I TOTALLY GET THAT THIS IS NOT THE KIND OF LIFE that every woman dreams of. But I tell you, it works for me. I’m married to a man who shares my values and loves this place even more than I do. He brings with him the whole history of his family and the dreams that led them here nearly eighty years ago. I love the peace and quiet and the feeling of being surrounded by green, living, growing things. I also love the feeling of history here, of a time before these gorgeous trees were so large, before David’s grandmother planted the old apple trees and the black walnut tree and the daffodils and lilac bushes that continue to burst into exuberant bloom every spring.
I often think about the time and skill and effort and love that David’s grandfather put into building this solid, roomy, comfortable house. I wonder if Grandpa Moniz ever imagined one of his descendants living here one day, enjoying the same view of Blue Mountain when the first rays of morning sunlight warm its snowy face; the flock of red-winged blackbirds in the big cottonwood tree east of the bog, singing their little hearts out in the early-spring fog; the Great Blue Heron standing patiently, completely still, in the shallows of the pond, waiting for an unwary fish or frog to stray within reach of its enormous bill.
It might seem a stretch to say I think our birds love us, but I do believe they have had a happy life here. We have experienced so many moments of laughter and wonder and joy in the course of caring for these beautiful birds. Sure, we’ve made plenty of mistakes, and it seems that we will never run out of new things to learn as we strive to deepen our understanding of the environment here, our role as stewards of the land and our animals and our responsibility to share what we have learned.
I love the way our heritage birds happily forage a good share of their food. They are excellent mothers and do a great job of hatching and raising their chicks so we don’t have to buy new ones every year. They turn our compost, fertilize our gardens, gobble up weed seeds, slugs and bugs. They amuse us, amaze us, teach us and entertain us. They love the space, the pasture, the fresh air, spring water and organic grain. They reward us for our attentions with consistently beautiful, delicious, nutritious eggs, plentiful enough to share among our families and in our community.
These birds have contributed much more to our lives than just eggs, though. They’ve given us a new sense of purpose, not just in terms of our farm, but in the greater context of the community and the relationships that have grown out of our decision to raise heritage poultry.
In addition to not having cable TV and high-speed Internet, we have no cell phone reception here at the farm. When someone stays overnight for the first time, it’s not unusual for them to be a little anxious. I think they probably are anticipating that it will be perhaps a bit on the primitive side. I don’t blame them; before coming here, I really had no idea what being off the grid meant. And living here full-time is very different from coming up from the city for a night or two. The only real adjustment I remember having to make was getting out of the habit of reaching for a light switch whenever I came into a room.
When people plan to visit, we frequently have to assure them that they don’t need to bring a sleeping bag, potable water or food. Just as frequently, our guests are pleasantly surprised at how comfortable they are here. I’m pretty sure they don’t just mean the accommodations and food. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear I can see in their faces that the reality of being unplugged actually has nothing to do with deprivation. One old friend of mine, after spending the weekend here with his partner, called me to say that the two of them had reconnected while they were here. Apparently when at home, they typically spent lots of time watching television; since that wasn’t an option here, they took walks in the woods together and long naps in the afternoons. We shared meals and after-dinner drinks by the fire. They helped me in the garden and loved picking up the eggs.
Contrary to what people often think, we did not deliberately seek out an off-grid home. It just so happens that the home that we live in is off the grid. We’re so fortunate that we both have the temperament and the skills and abilities that fit so comfortably with being unplugged, not just on the occasional weekend, but every single day. I honestly don’t miss anything about living in the city. I have family there, so I do visit. City life is just the thing for many people, and I think it’s great that it works for them. And although I lived in Seattle all my life until moving to the farm, this is where I belong. I finally have that peaceful feeling of having put down my roots.
As I type this, I am looking out the north-facing kitchen window. A New Hampshire hen appears in the doorway of one of the coops, loudly and proudly announcing her accomplishment: another fresh egg huddles warmly in the nest box. A rooster and two hens are industriously scratching and pecking near the duck coops. Four Indian Runner ducks and a Khaki Campbell are happily dabbling in the muddy puddles left over from yesterday afternoon’s rain. Another rooster is crowing, out of sight somewhere on the other side of the house. David has managed to sneak in time for a nap.
It’s a good life, being unplugged. Our pantry is full; the wood stoves are burning merrily. My cat Cosmo is sacked out blissfully on his bed behind the living room wood stove. There is no through traffic anywhere near us, and everywhere we look there are trees. The pussy willows are out early this year. Our ponds are home to fish and frogs, lots of wild birds and the occasional river otter. We have a shooting range; I enjoy both shooting and archery. David and I both love to cook, and I make beer and wine and champagne. Yes, we’re busy, but I find plenty of time to do the things I love, like relaxing in my chair by the wood stove with a good book every night.
All this, without any of that annoying 60-cycle electrical hum.