A “Tiny” Drool

I don’t remember his name. I do remember he was a professor at a college in Massachusetts and that he was looking for a slightly larger tiny house closer to his work. His current tiny house was approximately 124 square feet. That’s a bit too small for me; if I were to build a tiny house, it would be closer to 300 square feet. And the loft would be tall enough I could sit up straight without bumping my head. He couldn’t in his loft. I wasn’t drooling over his tiny house. I was drooling over what he’d built around it and the lifestyle he was leading with this first tiny house.

Nestled in the New Hampshire woods, this permaculture farm provided for all of his needs. He grew fruits and vegetables, raised chickens for eggs, and there were even a couple of pigs running around. Albeit, as a pescetarian, I would likely omit the pigs for anything other than pets but to each their own. I may not have a need to fill my freezer with ham or bacon but I can appreciate this low-impact lifestyle, this more sustainable and healthier way of living. As he was growing and raising his food, he knew exactly what was in it, how it was fed. That was worth the drool. He was entirely off the grid. That, too, was worth a drool. And what made me chuckle was the bowl bath he took outside each day. Now I have no aspirations to dance around sky-clad under a full moon or anything but, that he could get away with such, without being hauled into court somewhere for indecent exposure, is a measure of the freedom this man enjoyed. For someone who feels so totally oppressed living on a major interstate with the fish bowl effect, this was definitely something to drool over. I like my privacy. And this man had it in abundance.

Yeah. I am a bit of the hermit in the woods. Don’t get me wrong. I love people. But I also love my solitude. Quiet time for me is how I rejuvenate. Granted, my idea of “quiet” time typically involves the CD player cranking out some Within Temptation or Blackmore’s Night while I paint or draw–and I do plenty of that right here on Route 6. But I’m not surrounded by woods. I’m not walking out my door and hearing nothing but crickets chirping and bird song. I’ve got the perpetual hiss and rumble of traffic zooming by, the growl of a semi down-shifting as it passes through this little strip of residential properties. And, as I type this, I am realizing how much I’m growing to hate the noise most of all.

Yeah. I think that decision I lamented about a few posts’ back is already made. Yes, I can start with what I have right here. There’s land enough to grow fruits, vegetables and herbs, and I have done so in the past. This summer, we grew very little as I concentrated on building and outlining more raised beds. But it comes in fits and starts as I consider the filtering of carbon monoxide which undoubtedly contaminates everything I grow here. There’s also the continuous development of commercial land in this area. This strip of Route 6 is rapidly becoming a big box nightmare. So I procrastinate. I do so, too, because life here is still in financial limbo. I’ve been on mortgage assistance since 2013. While I am grateful that it saved my home and put me right-side up again on the mortgage payments, this is a loan. And it is a bit counter-intuitive in my quest for getting out of debt. But, without it, I’d likely lose even this noisy, little patch of land. So I take a step forward, then a couple backwards. A friend of mine called it projectoral thinking. It’s anticipation of the worst-case scenario. And, in doing so, I trigger the law of attraction and welcome in my worst nightmares–maybe. I’m also a cock-eyed optimist. But I can’t help wondering from time to time, if I throw all of my efforts into developing this property into the homestead of my dreams, that some hotshot developer is going to suddenly want to buy it for a strip mall. At this point in time, I’d likely let him. But, at present, I need to focus in on that decision and concentrate all of my energies on whatever path I eventually choose.

It’s time for a change. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find my own little woodsy oasis in the middle of nowhere where I can dance around naked under a full moon without scaring any neighbors–but only on Halloween.

May God bless you & keep you!

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