off the grid
my parents live in a valley at the base of the Coastal mountain range in Oregon. they live more or less off the grid, though as they get older, they have started to incorporate more of the modern conveniences of urban life. the router i’m using to connect to my blog site, for example, is running off a car battery.
they built this house themselves, aided by 5 or 6 friends and many cases of beer. i was a little ragamuffin during summers spent out here, running around in shorts and rain boots, rocking hair that hadn’t been combed in days, playing with newts, getting muddy, skinnydipping, and getting got by the occasional stinging nettle.
this is what a stinging nettle looks like. you've been warned.
we have rituals here that i would never honor in Portland. there is always a pot of coffee on the stove. there is always a box of chocolates on the counter. after breakfast, Dad takes a nap.
i ate all of the dark chocolates. get your own, slowpoke.
three pots of coffee later, my eye only twitches a little.
my experience of this place has changed as i’ve gotten older. it’s not a place to explore, anymore, though i’m sure there’s plenty to the property that i haven’t seen. it’s more of a place to retreat to.
i spend my whole life in a cacophony of urban noise. i’m not talking about the, you know, buses and freeway noise and radios and stuff. i’m talking about the electric HUM of a city. you know how when the power goes out, everything is silent? that’s how it is out here…ALL THE TIME. you walk outside, and it’s wind, water and birds. you can hear an approaching car from a mile away, and it’s a big deal. everyone cranes to see the road from the porch, to see if it’s a neighbor (awesome!) or a hunter (not awesome). right now, the wood stove and i are in a tie for the loudest thing in the house.
quiet times with the pinging of the wood stove
i listen differently out here. i think differently out here. i mull. i think about the world an inch at a time.
spots
my dad had a significant health scare last year, culminating in an emergency room trip in October. we were under the impression that it would be a miracle if he was around for Thanksgiving. but the miracle of modern health care has prevailed, and he’s doing better than i’ve seen him do in years. still, i watch him sleep. i watch his chest to make sure he’s still breathing. and i have the silence and the space to ruminate about what life will be like without him.
i’ve come to the conclusion that life will be much worse.
watching dad sleep
