On Hermitage

As the videos on my VLOG come out about my transformation there are some things to cover.

I have not always been clueless about beauty routines and polished speaking performance. Those skills are way back in the old pool—the archive, so to speak. They are perishable skills, however, and I’m a long way gone from having those memories or practices handy. This remodel will hopefully pull some of those old skillsets to the foreground so I can remember how to use them. Something as simple as being able to twist the curling iron the correct direction while looking in a mirror—who knew that was a perishable skill? Or speak at a podium without chewing my lipstick off.

The fun fact about hermitage is that you get all the focus time you want and need. My time in the wild has done exactly what I needed it to—anchored, re-wired, gave me inspiration, peace, and tremendous amounts of personal joy and fulfillment. In doing all that, I also dropped skillsets, habits, and practices that would have kept me in an old frame of mind. I needed a new, fresh, unencumbered way to think and write.

To that end, I really stopped paying any attention to my face or body. I made minimalism look extravagant. Living fully in the riotous joy of spirit and creativity meant, not caring a fig what I looked like while doing so.

Coming back to the real world is heart-wrenching, scary and exciting all at the same time. I did my first video and got the first real look at myself on camera after a three-year hiatus from care. Wow. I look like I’ve been living with wolves, really chubby wolves. Chubby wolves with no concept of moisturizer.

On the bright side, I’m in such rough shape it should be easy to see progress fairly quickly, so, small blessings. I know, appearance is such a shallow metric—I don’t disagree. But bringing forth the interior lightning to wear on my external persona will, I think, add a whole new level of maturation to my evolving human story. So, I’m looking forward to what the end result will be.

There used to be a time in my life when I was comfortable in a slinky red evening gown at a black-tie dinner on a Friday night, then camping in my Sorrels and the mud on a Saturday night. I didn’t struggle switching back and forth. Then I mostly fell into the camping in the mud and it’s been three years. I’m not sure I’d even remember which fork to use at a fancy dinner.

October 2020 will reveal the transition from inner to outer—and I’ll go from there.

The questions I’ve been getting are inevitably around my hermitage. Sequester was a choice. I have made efforts to actively participate in human interactions at least three times a week. Part of that was to ensure I wouldn’t isolate to detriment. I can easily lock into my imagination and forget to come up for air.

These are the most common questions about my situation.

“Don’t you get lonely?”
Not really. I have a fabulous extended community to reach out to when I need connection. I have a house full of animals, and a forest full of creatures. I also have a brain packed with twelve books worth of imaginary characters who visit frequently. Right, Liam?

On the rare occasion that I do get lonely—rarely. I make a call to catch up with a friend, or go into town.

“Don’t you need internet or cell phone service?”
Yes, and no. I need internet to put my work on line, and manage my communications—but I drive to town to handle that. I need internet on a functional level—but I don’t need the internet to feel connected. I certainly don’t need the time sink that is sitting for hours on end surfing aimlessly at filler videos when I should be getting chapters written.

Do I miss aimless surfing? Hell yes. But giving up internet access in home has allowed me to write four new books. I miss streaming services for television and movies, that I truly miss.

No cell service is a bummer for sure, especially in the world of texting and snapchat when I want to touch bases with people I love. But a landline works, and gets the connection job done.

“How do you live without electricity?”
I have electricity. I have all modern amenities minus cell phone signal and internet. Oh, and cable. And before anyone asks, yes I also have running water and flushing toilets.

“How do you date or meet people if you live that far out?”
I don’t date, but not because of distance. That’s a whole other post for another time, but part of it does tie into the very nifty filter of not having cell phone service. On the bright side, lack of cell access very quickly weeds out the non-contenders. It’s brilliant. Had I known the “I only know how to have a relationship by text” guys would be so easily deterred—I’d have dropped cell service even when I lived in the city. It’s been a huge relief not to have to deal with those fellas.

Still, lack of services and my distance are not actually what keep me from the dating pool. I’ll have to be well into my third glass of wine to have that conversation, though.

“What kind of wildlife do you have?”
I have a herd of elk that pass through the yard regularly. A racoon. Several obnoxious blue jays, hundreds of birds, including a large heron, and an eagle. There are trout and salmon in the creek, coyotes in the den up the ridge, a black bear down the road, and I’ve seen several wolves and a cougar as well.

This area also has beaver, pack rats, rabbits, deer, all sorts of squirrels and mice and gophers. There are nutria, mink, great Pacific Northwest lizards, garden snakes, newts/salamanders, and dozens of types of spiders and crawly critters.

“Would you ever live in the city again?”
Good question. I won’t say never. The beauty of being a writer is that I can do it anywhere. I choose to work out here because it’s peaceful and has minimal interruptions.

My options are always open. I don’t think I’ll ever willingly give this place up, that’s for sure. Even if I split time in a city—this will always be my sanctuary and retreat. It’s haven.

 “What is your next big project at The Elder Glade?”
Putting in the new chicken coop and the bridge across the creek. Those are my big projects for the homestead this year. I may only get one or the other this spring and summer—but we’ll see.

After that it will be leveling land and planting the orchard. I’m really looking forward to the day I can pick my own peaches and eat them on the deck overlooking the water.

“What’s the hardest part of living out in the woods?”
There are constant new sets of challenges. Keeping the house and animals safe. Navigating Mother Nature’s curve balls (land slides on the road, storms ripping trees down onto the power line, critters causing structural damage, and so on).

Aside from the Mother Nature challenges, I think convenience of access to amenities has been the toughest. Being an hour from anything means you have to do all your big shopping in one trip. If I forget something, say, dishwasher soap. Then I get all the way home and realize it’s a two-hour round trip to go get it. So I try to keep a fully stocked supply cabinet. If I forget dishwasher soap, I throw together a powder mix of baking soda, and Borax to hold me over until my next trip to town. Worst case scenario, I run back to town…like if I forgot the limes for a margarita. That’s worth running back to town for, right?