In a anachronistic turn of events, we found ourselves in a competitive bidding situation for Bear Creek. In a way, it felt like we'd time-traveled to 2002 -- we were lifting contingencies, scrambling for loan approval notes, and writing heartfelt letters about why the place meant so much to us. It was a torturous couple of weeks until we woke to a text message from our agent: "YOU GOT IT!"
This is the thing about contemplating a move to the country: you arrogantly think, "well, people have done this for centuries; how hard can it be?" But we city folk have mostly lost the experiential DNA for this. We join "boot camps" to mimic chopping wood and hauling mulch. We buy little packs of firestarters to get our campfires going. We rely on our tax dollars to ensure access to clean water. And we expect that an ambulance will be there within a few minutes if something really bad happens.
That's not how it is here. Sure, you build a community to learn from, you volunteer with the fire department, you make sure people know you're around. But homesteading -- and this is what we're doing -- is a steep education in depending on yourself. Your body learns to move in ways it never has before while trying really hard not to get injured. Your brain is cataloging plants and animal poop and bugs and what type of wood burns hottest or fastest or longest. And tied up in all of that is an intrinsic redefinition of how you see yourself and the world around you.
It's intense and wonderful and incredibly hard. I can't wait to see what else is coming.
*Answer: right outside the front door, dummies. Chainsaw + Axe + Woods = Nearly limitless heating fuel.