In the past episode below, I gave the main reason for retreating to the woods – it was growing dissatisfaction with urban life. This is about our ‘making the change.’
When we arrived on site in May of 2004, we set up a temporary home in our previously constructed boatshed. The boatshed is 12 x 16 and sports a generous shelf-cum-overhang at one end. This was our sleeping loft. I remember distinctly that first night:
Sally had arrived from the city in a cute, matching two-piece skirt and jacket direct from her last day at work. Given that it is an eight hour run, she didn’t get to the end of the road on the nearest island until about midnight. I was picking her up four miles down channel in our 13 foot inflatable boat. The plan was a good one except for the weather factor. It was a howling gale.
Of course, being A-type personalities and having no other place to stay, we headed off into the teeth of the gale loaded with supplies and into a screaming, black-as-coal night. It was a smidge intimidating. When we arrived, we were soaked through and freezing. A couple of hours later we were tucked into our double sleeping bag in the loft. Still shivering.
Even though we had built the boatshed the summer before, we hadn’t quite finished it. It was un-insulated and without heat. That was not so much the problem in May as was the fact that the window for the loft where we slept was cut out but as yet uninstalled. The gale was blowing in over our heads and doing so with alarming intensity. I hugged her closer.
As I held on to my shivering wife, I noticed that her jiggling had changed from rapid vibrations to larger spasms and, fearing the worst, I asked her if she was alright.
At first she didn’t answer but the jerking motion continued. Finally, she shrieked into convulsive laughter, “I can’t believe it! Here we are in the middle of a gale in a dinko boat shed miles from anywhere and we don’t even have a window!” And then she started to laugh even more hysterically.
At first I was somewhat alarmed. Freaked out, actually. I was, I thought, a bit too close to an insane person for comfort. Clearly she’s flipped. I thought that we both were going to die in some kind of an involuntary murder-suicide pact, a plan she was in the very process of hatching as I cuddled her like the innocent fool I was.
But the mood changed again and then she was simply laughing, giggling and grinning like Jack Nicholson in the Shining. I felt a bit better but didn’t take my eyes off her for a second. Lunatics can turn on you, you know. Mind you, giggling is infectious and, after awhile, there we were – two fifty plus year olds howling at our predicament and sharing a joke with nature at our own happy expense. It was a pretty good beginning.
But before I tell you more about the beginning, let me first say a word about circumstance. Circumstance, in this remote-cabin context, is the term used to describe where you end up after deciding to ‘do it’ (build). That includes topography, weather, distance, the presence of life sustaining staples like water, food, toilet paper and scotch.
Circumstances can change with guests, visitors, authority figures, neighbours dogs and various wildlife. Especially mice. It can and does include logistics such as the weight of items, the availability of materials, the functioning of tools and the inevitable shortages of things necessary to continue – like more scotch and toilet paper.
Chronic or enduring circumstances include finances, personal health, mood, relationships, fatigue and the never ending quest for clean socks.
When building, all previously familiar ‘normal life’ circumstances cease to be neutral or benign influences and inevitably morph into unique challenges to survival. There isn’t a single positive circumstance (maybe sunshine) that comes easily when building a cabin on a remote island by yourself and the negative ones present themselves with surprising regularity.
If you are planning to build, consider your circumstances carefully.
Consider going to the bathroom, for instance – that should be simple enough. Most of us have the procedure down pat, as it were. But what about going to the bathroom when you don’t have one? What about answering nature’s call outside at night when it comes with in a howling gale? Do you know what happens to toilet paper when used in a torrential downpour? Think for a minute about going to the bathroom outside when you have bad knees? Think about the social etiquette involved when squatting on the beach and a group tour of 14 kayakers slips around the rock you are hiding behind. Do you return greetings or pretend to be dead?
Circumstances, of course, can and do change even in the city. You may have to use the restroom in a restaurant or another person’s home. But there are standards to the urban circumstance. One has expectations. All urban bathrooms come with privacy, washing facilities and the all important seat. There are no standards in the remote circumstance. Life may be a box of chocolates in town but in the woods, there isn’t even a box.
I have to stop myself. I can do ‘circumstances’ for pages. Suffice to say: cabin building circumstances are weird, variable, often embarrassing and almost always uncomfortable. Sometimes dangerous. Even if you sit down and plan well, you will have missed more than half of what you are going to face. And, to be honest, if you knew fully in advance about what you were undertaking, you’d likely not do it.
So, let’s begin properly, shall we?
In the beginning, make a plan. From that plan draw up a budget and a schedule. Anyone contemplating building a cabin or even having one built should take the time to plan, design, accumulate stuff, schedule work and, of course, set aside the right amount of money.
Then take that plan and bury it in the back yard – where the sun don’t shine.
“Why?” Because it will never happen! Absolutely, positively, whatever you plan for is the one thing that you can be assured will never happen! Not the schedule, not the budget not even the things you have purchased in advance. It is all a fantasy. Fuggedaboudit.
But do it anyway.
Our Off the Grid Home 