted Alders and pulling small dead Spruce right out of the ground. Olive heads off to day camp on the weekdays, with her purple backpack loaded with layers and snacks.
In the evenings we cook meals outside on our camp stove, small grill, or the small fire pit we built with rocks dug up along with topsoil, roots, and dirt for the foundation of our house. The trailer, even on dry days, retains moisture and feels a bit like a cold steam bath so we spend most of our time outside. And yet, the heater works, and so does the water pump, there is a small table in the trailer that our family fits around, and our beds hold our tired bodies at night so we all sleep soundly.
Elias sleeps later in the trailer then he has anywhere else; it could be a hormonal shift that just happened to coincide with the move, or all that fresh air, but he slept till 10:00 the other morning for the first time in years. And though he still seems more melancholy as of late, I need to give the kid credit for adapting once again to another change—maybe he still won’t wear his new shoes, but he’s climbing into a small bunk each night as his sister steps on his mattress to boost herself up to the top one. He’s learning to conserve power, and not turning on every light in the place as he prefers—even with the sunsetting close to midnight.
We are off the grid up here, relying on battery power at the moment, and soon a generator and eventually solar panels, with a lot to figure out between now and then.
“But Mom, its not very sunny,” Olive interrupted Nick and I as we talked about the quote he received on a solar package. “What we need are rain panels.”
Wouldn't that be nice. We may end up collecting rain water to filter for the house if a well doesn't pan out. We live on the side of a mountain and at fifty dollars a foot we can’t drill indefinitely.
All the unknowns and decisions to make leave us spinning at times, especially Nick, who knows a hell of a lot more about home construction than I do, which means he knows what to worry about. His brain ponders different types of insulation while I retreat to my perennial garden, pulling the chickweed that came with my plants dug up from Anchorage and trucked down here to Lowell Point.
“Have you been gardening?” the produce guy at the grocery store asked me yesterday and I realized he knew by the state of my fingernails when he told me his mother’s trick of scratching a wet bar of soap before planting or weeding to block dirt from getting behind them.
I didn’t tell him that showers are scarce, or that even when I borrow a bathroom to clean my body I often put on my same pair of dirty Carhartts afterwards knowing I’ll just get dirty again.
I wonder if I’ll ever even want to open my bins of dressier clothes, packed away indefinitely. I look in mirrors less often and think far less about how I look. With no TV for a year now, my mind is less flooded by images of desire or despair—I can still lose myself on line, on my phone, scrolling FB or the news but I find since moving from the cabin to the trailer where we don’t have internet, I am less inclined to sit before a screen for hours, especially when the sky clears and the resident eagles call to each other from their perches in the old growth Hemlock trees.
Or when they glide on the currents of the wind slowly circling high above our home like messengers from heaven itself.
“Mom is love god?” Olive asked me the other day as we drove towards town.
“Explain your question to me sweetie.”
“Is love god?” she repeated.
I paused and looked out towards the bay before responding: “I think god is love.”
And I think both live here with us in these woods, on this adventure of building a home off the grid with a family that doesn't quite fit the norm.
Nothing about this life of ours is easy, but when Nick called this morning to say: “I just wanted to call to say happy anniversary,” and I realized I hadn't looked at a calendar for days, hadn't held the date in my head, on the outer layer of my heart...
...I responded: “You know I’d say yes all over again.”
And before we hung up we both agreed to add a bottle of wine—as opposed to our regular box wine— to our cook out tonight.
And that we both love this beautiful hard atypical life of ours.
A wonderful post, Christy! I hope that the construction proceeds apace as you create a beautiful and loving home.
Posted by: Ted Heavenrich | 06/14/2017 at 01:48 PM
Less artificial lighting/stimulation/electronics = Elias' best friend ... you have stumbled upon a little known secret ... walking barefoot will also keep him grounded, literally ... but you already knew that :-) <3
Posted by: Colby S. | 06/14/2017 at 05:57 PM
The house is gorgeous!
(long time follower)
Posted by: Nancy | 06/14/2017 at 08:00 PM
happy happy anniversary my dear friend, from someone who loves you very much! xo
Posted by: ebeth | 06/15/2017 at 12:34 PM
So glad to hear this dream is falling into place. House looks great and the setting is spectacular.
Posted by: Kate | 06/16/2017 at 07:17 PM
I love hearing from all of you and apologize for my delayed replies as internet access is more infrequent these days. I look forward to the day we can invite guests to come stay in our home:)
Posted by: Christy | 06/21/2017 at 09:00 AM