It was cold last night. Not the sort of cold that can be combatted with layers, but the kind that makes its way through the tiny stitches in your clothing, underneath your skin, and deep into the marrow of your bones no matter how hard you try to keep it out; so cold that your eyelashes start to freeze. I’ve felt it before with wind chill but never with such deep stillness. The sound of winter here is so quiet, muffled by the snow, standing in sharp contrast to the summertime when the never-setting sun keeps the birds whistling until midnight and up again by three. The wind disappears too, for some meteorological reason that I have yet to understand. I am grateful though. I cannot imagine this cold with wind. -25 degrees; I wonder how different -40 degrees will feel. I awoke three times to throw wood on the fire, trying to keep the downstairs of the cabin above freezing. The thermometer read 38 degrees at 4:30am. It’s amazing how warm that can feel compared to the outside world. And yet, with the intense cold, comes intense beauty. The clearest nights are the coldest. Last night, a perfectly spliced moon shone through the window, wreathed with stars. Even the smoke of my breath floating in the air in front of me was beautiful. I chopped wood for an hour this morning, and it felt good. The heat of motion got my blood pumping, forced me to remove my heavy down jacket and Carhartt beanie. The swinging motion of an axe can be almost dancelike, as rhythmic as music. It struck me that I’ve had little opportunity in my life to spend time perfecting such physical activities, those traditionally masculine tasks that many women still stay away from despite the pervasiveness of modern feminist thought (although certainly not all women; I don’t mean to say that). I’ve stayed away from tools and machines and hard labor, often feeling inadequate and befuddled, like I have no natural inclination for those sorts of things. I used my first table saw the other day to cut boards for the new outhouse. It was easier than I imagined; my cuts were smooth, my measurements correct. It’s as if the mystique of these activities is finally beginning to fade; it is knowledge, practice, and a bit of intuition. Not as if I’m particularly domestic. Sewing, crafts, interior decorating, baking: I’m not naturally inclined towards those tasks either. If anything, I’ve taught myself, worked hard to perfect them. I’m still clumsy at sewing; I have no patience for it, no hand for art, at least in the visual sense. Yet there is a common thread that binds all of these tasks for me, that is making me more and more interested in understanding them, mastering them: the satisfaction of turning work into everyday usefulness. The dance that is starting the generator gives me power. The energy and time spent chopping wood gives me heat. The attention to detail and precision while baking gives me bread and pizza dough. The satisfaction imbedded in seeing the results of your energies and efforts; that’s what I am beginning to appreciate. So many mysteries of how the world works, how I push a button or turn a key or purchase a product without understanding the pathway between the action and the outcome, are shattering. It’s growth, and it’s making me look at every aspect of how we choose to lead our lives (to feed ourselves, keep ourselves warm, occupy our time) with a fresh perspective. My latest project, aside from writing and music making, has been to create a few sets of insulated curtains for the cabin. Remember how I’m miserable at sewing? One more challenge, I guess, just like overcoming my disdain for wintery dark and cold. I saw a pictograph once of how much heat we lose through our windows, hence heavy drapes in the drafty houses of times past. So I bought 6 yards of fabric and three wool blankets and set to work. I don’t have a sewing machine, so I hemmed the fabric by hand, which was quite time-consuming, and I would certainly recommend using a sewing machine when available. On the flip side, the hemming was quite meditative, like knitting can be. I’m going to attach a sort of recipe for their creation, for anyone who might be interested in conserving energy in their home. I also lined a few of the problem windows with plastic from a window insulation kit. All you need is a hair dryer, some scissors, a tape measurer, and the kit. It makes a huge difference too, creating a little vacuum between the glass and the plastic to trap cold air. Just little adjustments to can make a bigger difference than you might think. I know it sounds cheesy, but I think it’s true. Thanks again for listening. See the recipe below. Erin Insulated CurtainsIngredients
It helps to have extra sharp scissors. I used a nice, bright fabric that has some stretch to it, hoping to use the leftover fabric to make a dress or a skirt. I also bought these handy curtain rings and tacks with hooks attached on Amazon for less than $10:
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I received a mixed bag of responses when I began telling people that I wanted to stay in McCarthy through the winter, from words of encouragement and excitement to quizzical looks of confusion to warnings of the dreary gloom of Alaskan wintertime. Sometimes, I doubted the decision, especially when people looked at me like I might have a loose screw rattling around my head. The cold, the dark, the isolation, the lack of material comforts and modern conveniences: I often doubted my own strength when attempting to paint the picture of what my life might be like in the long months ahead. Then, I would have bouts of excitement when I would imagine the freedom to fill in the days as I pleased and the challenge of living a life of simplicity, a life without toaster ovens and toilets. More often than not, people would tilt their heads to the side, give me a long, hard look of distant confusion and genuine curiosity, and ask, “But, what will you do all the time?”—a question that had never before danced its way into my brain space. The first time I encountered it, I tilted my head in the same distantly confused manner and responded, “What do you mean, what will I do?” Too many unread books, too many unwritten words, too many subjects to be studied and skills to acquire—boredom has recently lost its place in my mental dictionary. The freedom to own my time and energy, to expend it in a productive, positive, and purposeful fashion, was one of the greatest attractions to my new life in the woods. I’m finding it to be true too; I have lists of projects and routines that I never have enough time to complete. This lifestyle is not only about eliminating material waste, but also the waste of moments and energy. I’m finding routine, self-discipline, and self-motivation essential elements of survival and happiness. Projects give purpose, and attitude is essential. I’m learning to appreciate what I have, rather than longing for the impossible, and to focus on accomplishments, rather than all of the unchecked items on my never-ending to do list. Also, I’m getting really good at splitting wood. My day often looks like this: I wake up with the sun, start the hot water for coffee, chop wood, start a fire, do the dishes (which is no small task without a sink or running water) and tidy the cabin, do forty minutes of yoga, make breakfast, clean myself, write, and begin my daily project. At the end of the day, I take a walk or cross country ski, make dinner, and read. This routine wavers, and some days are much more productive than others. The point is I’m happy and healthy and moving forward, even on the colder and grayer days of the week. I am challenging myself to fill my life with necessity (water, food, heat, creative energy, exercise) and to dispel excess waste (worry, stuff, boredom, materialism). Thank you for listening to my journey towards simplicity. Erin Welcome to my new blog, Life without Asphalt. I am spending a winter in McCarthy, Alaska, a remote town situated 60 miles from the nearest paved road. I'm living without a grocery store, running water, and indoor plumbing. No sweat for many, especially for the intelligent, resilient, and innovative folks that make their home in this tiny community. But for me, this lifestyle is new, exciting, and challenging.
I grew up in a small town in Missouri and have wandered my way through several countries and across the United States. Through careful thought and self-reflection, I realized that the standard image of life in small town America could never bring me the happiness and fulfillment that we all seek. Here I find myself much closer to my basic needs, with a concrete understanding of the cause and effect of my own consumption and footprint. This space will tell of my triumphs and challenges as I learn about life without asphalt and so many other things we've come to depend on in the households of America. I also want to share step-by-step instructions for recipes and preserving techniques, interior and exterior projects, and small manners of organizing and thriving in tiny spaces. Interwoven, you will find some of the stories and characteristics that dust the McCarthy community with a thin layer of magic. Maybe you don't have the time, resources, or flexibility (although it takes less than you may think) to move to the middle-of-nowhere and reach toward an older, more basic way of life. That's okay. Listen to my story to see what it's like, or borrow pieces of my projects and dialogue to integrate with your daily life, wherever you may find yourself. Thanks for listening. Erin |
Meet ErinJournalist, adventurer, writer, musician, dancer, linguist, and cook, ready to tell you about her ridiculous attempts to live in the Alaskan wilderness without running water and live beyond the woods Archives
April 2016
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