when i moved to this little island i was already forty and thought it an ideal occasion to approach my new life here as much as possible without assumptions. toward that end i determined not to do anything until i needed — truly needed and not just expected — whatever it was i was contemplating adding to my life. i lived with my mate for two years in a plastic a-frame that cost about thirty-six dollars, part of the time with a little orphan fawn named by us ralphie, who used to crave heat so badly that he would stand inches from the airtight and twice burst into flame, which was only fur and quickly extinguished with my hands to no ill effect for either of us. we planned a cabin and as was my emerging habit i made it as small as possible, which was the cause of some debate.
this project we began but had to discontinue to spend time in the city gathering up money to pay the mortgage and continue. when we finally moved back it wasnt long before we became two households. it was a large property and we both loved it and determined to be neighbors and friends. after she had finished a small house/studio with some help on a plateau below the top to the south, i moved into the tiny studio we had built for her work as a painter and converted it with a loft bed and tiny wraparound galley in a weekend. i began making trips with the wheelbarrow to the old plastic a-frame to bring over stuff, kitchen, lighting and such. after two trips i loaded up the wheelbarrow and moved it all back into the a-frame. from then on when i needed something i would go over and get it — a frying pan, for instance — and bring it back in my hands. so little by little i equipped the tiny studio with what i needed, but only what i needed.
this became a way of life. it was less difficult than one might imagine and it began to weave itself deeper into the fabric of my life as i saw how it pleased me. my burden remained light. i had time to consider the things i did, how i spent the time of my days, and ultimately the accumulated time of my life. i found certain modernities practical, like modern lighting and windpower and solar, and certain unnecessary. in the end, not to be too inhumanly consistent and logical, i kept on with my love of flying — but not my love of plumbing. it seemed uncivilized to defecate in my cabin and i retained my simple bucket composting outhouse permanently. i also found that going out to the water barrel and carrying in the water for the day kept me able to bend and lift and twist and balance — all useful skills. so though i had worked as a plumber and had got the pipe, i never plumbed the cabin and still to this day go out to fetch my water myself. i also found that dead and down wood on my acreage more than supplied my heating needs for close to free (the chainsaw cost almost nothing to run for a year) and again kept me strong and flexible and forced to go out during the winter no matter what the weather, for i never got wood ahead for more than a month, lest i become too sedentary in the wet winters. my cabin occupies a natural grass clearing — the whole south side of the island is largely open grassland — and for mowing i had the deer and feral goats who did a fine job for me and themselves, whether they thought of me or not.
in the end, fitting in to the island the way i had found it caused rather fundamental changes in the way i approached other situations. the list of things i needed for my happiness grew shorter as i grew happier and more grateful for any life, however plain, and the time i captured for my thoughts and works was more rewarding than the material things i was apparently lacking when compared to some others.
