Maybe I had become a little fed up with paying the coffer-busting Burlington rent. Maybe I was inspired by the tiny house movement and people who were setting an intention to live with less. Certainly I had always dreamed about a little cabin in the woods to call my own. Really, the thought of having a 'project' gives me a warm nauseous glow in the bottom of my gut that I associate with excitement. The Fleetwood didn't really care about my reasons. It just sat there with all its frilly curtains and stinking water tanks and linoleum.
So I tore up to Burlington to finish my schooling. Tearing up isn't at all accurate, when the rig led by my Ford Ranger takes hills at a blistering 45 clicks and the brakes squeal to a halt going down the Burlington hill. Still it moves, and that's something. I thought about the Tropical Storm which had destroyed so many homes in Vermont the day before and couldn't help but think there might really be something to having a house on wheels.
I posted up at a park with the Quebecois campers by Lake Champlain. When I went down to the lake to bathe I saw that the party wagon had already unloaded all it's passengers at the beach. I ran into my old neighbor from the dorms and of course the conversation goes to where we're living. I tell the truth. "Right here at the park for now." He looks incredulous or at least amused.
For a while I lived in a friends driveway on a busy street in the bad part of town. She was nice enough to let me use her shower and bathroom. But eventually I felt like my valuables weren't entirely safe behind the small lock.
Eventually I found the spot out 15 miles north of town. Found that a guy I knew as a former student in a class I TA'ed would let me set up shop on his land. It took me out of things a little bit but then I had the little house on the prairie. No running water. No hookups or facilities. The camper just sitting proudly with its electric umbilical cord. All-in-all it worked well. Went to classes and surfed on couches and generally did a lot of running back and forth. Sometimes though I would just ride my bike back to the camper and find something golden there: solitude. Now although I left to get a room in town for a semester, I am back and remembering what peace of mind this lifestyle can afford.
There is a certain type of joy known only to those who create things. The satisfaction of making lies less in the outcome than the process. Not to say there isn't a certain joy from cutting angles and seeing them come together just right, or the pleasure you get from sinking a single screw. But look at the longer timeline and it becomes really apparent why work is so important to happiness. Some intrepid rodent experimenters once raised a beaver completely in captivity. Eventually when it came of age they put some sticks in the room and played a cassette tape with the sound of water rushing. Even with no experience of rivers or trees it instinctively started to stack. Damn, man, beavers dam.
People design. It's really what we're good at. We're like beavers, constantly changing the environment to work for us. Even agriculture is more or less about keeping the bugs and disease and other plants out and the nutrients in. It's just another design. Design is the process that connects means and ends. We want to bypass the unnecessary process of getting up to turn on the lights (ends) so we make the clap-on-clap-off the clapper (means). This is the dynamic of how we live in the world. Evidence is everywhere. People need to work and do to satisfy that desire for making. And its really a joyful, useful thing..
So I tore up to Burlington to finish my schooling. Tearing up isn't at all accurate, when the rig led by my Ford Ranger takes hills at a blistering 45 clicks and the brakes squeal to a halt going down the Burlington hill. Still it moves, and that's something. I thought about the Tropical Storm which had destroyed so many homes in Vermont the day before and couldn't help but think there might really be something to having a house on wheels.
I posted up at a park with the Quebecois campers by Lake Champlain. When I went down to the lake to bathe I saw that the party wagon had already unloaded all it's passengers at the beach. I ran into my old neighbor from the dorms and of course the conversation goes to where we're living. I tell the truth. "Right here at the park for now." He looks incredulous or at least amused.
For a while I lived in a friends driveway on a busy street in the bad part of town. She was nice enough to let me use her shower and bathroom. But eventually I felt like my valuables weren't entirely safe behind the small lock.
Eventually I found the spot out 15 miles north of town. Found that a guy I knew as a former student in a class I TA'ed would let me set up shop on his land. It took me out of things a little bit but then I had the little house on the prairie. No running water. No hookups or facilities. The camper just sitting proudly with its electric umbilical cord. All-in-all it worked well. Went to classes and surfed on couches and generally did a lot of running back and forth. Sometimes though I would just ride my bike back to the camper and find something golden there: solitude. Now although I left to get a room in town for a semester, I am back and remembering what peace of mind this lifestyle can afford.
There is a certain type of joy known only to those who create things. The satisfaction of making lies less in the outcome than the process. Not to say there isn't a certain joy from cutting angles and seeing them come together just right, or the pleasure you get from sinking a single screw. But look at the longer timeline and it becomes really apparent why work is so important to happiness. Some intrepid rodent experimenters once raised a beaver completely in captivity. Eventually when it came of age they put some sticks in the room and played a cassette tape with the sound of water rushing. Even with no experience of rivers or trees it instinctively started to stack. Damn, man, beavers dam.
People design. It's really what we're good at. We're like beavers, constantly changing the environment to work for us. Even agriculture is more or less about keeping the bugs and disease and other plants out and the nutrients in. It's just another design. Design is the process that connects means and ends. We want to bypass the unnecessary process of getting up to turn on the lights (ends) so we make the clap-on-clap-off the clapper (means). This is the dynamic of how we live in the world. Evidence is everywhere. People need to work and do to satisfy that desire for making. And its really a joyful, useful thing..
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