of day and night.”
So first things first – although this isn’t exactly first – my name is Nathan William Whitmore. I got so busy writing that I forgot to mention who I am. Frankly, I don’t think it’s all that important. This is purely an account for my own records. I can look back fondly on these times, years or even decades from now (maybe even when I’m back at work again and longing for this magical freedom).
Hopefully, going back to work isn’t in my future – at least in my NEAR future. If I can make a go of this off-the-grid style living, I might be able to defer it indefinitely, but we’ll see. That’s kind of putting the cart before the horse. I have a long way to go to see just what it takes to live this sort of lifestyle.
I still have a million things to do. Trying to get into a flow with this journal keeping is one of them. It’s something I’ve never done before, and I’m still easing into the process. I want my journal to be kind of like Thoreau’s account in “Walden.” But I want it in my own style. I don’t want it so focused on the intricacies of my life and living here so much as I do on the enjoyment of the process and results. Still, I want to keep Thoreau here with me. He’ll serve not only as a guide on my journey, but as a friend, companion, and occasional narrator of his own thoughts and ideas regarding life and living off the societal grid. That’s why I’ll be re-reading the account of Thoreau’s days spent on Walden Pond while I’m writing an account of my own days spent on Lake Michigan.
I think that until I get things better organized around the old homestead, I’m going to limit my entries mostly to morning, lunchtime, and evening (once it gets dark). If I get a break somewhere in between or something incredible happens, I might jot a couple additional lines or brief observations.
So I actually arrived here at my little homestead on the 24th of August, but I’ve been so busy getting settled that I haven’t had much time to write. Even though I’m still busy, I’m finding myself easing into a routine. But there are still many things to be done before I can feel totally settled.
Today’s projects include:
Finish organizing/inventorying supplies (note any needs for next trip into town)
Patch gaps around two cabin windows with foam insulator
Start generator to ensure it works
Start boat’s outboard motor
Walk property to scout spots for collecting firewood
Bathe (It’s been two days and I STINK! – Thoreau bathed in the pond each morning, calling it “…a religious exercise, and one of the best things which I did.”)
The lake is cold as crap, but bathing there is certainly invigorating, and it definitely economizes time since there is no fiddling around (that’s for damn sure!).
I also have a list for my next trip into town:
Check P.O. box
Stop at hardware store (get caulk, mouse traps, more nails)
Stop at grocery store and get some ice cream – I’m dying for ice cream! Some things you just can’t ditch right away.
Okay, enough for now. I’ll try to write more around lunchtime.
1:32 p.m.
It’s a late lunch. I got busy with my projects and lost track of time. I’m having a ham sandwich on multi-grain bread, a dill pickle, grapes (that I picked wild from the vines on my property), and some salted cashews – delicious!
So as I mentioned earlier, I’m in northern Michigan on a three-acre plot of land I bought for $120,000 earlier this summer. I spent enough money that I got the place I wanted, but not so much that I had to dip into retirement savings to do so. I still want a financial reserve for the future should I get burned out on off-the-grid style living or get too old to do it anymore.
I quit my job in July, terminated the lease on my apartment, sold off as much of my unnecessary stuff as I could, traded in my SUV for an old pickup truck and $2,000 cash, loaded up the rest of my stuff in the back of said truck, and headed north to my new home.
I spent time on the internet researching my land purchase well in advance to actually pulling the trigger. I wanted a reasonably priced plot on the water that was big enough but not too big. And I wanted a pre-existing home of some sort. It didn’t have to be anything special mind you (the home that is), but at least something to work with.
After about a month of looking online, I found this place. I scheduled an appointment to see it and drove up on a Saturday for a showing. I put in an offer that same day. I just had a feeling that this was home. There was something about it. Maybe it was the view of the lake, the rustic cabin, the privacy the secluded forest provided, the lack of close neighbors, the 1,000 feet of rock-studded shoreline, or maybe even the distant lighthouse on the shoals of Lake Michigan about a mile off shore. Maybe it was all of those things. Whatever it was, the spot just hit me as right…somewhere I wanted to be.
My cabin is nothing fancy, but I kind of like it that way. Thoreau said, “Most of the luxuries, and many of the so called comforts of life, are not only indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind.”
I therefore have done my best (much of which was conducted during the downsizing process before I left my apartment) to rid myself of as many luxuries as possible. My good friend Henry David reminds me that, “Before we can adorn hour houses with beautiful objects the walls must be stripped, and our lives must be laid for a foundation: now, a taste for the beautiful is most cultivated out of doors, where there is no house and no housekeeper.”
This downsizing process called for a whole new outlook on life – deciding what was actually necessary versus what were things I had simply learned to live with over the years. Clothes were the first (and probably the easiest) items to start with. You just don’t realize how much clothing you actually accumulate until you’re forced to go through it and make decisions on what is necessary and what isn’t. I followed Thoreau’s words of wisdom on the topic, “As for Clothes, to come at once to the practical part of the equation, perhaps we are led oftener by the novelty, and a regard for the opinions of men, in procuring it, than by a true utility.”
I ended up getting rid of almost four full garbage bags of clothing (mostly dress attire – shirts, slacks, suits, ties, etc.), donating them to charity so that some other poor working schmuck could latch onto them. During my downsizing, I was reminded of Thoreau’s observation, “I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not a new wearer of clothes.”
I only kept the stuff that I knew would serve me well at my new homestead. I also bought a few warmer garments, knowing that they would come in handy during the long Northern Michigan winters. But other than those select few items, I endeavored to avoid new purchases of clothes and in turn transform myself into a new wearer of the clothing I already possessed.
Furniture was easy too. I called a company that accepts used items and had them haul out things like my sofa, several larger tables, a spare dresser (now that I was free from over half my clothing), and even my double bed. My cabin came furnished with almost everything I needed in the way of furniture (even a small single mattress on a nice wood frame), so I really haven’t had to buy anything extra in that regard.
Speaking of my cabin, I again did my best to adhere to more basic principles when making my selection. In the back of my mind, I could hear Thoreau, my ever-present companion, “And when the farmer has got his house, he may not be the richer but the poorer for it, and it be the house that has got him.”
This was a lesson well learned by many during the financial crisis of 2008-09. And I kept it in mind throughout my search. There was no way I was going to get stuck with a property for which the upkeep took so much of my time and money that it negated my whole reason for moving up here.
So my cabin is small, only about 600 square feet, but that’s just fine with me. Less space means less upkeep. Thoreau said, “Most men appear never to have considered what a house is, and are actually though needlessly poor all their lives because they think that they must have such a one as their neig
hbor have.”
The place does have electricity and running water from a well system. You enter into the living quarters that are complete with old cast-iron woodstove and a small kitchenette. In the back part of the cabin there is a small bedroom (with my single bed) and a bathroom with a stand-alone shower. When I bought the place, the realtor told me that I’d likely be moving the bed into the living space to be closer to the woodstove come winter.
The cabin is situated about 300 feet from the lake, and I have almost 1000 feet of shoreline to enjoy. My little plot of the world is large enough for privacy, target practice, cutting wood, and generally running around like a wild man, but not so large that I have to devote too much time to tending it. My situation is as close as I can come without making the leap to complete off-the-grid living. I’m trying to ease into things, not diving in headfirst without knowing how deep the pool is. I have electricity, but since there is no stove in my kitchenette, I have loaded up on propane tanks to be able to cook with a propane-fed cook stove. I also have a generator just in case, since I’ve heard that the power can go off for extended periods up here during the winter.
See? I’m not roughing it too much. Remember, I’m still a city boy just warming up to playing the role of off-gridder.
The other main things missing in my setup here are phone, cable, and internet services, and I mean to keep it that way. While it’s been tough initially, since I’ve become used to such amenities over the years, the habit of doing without them is starting to take. And I have to admit, I’m beginning to like being without their constant presence. I thought they were so helpful, and to a point, almost indispensable to my previous existence. But now I’m starting to realize that they were indeed hindrances. There’s no ringing phone to interrupt my solace. There are no incoming text messages or emails from work. There is no temptation to make frivolous internet searches or watch ridiculously time consuming and pointless internet videos. There is no pissing away countless hours binge-watching the latest and greatest television shows or movie franchise.
Regarding technology and communication, Thoreau writes:
As with our colleges, so with a hundred “modern improvements;” there is an illusion about them; there is not always a positive advance. The devil goes on exacting compound interest to the last for his early share and numerous succeeding investments in them. Our inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things. They are but improved means to an unimproved end, an end which it was already but too easy to arrive at; as railroads lead to Boston or New York. We are in great haste to construct a magnetic telegraph from Maine to Texas; but Maine and Texas, it may be, have nothing important to communicate. Either is in such a predicament as the man who was earnest to be introduced to a distinguished deaf woman, but when he was presented, and one end of her ear trumpet was put into his hand, had nothing to say. As if the main object were to talk fast and not to talk sensibly. We are eager to tunnel under the Atlantic and bring the old world some weeks nearer to the new; but perchance the first news that will leak through into the broad, flapping American ear will be that the Princess Adelaide has the whooping cough. After all, the man whose horse trots a mile in a minute does not carry the most important messages…”
When I read these words, the first thing I think of is the Internet. While it may have brought the world closer, has it actually made the world better?
Therefore, I’ve done my best to ensure that my life here on my little homestead is unburdened by such technology and that it proceeds (as best it can) in much the way life was meant to be lived…at least in MY opinion. If people need to reach me, they can do so the old fashioned way – US Postal Service. I’ll check my post office box whenever I’m in town.
When I take my breaks to eat or just to rest, and when I’m not writing in my own journal, I often read a few of Thoreau’s pages. His words are so calming, so sensible, and they assure me that I’m not alone in my endeavor to simplify my life. It’s also incredible just how much, but at the same time, how little things have changed in our country since nearly two hundred years ago. Sure, technology is vastly different, but I feel that many of Thoreau’s observations regarding society and societal behavior are very much similar to today. The same overarching human behaviors he took issue with back then are the same types of things I see today.
But while Thoreau and his intellectual ramblings will accompany me on my journey, this is MY story. I want to document my time here and maybe write a real book about my experiences one day based on my journal entries and observations (kind of like Thoreau did).
Okay, enough for now. It’s inventory time. I’ve been putting off the inevitable long enough.
6:42 p.m.
I’m sitting outside on a large tree stump that faces toward the lake as I eat my dinner. Tonight is baked beans, some grilled chicken, fresh picked grapes, and a dill pickle.
On nights like this (it’s beautiful – mid-60s, clear, a soft breeze), I like to cook outside over an open fire. I’ve made myself a nice rock-ringed fire pit facing the lake. I have set it up so that there are several flat-topped rocks that create an elevated space near the center of the pit where I can lay a grill rack on which to cook. Then I can sit outside, have a beer or a glass of wine, enjoy nature, and then prepare and eat my meals. It’s soooo awesome – so much better than cooking in my old apartment.
It’s wonderful being able to eat, read, write or just watch the sun set outdoors. I know I haven’t been here long, but I’m really falling in love with this place.
I already read a few pages from “Walden” this evening. I often find that it motivates me to write in my own journal.
Tonight’s passages revolved around Thoreau’s thoughts on economy, and in particular, the subject of food. How fitting since today was inventory day. Thoreau provided a brief anecdote that I found amusing:
“One farmer says to me, “You cannot live on vegetable food solely, for it furnishes nothing to make bones with;” and so he religiously devotes a part of his day to supplying his system with the raw material of bones; walking all the while he talks behind his oxen, which, with vegetable made bones, jerk him and his lumbering plough along in spite of every obstacle. Some things are really necessaries of life in some circles, the most helpless and diseased, which in other are luxuries merely, and in other still are entirely unknown.”
Sorry Henry, while I agree with what you wrote, and I understand the point you’re making, I’m still a meat man; and I will continue to be. There are some things I’m just not willing to forgo in my off-grid experience.
So how did inventory go today? Pretty well. I’m glad to be done with it. The following inserted page lists the majority of my food stocks on hand.
INSERTED INVENTORY PAGE
30 lbs rice (assortment of white, jasmine, and basmati)
10 lbs oatmeal
30 lbs dried beans (assorted kidney, lima, black, etc.)
5 lbs grits/creamed wheat
20 lbs assorted jerky
5 lbs salt
10 lbs sugar
10 lbs butter
30 lbs flour
30 lbs assorted pasta
10 jars red pasta sauce
10 jars alfredo sauce
108 cans/jars assorted veggies
62 cans/jars assorted fruits
12 (1-1.5 lb) containers dry cereal
10 lbs powdered milk
10 lbs peanut butter
10 boxes salted crackers
2 huge jars of dill pickles
Litany of yeast, baking powder, baking soda, herbs, seasonings, and assorted other baking materials (mostly that I brought from my apartment on the move up here)
And there is of course the odd assortment of chips and snack foods that I haven’t had the will power to do without just yet. Maybe one day, but not yet.
Other than the butter supply on my inventory list, I’m not going to go through all the contents of my fridge in detail. I have plenty of milk,
fresh fruit and veggies, eggs, cheeses, and meats (chicken, steak, burgers, fish, hot dogs, pork chops) stashed in both the freezer and fridge. I also have plenty of bread for sandwiches.
When I compare my list to Thoreau’s, I feel somewhat guilty. But when Thoreau listed out his own inventory and what he spent on it (rice, molasses, rye meal, Indian meal, pork, flour, sugar, lard, apples, dried apple, sweet potatoes, one pumpkin, one watermelon, salt), I find that he had similar sentiments. I quote his concern, “Yes, I did eat $8.74, all told; but I should not thus unblushingly publish my guilt, if I did not know that most of my readers were equally guilty with myself, and that their deeds would look no better in print.”
I plan to keep my supplies at these levels to sustain me through at least several months of harsh winter. That way, if I get snowed in here, I won’t starve. Unlike the Donner Party, I don’t have any companions to eat in case of emergency (just kidding, poor souls that they were).
I also have several cases of beer, a case of red wine, a case of white wine, and several bottles of vodka and whiskey (the true staples of existence).
There’s a little shed behind my cabin in which I store things like bleach and other cleaning supplies, a 12-pack of personal water purification devices (in case of frozen pipes or loss of electricity for the well pump and I have to survive on lake water), and extra gasoline for my small generator.
While I feel well supplied, I don’t have to go overboard with my food stocks since I still have access to the local grocery store. I’m hoping however that my trips into town eventually become only once a month or so.
The Dystopian Diaries Page 44
