Sunday.  Book club day again.  Women in boats carrying pies and casseroles.  Freezing weather.  A few hours of chit-chat on chick-lit and this-and-that and then it is again with the  over the seas and through the piercing wind trying to make it safely home before darkness and even-colder temperatures.  Gawd!  They sure know how to have a good time, eh?

This month Sally took her famous lemon meringue pie.  I confess to not being very happy about that.  But I am sure you know why.  If you can’t guess, I’ll make it more clear: she didn’t make two of them!  She did leave me a tuna fish sandwich, though.  I am not complaining.  I am definitely a well-cared-for old bastard but she can be a bit stingy with the baked treats now and again.

……….unless you are a dog or a bookclub member and then she is the source of all things good to eat.

Book club is hosted by Sal next month – weather permitting.   But, who are we kidding?  It would take a hurricane, sleet and minus-degree temperatures for cancellation to even be considered and, even then, half the women would still make it.  The main reason for that, of course, is that they all really like to gather, eat, drink and hob nob.  And they’ve been doing it for over 25 years.  It’s their thing.

The second reason is that book club is deemed all the more necessary when it is darkest winter.  They feel they need some ‘socializing’ even more.  And they are right.  Winter is the onset of potential ‘Bush Disorder’ (not to be confused with a similarly named but different problem south of the border)’ and, if it is a short winter, there are usually only a few sufferers.  But if it is long and harsh (as it threatens to be this year) then getting ‘out and about’ is one small way of dealing with it.  Every year someone is described as, or acts a little ‘bushed’ and the old, isolated bachelors suffer the most.  The women of book club seem to fare the best.  It is not a coincidence.

The third reason for good December turnouts is that Sally serves a rich and plentiful ‘spiked’ egg-nog that is to travel through Paulines perils for.  Naturally no one would travel tens of miles by sea in an open boat in winter merely to get a single cup of free egg nog.  Unless, of course, they had tasted it the pervious year in which case the temptation seed would have been well and truly planted.  But the real lure is that there is no chance of being limited to just one.  Sal goes big.  More than a few old gals have spent the entire day only steps from the punch bowl.  And the smiles are broad when they leave.

The bowl is always emptied.  Trust me.   It is the first thing I check when I am allowed back in.

Men are not alowed at bookclub.  I sit in the woodshed or go to my neighbour’s.  One year I just puttered about in the rain.  It’s pathetic.  Nevermind, in a few years I will be allowed to phone the elder abuse hotline and don’t think I won’t!

If they let me in to make the phone call.

In theory, anyway, we old men should be doing something like they do.  A regular poker night, a pub to go to, a sport to play together.  Or even a community project around which to coalesce.  Or something.  But we don’t.  Anyway, none of us are good cooks or are organized enough to get that part handled so we’d just sit around and get hungrier and hungrier til we left.  And we’d all be ticked as hell, too!  Doesn’t sound so great to me.

We have a pretty high proportion of prefer-to-be-alone males out here, anyway.  Independent, whacked-out,old-loners whose only real connection to one another is an inclination to conspiracy theories and perhaps a little substance abuse.  Any male bonding-like behavior is usually done in the summer when it is warm and sunny and we can hammer or saw over the other guys inane chatter.  We old codgers just aren’t as sociable as the women.  Nor do we like each other as much as they do.

And, even if we did like each other, most of the old guys are deaf!  So conversation is limited at best, non-existent most of the time and we don’t even get near one another in the winter.

Put another way: I have more conversation with more people in one half hour on a sunny summer Wednesday at the community dock café than I do during the entire winter months from mid-November to mid February.  Factor in the male-of-the-species component and there is an even a greater disparity.  Old guys just don’t ‘bunch up’.

It ain’t our thing.

November 19.  Local elections day.

Bitterly cold outside right now.  Clear skies do that up here.  The difference in temperature can be considerable simply because of cloud cover.  Minus -5 on a clear night, plus +5 on a cloudy one.  Ground gets hard, too.  Mind you, it is mostly rock where I live.  But I am talking about the abundant and thick moss-cover around us, too.  It actually gets crunchy when frozen. When it is cold footprints remain behind from a walk on the moss as if it was snow.

I don’t usually ‘do’ weather.  It is one of those things I can’t do anything about so I just accept it as it is and carry on.  But I must admit, I am much more aware of the effects of weather on daily life out here than I ever was in the city.  Especially in the winter.

There is such a thing as an urban cocoon of sorts weather-wise in the city.  Cars, underground parking, heated garages and large urban buildings isolate you from the elements and as necessary and civilized as that is, it is also a subtle form of denial.  In Calgary you can live the entire day and travel about the city without feeling the cold.  Same for parts of Montreal.  Probably the same for many cities these days.

Comment: harder to stay in touch with the health and well-being of the planet when you are isolated from it.

‘Course, I am trying my best to stay insulated, if not isolated, myself.  We are crankin’ through the wood.  Staying warm requires a constant feed to the woodstove and we are diminishing the wood pile at a prodigous rate.  But the house is good.  Warm and toasty.    And we are OK.

Without the woodpile, however, we’d have no choice but to leave.  Firewood is essential for survival out here.  Don’t got central heat or electric baseboards.

There is a lot of snow on the higher elevations around us.  That means the ‘logging road’ we travel on the next island over will have snow on it.  Usually more than a few trees ‘freeze’, crack, split and fall across the road somewhere along the route in the winter.  That means carrying a chainsaw with you when you go out.

It’s still a bit of an adventure out here.  Every day.

Well, ‘adventure’ is a bit of a stretch.  After a while some familiarity and competence enters the picture (or should) and what might reasonably be described as an ‘adventure’ to some is really just an ordinary everyday-type event to a local.

Frankly, I am still somewhere in between.  I am relatively calm in the face of the regular challenges and I am generally prepared to deal with them – whatever they are – but sometimes I think, “Geez, if I do this wrong I am sitting in a remote ditch in freezing weather with night falling and no one likely to come along.  And no cell phone service for 15 miles!”  I am not yet so competent and confident that I assume safe-going.   Especially if the conditions are harsh.  I am not so sure I’ll ever get there.  There are frequent reminders of mortality out here.

Mind you, I am starting to adopt the local custom of dressing in multiple layers.  And I mean multiple – like 7 or more.  Complete with enveloping survival suit for some.  They look like polar explorers sometimes.  I am not quite there.  My record to date: 5 layers.

Most of the people out here have a greater confidence in their abilities to cope than I do in mine.  But that confidence is rooted in decades of experience.  (Sally doesn’t count – she was born lacking the ‘fear’ chromosone.)  

Our friend J, who lives another ten or so miles up the coast, once came to vist in a major storm in the middle of a cold and tempestuous December.  And she was dressed for it.  Her boat is about 14′ long and the seas were really nasty.  Didn’t faze her in the least.  She will travel in the storms, the dark, the freezing and the sleet and fog that we get up here and not so much as blink an eye.  And she typifies the attitude of most of those who have been up here for decades.

‘Course there are some who had that same level of confidence and have since passed on.  Confidence is not enough.  Losing people out here in the winter is not an uncommon occurence.  So that is why I am not so sure I’ll ever achieve 100% comfort.

But I have an answer to that.  I tend to ‘opt out’ of the possibility rather earlier in the risk escalation process.  “Hey!  It’s cold.  It’s blowing hard and I’m sure I can make it.  But it is not letting up and so it may get worse and I am not going to put myself in that position.  So, I’m not going!”  

“We understand, Dave.  Take care.”  And then all the old women, puppies and children leave without me.

And I wave goodbye and go make myself some tea.

Discretion is the better part of valour.

Believe it or not, I got friends.  Honest.  Some of them even like me.  I am never quite sure which ones hold me in current favour but I know that some do.  A few.  Maybe three at a time on any given day.  I hope so.  Call me an optimist.  Whatever.  What keeps us together is that I like them.  Perhaps my standards are low and I am desperate but it is a love of some kind.  I am the glue and I think you guys are great!

OK, maybe it is an unrequited kind of love but men learn about that kind of thing very young – with the onset of puberty, actually.  It should be called the onset of ‘rejection’ but, nevertheless, I am comfortable with it.  I know from rejection.  I can take it.  This cheese can stand alone (with Sal).

But, call me silly if you want to, I don’t want to be rejected through misunderstanding.  If you ‘get me’ and reject me, that’s fine. Those numbers are legion.  But if you don’t understand me and decide to reject me, well, that just makes me try harder.  And that is so much work.

Anyway, one of my friends is dyed-in-the-wool establishment.  Probably votes Conservative.  I know he voted for Campbell.  Still, despite that, he is a wonderful guy.  Really.  C’mon, you gotta trust me on this one.  He’s OK.

Anyway, he is currently against the OCCUPY movement.  Thinks it’s stupid.  He’s rejecting me.  “The protesters are dirty and unkempt and have tattoos and piercings and they just want stuff for free!  I work hard for my money (he does) and they are just a bunch of freeloaders.  Dave, how could you support that nonsense?!”  

Basically it comes down to this: peaceful resistance is the only way to achieve lasting change.  See Ghandi.  See Martin Luther King.  See Aung San Suu Kyi.  There really is no other way.  And even my friend acknowledges that big changes are needed.  Therefore, you have to protest and the OCCUPIERS are currently doing that for you.  So, support them, already.

To be frank, I am glad they are doing it.  But I wouldn’t.  I hate tents.  In fact, I hate crowds and I really hate police and crowds.  Ewww!

I think protest can take many forms and I choose a more comfortable one.  I write.  I talk.  I buy books.  I make sushi.  I even moved away!

That’s a form of passive resistance.

I might lob an egg at a politician from a long way off in a crowd someday but that would be mostly for the atheletic challenge of it.  I don’t really expect an egg to make a difference.

The point is this: the system is broken.  Not 100% but broken enough for a radical overhaul.  Tinkering and fine-tuning isn’t enough.  Voting in the clones won’t do it.  I have no idea how radical, fundamental change is achieved but it is definitely needed and needed quickly.  We need new leaders, new messages, a revitalized sense of morality and a redefined sense of purpose that does not include the worship of wealth.

(Actually, I do have some ideas but I am a little afraid of rejection)

Given climate change, poverty, a growing world population and the inclination of some to shoot others, it just might require the worship of peace, the planet and our own personal survival.

I don’t usually miss the city.  But I did Tuesday night.  Tuesday night VanCity sponsored an evening with Paul Hawken.  Paul is a co-author of Natural Capitalism, a book which changed quite dramatically the way I see things .  It is, in effect, a how-to on sustainability.  And more.

H.L. Lovins, Amory Lovins and Paul Hawken (of the Rocky Mountain Institute) wrote the book in the last years of the 20th century (1999, I believe) and it basically describes how Capitalism can ‘adjust’ to become more natural and sustainable.  And ‘healing and constructive’ in some kind of holistic way.  Ya hafta read it.

It is more than just theory and lofty ideas, though.  Ray Anderson of Interface Corporation modelled the principles of Natural Capitalism by way of his carpet business and the story is just plain magic.  Huge success.  Virtually 100% recyclables.  Happy workers.  Life is good.  Brilliant.

Still, business success in carpets is not quite magic enough for most people.  I understand.

But Hawken also predicted the Occupy movement and the Arab Spring years before the thought of occupying Wall Street had even crossed the minds of the Canadian ad-busters who dreamt it up when the timing was right.  Hawken is prophetic.  Practically speaking, he is a bona fide Edgar Cayce for our times.

I asked a few friends to attend his talk for me.  R reported back that it was illuminating and educational.  And more.  I suspect that he is a convert.  J wants to know how we convert more people to the ideas she heard that night.  She is more than a convert, she is a torch-carrier.

And, I am afraid, so am I.  Read Natural capitalsim.  Learn about Ray Anderson. Read Blessed Unrest (Hawken’s latest book) and get to know Paul Hawken.  You don’t have to quit your job, send money or joing a cult. Just read a book.  It is really the way the world is changing and I just wanted you to know.

Mid November.  One of our neighbours notices an active campsite a smidge down the coastline from their house.  Investigates.  Finds an ad hoc ‘net’ strung across a stream and a returning salmon hung up on it.  A close examination of the campsite shows the remains of a few other fish having been fried.  Calls the police.  Poaching is suspected.

Police come.  Campers see them arriving and run in to the woods.  Campsite examined.  ID found.  Cops leave.

Campers return.  Seems there are four of them.  Three men and a young woman.  Everyone looks a bit rough.

Neighbour’s son decides to watch them more closely and hikes up behind the hill (the whole island is hills).  While he is there, he hears them breaking into another neighbour’s place.  Runs home.  Cops called again.

A bunch of cops appear this time.  And a helicopter, SWAT-types and a K-9 unit.  Forces deploy.  Bad guys captured, handcuffed and flown out.

The ‘victimized’ neighbour comes to survey the damage after the break-in.  Lotta mess.  Some food missing.  Perps in custody.

Message: if you are ‘on the lam’ (seems they were.  From Victoria.  Don’t know why) do not go to a remote island. 

“It’s like a fishbowl out here when you think about it.  At least a half dozen people knew they were here and one of them phoned the police before they broke in to someone’s house!  People murder, rape, steal and plunder in the city and are never caught.  These dorks catch a salmon illegally and are taken out by SWAT!”

It’s not that simple of course.  And, in a way, it is.  Everyone knows everyone else’s business out here.  The forest telegraph works amazingly fast.  The stories are numerous.  It’s hard to hide out here.

We’ll find you.

Re:  Hawken.  No reports in yet.  Will share when they are received.

I occasionally write to BIG cheeses.  Not big, rich, celebrity cheeses but rather to literary-type fromage.  The ones who make me think.  And sometimes they write back.

Years ago John Robbins wrote a book called Diet for a New America.  That really changed my way of thinking about the medical profession and the way I was eating.  After the book, I went vegetarian.  Five months.  Octo-lacto, dipso-facto, pure-wool vegan.  I did it mostly because at the time I weighed 207 pounds and I thought I was beginning to lose my sex appeal.  I no longer saw a shorter version of Tom Sellek in the mirror.  I was seeing a taller version of Danny deVito instead.  Not good.

I was really disciplined about it, too.  Despite being three times the size of anyone else in the vegan restaurant lineup, I kept to the regime.  I did so until I ended up in the hospital.

Went to Emergency.  I had chest pains.  “Oh great!  Here I go.  Just as I was getting all healthy and all, my family’s old genetic destiny is grabbing hold and I am going to croak!”  

Turned out I was having a gall bladder attack.

The young, tall, dark and healthy-looking doctor looked at me.  “You didn’t do something stupid, did ya, like going vegan or something?”

“Umh………yeah.  Kinda……you know?  Gettin’ into being healthy and all…..?”

“Ya can’t do that, man.  You crazy?  You gotta get into that madness gradual-like.  If you do it at all.  Crazy, if you ask me.  Packs up your gallbladder just like that!”  And he snapped his fingers to illustrate the point dramatically.  Sounded like he was shooting his horse.  “We’ll prep you and take that puppy out.  Better tell your spouse you are going in for surgery!”

“Whoa, there big fella.  I’m keeping my gall bladder.  Don’t even think about going for it!  John Robbins warned me about you guys.  He said, ‘Modern medicine operates on the premise that you have too many organs or too few drugs in your system’.  I am keeping the gall bladder but we can discuss the drugs part.  This thing is really killing me.”

He looked at me as if I had just insulted his profession.  If you can imagine that!?  “If you think it hurts now, just wait for a few hours when you go to pass the stone.  They say it is more painful than childbirth!  Think about that!”

“Never mind that, man.  I am keeping it.  I’ll go home and pass the stone in the comfort of my own bed, you sadistic organ-snatcher, you!”

Three hours later when I was back at home I thought a Zulu warrior had pierced my chest with his largest spear and was twisting it.

“Sal!  Call the ambulance.  Gotta go back to the hospital.  He was right.  John was wrong!  I am dying.  This is unbearable………….aaaargggh…………..never mind.  By the time they get here, I’ll be dead.  Say goodbye to the kids.  I love you all………….araarrghh……….”   and then I passed out.  I came to a few hours later and I was fine except that my arm was really hurting because I conked out and got the limb all bent up underneath me.  A few hours later, that ‘kink’ worked out.  I was good to go.

And I had my gall bladder.  No drugs.  I was victorious and went back to the doctor to report in.  Feeling a bit smug, I must admit.  OK, stupid and smug at the same time.  While waiting, I got on the scale.  I was 207 pounds.  FIVE months of lentils and beans and a night of excruciating pain and I hadn’t dropped but the ounce the stone may have weighed! 

The lunacy of it all prompted me to go for a cheeseburger.

I have been feeling better ever since.

I wrote to John Robbins to thank him for his book.  I credit him with almost packing up my gall bladder but also in having the proper reparté when dealing with the doctor.  He got points for me keeping the organ even if his diet was partially responsible for the said organ to malfunction. It’s complicated.

He wrote back.  We exchanged e-mails.  I like him.  He’s good.  Just remember the lesson: moderation in all things.

This blog segues (tomorrows blog) into an exchange with Paul Hawken, co-author of another book that altered my life, Natural Capitalism.  He is speaking in Vancouver tonight.  I wish I was there.

Yeah.  You read that right.  I really wish I was there!

R&B showed up for a quick visit.  Dogs alerted us.  Sal went out on the porch and there they were waving from the water in their kayaks.

“Just dropped by to say goodbye.  We’re leaving for the winter!”

Sal grabbed a jacket and we went down to the beach to pass some time.  Then they headed off.

Our visitors come by kayak!  It’s November 14.  It’s cold out there. 

That’s a bit different. 

Actually, winter is very different.  I know that you know that but what I mean is this – we can and do live outdoors most of the year.  Sally even more than me.  But when it gets cold, we don’t.  Not so much.  More time is spent indoors and that’s different in and of itself.

But more than that, of course, is that we do different things.  We think different thoughts.  And, for three out of four years, we actually leave and go away.  Out here, winter is not a wonderland.  Neither is it something you ignore, get in the car and go to the office and carry on regardless.  Out here, winter means changing.  It means a lot of changing.

Think of it like a bear does.  A bear is active for 9 or 10 months of the year.  Then they hibernate.  It’s not, in the least, like the rest of the year.  It’s very different.

And so it is with us, too.

Moving on……………..

I went to see a doctor today.  I am thinking of changing.  My ‘old’ doctor is OK but, really, his practice is a factory.  He is a machine.  Slam, bam, prescribe and move on.  Worse, my doctor hired the spawn of Nazis for office staff.  And then he moved into a window-less mini-warehouse-like catacomb-of-closets pretending to be examination rooms.  It’s like a horror movie. 

And he is in Campbell River.

This new doctor is on the island next door.

The new doc is a woman.  Not quite my age but no spring chicken.  She’s got an ‘attitude’ but it’s mostly a helpful one.  I thought I’d test her out.

“Well, it’s our first meeting and you already have one strike for and one against.” 

“What?”

“The room is nice.  A window,  some space.  Everything clean.  It’s good.  I like that.  But here’s the deal.  If a doctor has an emergency or even a real good reason to run late, I am OK with that.  But if I am the first patient of the day and I am on time, I think it reasonable to expect the doctor to be on time, too.  Don’t you?”

“Well, yes………………but……..”

“And another thing.  I don’t expect special treatment because I live on a remote island but I also don’t think it is special treatment to be able to communicate by e-mail, ya know?  It’s not like I am going to spam you or send you jokes.  It is just a good way to communicate.  Waddya think?”

“I agree.”  And she handed me her e-mail address.  So far, so good.

“Now, she said, warming to her challenge, any pre-existing conditions?”

“Gazillions.  Most of it old age-related.  Tubes not tubing.  That sort of thing.  But what you really mean is………….”

“Had a heart attack?”

You have to understand that I am a bit sensitive about this.  When I started with the other doctor, the first words out of his mouth when he walked into the room – even before ‘hello’ –  was, “Oh!  Chest pains?”

“No! I replied at the time, Chest feels fine.  I am fine!  Hell, man, I can lift you up and hold you over my head!”

I was exaggerating a bit but he is not a large man.  I could certainly have wrestled him and me into a stupid position.  At that moment, however, I was tempted to give it a go and fling him over my head.

He withdrew from his ready-to-resucitate position and said, “Unh, no thanks.  No proof needed.”

But I am not so sure that our relationship ever really recovered. That is part of the reason why I was interviewing Dr. Nota S. Chicken.

And she was starting out the same way!

I was going to grab my chest and draw a deep breath in but I decided to save that little joke for some other time.

“No.  No heart attack.  But it is just a matter of time, isn’t it?  I mean, I look like I am having one when I am just sitting here, right?  I mean, why not just gimme some oxygen right now just to be on the safe side?  Got any of them ‘lectric paddles handy?  Let’s give ér a go.  Waddya say?”

“Oh!  Well…….that’s………..good…………….”

I think my face was getting red. But I had to admit…………

“Well, OK.  Now that you mention it.  Everyone on my mother’s side died of heart attacks in their fifties.  My mom made it to 64.  My age now.  Dad died from complications that included a heart attack.  I think we both know where this going.”

Now would have been a good time for the chest grab joke.

“Well, she said,  that’s good.  I’ll just fill this prescription and we’ll see you again some time.” And she left.

I dunno.  A woman doctor?  I just didn’t feel the love, ya know?

As you can tell from the last dozen or so posts, I am struggling a bit here.  I know the blog is about living off-the-grid and should be mostly focused on that.  And, primarily I think it is.

But no man is an island even if he lives on one and so other issues creep into my thoughts that are not directly related to living remote.  Like politics.  Like current events.  And, if they come to mind, then I can honestly write about them.  I think.  It’s my blog.  Kinda.

Our blog?

So, anyway, I do not want to do too much on the Occupy movement, politics big or small, corporate rants or even grave threats to our existence from global warming, solar flares or any of the other many evils unleashed at us from time to time by mother nature, the devil, international conspiracies, the universe or Amercian presidents.  I’d prefer to write about ravens and seals and book clubs and garden boxes.

Well, actually, I’d prefer to write about the local people and the challenges of living in a small village spread out over 250 square miles and half a dozen islands.  The ravens and the seals and the squirrels are all very nice but, you know, I wanna keep it ‘real’.

So, let’s talk real.  For a bit, anyway.

Here’s something you probably didn’t know about living off-the-grid: movies are a big deal.  We subscribe to Zip.Ca, a mail-order movie store.  We frequent the old fashioned movie-rental store, the community DVD library, we borrow and swap movies from neighbours and we pore over what the library has to offer and, despite that, we still don’t have enough to watch.

“I thought you rejected TV!”

We did.  But we didn’t reject movies.  They’re different.

We are also very appreciative of those who put really good shows on those usb sticks and send them to us.  We watched Modern family that way and that was fun.

We also rely heavily on the books-by-mail from the public library.  It used to be such a good service but the woman who ran it retired a couple of years ago and the three dozen or so nincompoops they have hired to replace her can’t seem to get it right.  We are hoping that they hire the old staff person back as a ‘consultant’ so that she can re-teach them how to stuff an envelope.  I am not holding my breath.

Of course, it isn’t all their fault.  Sometimes the plane can’t get through.  And that can be problematic as well.  All our mail is always somewhat late.  Even when the plane flies regularly, the posting, shipping, transferring of Post Office bags and the plane’s schedule usually result in ‘somewhat late’ items. Throw in some bad weather and we can be ‘behind’ on our mail by two weeks or more.

The latest example of that was the mail-in ballots for the regional directors election.  Sal and I applied at the same time to the same person.  And we applied early.  We did what we had to do.  I got mine.  Sally didn’t get hers.  So, Sally tried again and her paperwork was posted a week later.  I voted.  Sally is still waiting.  The ballot will not get here and back (as a vote) in time.  So we went back to the district office on ‘townday’ but they said, “Sorry.  It’s now in the mail.  Can’t let you vote if there is a ballot out there flying around with your name on it.”

So Sal will not likely get to make her mark this election.

You’d kinda think that, if anyone understands our situation out here, it would be the local government, wouldn’t you?  But they don’t.  Some of the staff are surprised to learn that there are some constituents on the islands in their district!  Imagine that!

Living remote has so many positive aspects but I won’t go through them again.  You know, the ravens, the seals, the Orcas, clean air, blah, blah, blah…….clams…..blah, blah….oysters…….

And it has a few challenges as well.  Some of them are directly related to distance, weather, remoteness, short-time-frames and every thing else you can imagine from fallen trees across roads to cars that break down in the forest and on and on and on.  But that is not so bad.  You really have to expect that.  It was part of the deal from the very beginning.  No complaints.

But I confess to being surprised by the ignorance of city people.  Don’t misunderstand me, I was just as guilty.  Probably more than most.  I had no clue what it meant to live rural, let alone remote rural.  The average urbanite just doesn’t understand that it is quicker to fly to Toronto than it is to go from Vancouver to our island.  They don’t ‘get’ that cell phones don’t work ‘the same’ out here even tho we rely on them (for a cell phone to work well out here it has to be attached and fixed-in-place and usually with a large antennae, preferably with a booster pack installed.  That makes the cell no longer portable.  You don’t carry it around.  So you get your messages only when you get home.  Like the old days with ‘land lines’ and such). 

They don’t seem to understand that there is no other address for us other than the PO box.  If they do understand – which is rare – their computers don’t.  “What am I gonna write in for your street address?  We can’t proceed without one.” 

“Try 1-2-3 Doofus Drive.”  

“Oh good, that works!”

Mind you, the Campbell River urbanites are often pretty good.  One of the ways it shows up is quirky strange, tho.  When we go to Save-on and shop, it is often the case that something is ‘out’, stale, withered or ‘past it’s prime’.  Life in the grocery business.  But, of course, we have no choice and so we take it anyway.  Often the cashier, suspecting that we are from the outer islands (wearing gumboots is a hint) will say, “Geez, that lettuce is pretty droopy.” Or, “Hey, those avocadoes aren’t very good!”

“We know.  Got no choice.  Won’t be back for a couple of weeks.  And that is weather permitting.”

“Right!  Outer islands, huh?  I’m not gonna charge you for this.  Not worth it.  Sorry we don’t have better.”

That does not make the lettuce crisper but it is an exceptionally nice gesture and a recognition of who we are.  So, it is great.

And, I suppose, that is what this blog is about.  Who we are.  And it is really great when someone ‘gets it’ and treats you respectfully and accordingly.

Took awhile to get to the point on this one………………..sorry.

Weird topic, money.  Hate it, myself.  Boring.  But it’s relevant to living and so I will address it somewhat.  It is a hard topic to address because most people think money is a touchy subject and they like to keep their finances to themselves.  As if it is all some kind of a secret or something. 

It isn’t!  No one really cares except snobs and Revenue Canada.

But, anyway………….here we go…………

Living off the grid is cheaper than living in town.  The cost to get here is greater.  The cost of building is greater.  And the cost of much of what you do and buy while you are out here is greater and yet, oddly, the overall effect is much cheaper.

“How is that possible?”

Two reasons: one: you live differently in a positive, constructive way.  Two: you live differently in a minimalist, conservative way.

When you live off-the-grid in a cabin/cottage/remote sense, you need to buy food but, over time, you tend to gather, grow and forage much more than when you were in the cul de sac.  You ‘positively’ live more off the land.  By comparison, a garden was discouraged in the ‘burbs.  So was hunting.  Fishing?  Fuggedabout it.  Plus there was no time.  Out here, living off the land is a pastime, a hobby, a form of entertainment and a constant source of marvel.  You get ‘hooked’.

Of course, our little garden doesn’t make a huge dent on our budget but gathering oysters, clams and the odd fish helps.  Being ‘gifted’ eggs and such helps.  Making our own wine helps and ‘making do with what is handy or what floats up on the beach’ helps even more.

But even if you add up all the freebies, supplements, trades, swaps, gifts  and recycling, it might make only about $400.00 a month difference to the cashflow.  It just ain’t that big a deal yet.  And even that is easily offset by at least half by the more expensive burning of fossil fuels for energy instead of ‘buying’ BC hydro.

“So, why is it cheaper living?”

Mostly lifestyle.  I burn fossil fuels to make energy but I don’t use a full tank of fuel in my car driving in a month.  And I use free wood for heat.  In fact, I probably do only 200 kms a month driving the car on an average month.  I did more than 1000 kms a month when I lived in the city.

There’s an irony there.  In theory, I was closer to everything in the city.  But,in practice, I drove a great deal more to get there.

And no one sends out for pizza or Chinese take-away out here.  I don’t frequent restaurants hardly at all anymore.  There is virtually no dry cleaning and my suits, shirts and tie budget is as reduced as Sally’s Jones of New York budget.  We wear Costco jeans now.

We don’t go shopping for the sake of entertainment by finding something new, either. Now we shop for the basics, the essentials.  There ain’t much in the way of discretionary spending out here.

Living off-the-grid is as much about living differently as it is about whether we are plugged in or not.  No Starbucks.  No services by Lawn-care inc, the Pool-boy ltd or Windows-R-us.  Now we do our own thing.  And it is remarkably less expensive in the overall lifestyle even if, on any one item or even many of them, you spend more.  Generally speaking, things cost more because of the remoteness but you still spend less because of the remoteness.

You can quote me on that.

When we first came out here almost 8 years ago, I saw a couple about our age disembarking from a small boat and looking a lot like ‘locals’.  I went over and introduced myself.  Mentioned that I was morphing into a local and needed to ask a question about how much it cost for them to live out on a remote island.

They hemmed and hawed and then said, “$1,000 a month!” Then they had a little more discussion and he corrected himself, “Sorry.  Forgot the taxes.  Costs us $1050 a month!”

I asked about a dozen people the same question over the ensuing months and the highest income reported at that time was $22,500 a year.  The lowest was just over $4,000.  I have kept up that completely un-objective survey over the years and I would say that a couple not burdened by a mortgage and having the odd mod con at their disposal and a decent, healthy lifestyle lives out here for between $24,000 and $36,000 a year.  All in.

The difference between then and now?  Mostly the higher price of fuel.

One of my neighbours lives on about $5,000.00 a year and he lives well.  A few others live on even less than that (but not so well).

“Dave!  What’s your point?  We don’t want to live like that!”

My point is simple.  You have to work to spend more than $36,000 a year out here (again, assuming that you are finished building and debt free).  This lifestyle is simply not consumer oriented.  We got no stores!

Except for the optional winter getaway, you would be hard-pressed to maintain half of your old spending habits.  I don’t think you could. Those of you who think that, because you can’t get by on the 100K income you both earn now, you have to keep at it til you’re dead, are dead wrong.

Living off-the-grid is cheaper than living in-the-cul-de-sac and the lifestyle is more rewarding.  Financially, it’s a good deal.  And for me, comparing lifestyles, it is a great deal.

Rafe Mair is an ex-politician, former lawyer from the right, conservative, make-a-buck side of the political fence.  But, more than that, he is a natural-born resistance-type.  A Contrarian.  He’s a call-it-as-he-sees-it type and he has the skill and the presence to make you listen. 

He is now 80 and as fiesty as ever but his politics have changed over the past ten years or so.  He is no longer right-ist.  He is reluctantly slightly-left on only a few things, he is mostly libertarian-cum-anarchist and he has become our province’s most ardent environmentalist.

Rafe Mair is the one providing the environmental movement energy these days and he is doing a helluva job. He is primarily a ‘river-keeper’ and fish-protector but he includes almost anything in his campaign that attacks the government-think, corporate-think and media corruption that he sees as the root of most environmental and social problems. 

And he has urged us to read the message from Occupy’s Jack Etkin.

The Corporate Media is the propaganda arm of Corporate Canada.  Right now the media is trying to ‘define’ the Occupy movement in a negative way.  And all of the rest of us 99% must remember that The Media is the mouthpiece of the 1%; it is not our friend, it cannot be trusted, and we must always watch the corporate media with an eagle’s eye because it never stops trying to lie to us and mislead us about everything of importance.

Since the big ‘Occupy Protests’ of a few weeks ago, the media has focused all of its attention on ‘the camps’ that have been set up across Canada.  Here in Victoria, the focus is on the camps around Victoria City Hall and in Vancouver.  It is relatively easy for the media to make the camps ‘look bad’, and now someone has died in Vancouver and the officials are saying that the camps have togo.  There may be trouble and it will all end with anger  which is what Corporate Canada wants.

But the camps are not the Occupy Movement, only a small part of it.  The media is focusing on the camps because that is where they want the focus to be.  They DON’T want the focus to be on what the movement is really all about, and that’s because they want us to forget about that.  

Occupy is about the lack of democracy in Canada, but there is little mention of that in the corporate media.  Occupy is about the corruption of our governments by the billionaires and the elites, and how those people are bankrupting entire nations and destroying our planet.  Occupy is about the ‘free trade deals’ the 1% have imposed on us; deals that have cost us hundreds of thousands of jobs and led to record corporate profits and record homelessness and record food bank use.  Occupy is about the nuclear disaster in Japan that is going to kill millions of us, and about how all the Big Media is corporate and how it lies to us and misleads us every day of the year.  All of that is what Occupy is about, and The Media’s job is to make us forget it – if they can. 

The media could be leading us in a discussion about how to improve our democracy and make it work better for us, but they aren’t.

The media could be giving us information about how we can fix up our tax system, but they aren’t.

The media could be telling us about climate change and fracking and how we can move towards a sane environmental policy, but they aren’t.

Instead the media are focusing on a few dozen people living in tents.  Why are they doing this?  Because that is where they want the focus to be.  And until the rest of us come to grips with how corrupt and manipulative the Canadian media is, we are going to keep losing.   We’ve got to keep our eyes focused on our real enemies; and the real enemies are the corporations, their politicians, and their media.  And we have to keep some real solutions in mind, and in my opinion two of the best solutions are more democracy and a free press.  Let’s Occupy That!

As you know, I tend to think that way myself.  But they say it better.  And more people listen.  I do, however, want to add yet another comment on the whole thing.  It’s a small pont.  It’s about ‘labels’. 

Your average Canadian is a fiscally conservative open-minded liberal person with a very minor socialist tendency on the larger social issues like health care and education.  The problem is that the fascist-like, undemocratic, corporate-oriented exploiters have managed to comandeer the labels.  Those who waste billions and destroy the environment are the ‘Conservatives’.  Those who have rewritten the laws to prohibit democracy and who have supported the destruction of the environment while bankrupting our social services call themselves the ‘Liberals’.  

If you are stupid, you tend to think that, because you have conservative values, you are a Conservative.  If you have liberal tendencies, you must be a Liberal.  Not so.  The labels are not the party. 

Do you honestly think BEST Foods is the best food?  Do you think Western Family is run by or for western families?  Safeway is the safe way?  Of course not.  We know that is all just marketing and branding.  

Right?  Well, political parties are all about labels and branding and image and marketing, too.  Calling yourself the Corporate Toadies or the New Fascists just doesn’t sell well.

Just for the record, there is no more conservative party on the planet than the Green Party.  Think about it!  Their mission statement is to protect the planet.  What could possibly be more conservative than that?

The reason I bring all this up one more time is that today the ‘them’ is going to oust the ‘Occupiers’ around the nation (or so says the media). 

Our so-called democracies are going to silence the peaceful protestors. 

Why?