You’d think an invitation had been sent!  https://goo.gl/photos/uCzcUhstaEJit6Xd7

We have wildlife all winter but, for the most part, things are pretty quiet around here before Daylight Savings/Spring Break/Easter time.  Things go south, some things hibernate…whatever….I don’t really know.  I just know that, on any given day in December/January/February there is scant evidence of life out here save for some little birds and the odd fellow passing-through who is usually all alone and looking it.

But March 17th was like a party!  A large school of dolphins, sea lions (2), eagles fishing and screeing, wolves howling at night, the ravens making a family of themselves again and, of course, gulls, seals and flocks of various small birds.  It was like a parade.

They were a bit early.  The first official day of Spring is March 20 but I am not quibbling. Early is better than late.  It was good to see.

Every year we become more attuned to the seasons but, to be fair, Spring is the hardest to nail down for me.  It seems every October, there is a single day that is different enough to notice the change in the weather, “There’s a nip of Fall in the air, today!”  The start of Winter and summer are difficult to nail down, too, but I don’t really care that much.  By the time Spring has played out, the weather is warm and by the time Fall is done, it is cold and dark.  I am basically a two-season kinda guy.  But I do wait for Spring.

And not only do I wait for it, it seems I get some kind of ‘new energy’ when it happens.  Sal and I have been rebuilding the back deck and stairs for the last few days and, amazed at ourselves, we’ll finished up within the four days we had planned.  “Geez, we figured four days and that usually means six or seven.  But we’ll finish tomorrow.  That’s great. Sunshine sure helps.”

“Well, you weren’t napping, either!.  That really helps!”

I have largely avoided the Donald so far.  Not really worth my time, I figured.  But, I was wrong about that.  He is a force.  No question.  He is winning the hearts and empty heads of the angry, ignorant and bigoted.  And there are a lot of them, it seems.  The dark side is strong in him, Luke.

But rather than just look at the surface rot and stench, I thought it behooved me to consider what else he might be saying and what else he might be doing and how that might actually affect me.

But, before I do that, I just want to share one minor factoid as published by Forbes or Bloomberg. ‘Trump inherited $200 million dollars.  He is now worth $5 billion.  Had he invested his $200 million in an average mutual fund over the same period, he would be worth more.’  The point being: Trump is no genius nor is he a good businessman.

But what else is he?  Any good stuff?

Well, for starters, he is a symbol of anti-establishment.  It’s very weird that a rich guy living in New York can do that, but he has.  He has positioned and marketed himself as a rebel of sorts.  It may speak more to the dysfunctional American dream and their culture’s unshakable faith in the almighty dollar that a rich guy can still be seen as anti-establishment.  I really don’t know. I never believed in the dream, myself.  But I do know that ,many, many people who can barely feed their kids, pay their rent and run their car after working 60 hours a week still believe in the Horatio Alger fictitious myths regarding rags-to-riches stories.  They think it can happen to them.

It can’t.

And, ironically, these are often the same people who so often do not now believe in God. “Why that’s just a silly myth, a superstition!”  To my mind, you are much more likely to bump into a miracle a week (I do) than you are to ever get rich (unless you happen to own a house in Vancouver or win the lottery).

“So, Dave, what’s your point?”

Trump is a symbol (an erroneous one) of a desire for revolution.  His prominence, his style, his angry message is a sign of massive discontent.  He is the wrong person for such a revolution in the same way Rob Ford or Caitlin Jenner was or is, but he/they are ‘celebrity rebels’ nevertheless.

And, as misdirected as it is, it is actually – in a sick kinda way – a healthy sign.  Like Howard Beale in the movie ‘Network’, “I am mad as hell and I am not going to take it anymore!” , that speech was delivered because, “Things are bad.  Everyone knows things are bad….”  .  Beale was insane at the time but the message rang true.  That same message is being pitched by Trump (also close to insane) and bought by the hoi polloi because ‘the establishment is bad for your health’ has a loud ring of truth.  “Things are so bad we need to build a wall!”

Another reason is that Trump is not politically correct.  Most people hate political correctness.  They love to poke fun at short people, coloured people, poor people, hill-billies…….anyone different than they are.  If you don’t believe that, listen to any popular comedian doing stand-up these days.  It is all essentially politically UNcorrect rants followed by swear words.  It may not be right.  It may even be bad.  But it seems to be human.  And stifling humanity will only grow hair on your palms and give you pimples.

Trump is just such a pimple.

A third reason is a scary one because it is a reason that might carry the day for him.  He is preaching hope.  It is an ethereal hope, a blind hope, a hope without details or plans or even so much as basic principles but it is hope, nevertheless. It is just an evangelical-style, come-to-Jesus, white-people-type hope that faith-in-Trump will somehow deliver the promised land.

He won’t.

Real plans, real details, real promises can be judged and analyzed.  No one – especially Trump – wants that right now.  They just want hope that their team will win the championship this year. Trump is the owner, manager and quarterback of team White Trash and they haven’t won in a long, long time.

It’s pathetic.

Kinda.

We are re-building our back stairs and deck.  Some parts were getting punky, some parts were actually rotting.  It has been ten years.  And they are in the shade – they do not get dried out properly sometimes.  It was time.

No biggy.  We can do this.  And we are almost half way done, actually.  What we could have done in two days before will take us four now but that just means ‘double the pleasure, double the fun’.  Fun with Sally changes meaning as you age. Now it means much more carpentry than it ever did.

But it is our own fault.  We didn’t know what we were doing the first time….the carpentry, I mean.  We know more now but likely not enough to have the assembly stand for more than another decade. There is always another lesson to be learned and we could study and investigate wood and work forever. Better to just get on with it and just plan on doing it again in ten years.  Hopefully it will last a bit longer this time.

But – so that you know – the chore started by first finding someone to buy milled lumber from. That is not easy in the winter.  Most people hibernate. I do, too.  But looking for lumber did not really disturb my winter somnolence.  I did it slowly.

I found some.  But actually getting the lumber did disturb my semi-hibernation.

C is a young man ten or so miles away and he had a mill that needs paying off.  So, he was at the ready.  He delivered four or so loads by way of his small (same as mine) boat. Some deliveries were delayed by winter storms.  We then reloaded it into Sal’s boat and floated the loads under the highline.  We hauled the loads up the hill and stacked them. Then we took the 12 and 16 foot 2×6’s along our irregular path to the worksite near the back of the house.

Funny how muscles seem to wake up from semi-hibernation at a much slower rate than do plans and concepts, don’t you think?

The two decks and stairs are supported by 6 inch logs.  One of them was also rotten. One other was suspect.  So that meant cutting and carrying two logs and adjusting the plan on the fly to accept different posts.  But that was just part of the fun.  Whoopee.

“Geez, Dave!  Why are you only getting ten years from your work?  I thought you built to the 30 year rule!”

Yeah.  Good point.  The main reason was that the back deck was one of our first.  We didn’t know enough to separate the planks by a generous 1/2 inch.  In the rainy season the planks swell up and form a tight surface.  That surface collects the rain and that promotes rot.  We promoted rot right up to the rank of major.  Those deck planks that we did later in other areas (when we knew better) are still good (a couple needed replacement but 90% are fine).  A simple error like plank spacing came back to haunt us.

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Also, we don’t use treated lumber.  Partly that is because local fir and cedar is almost as long lasting but mostly because we knew that we would have to re-do what we did the first time. We worked fast ten years ago.  We worked without knowing what we were doing. The only thing we DID know was that we would have to re-do it.

And, so we are.

And we are seriously considering hosting Woofer’s again…………..

*Epilogue below.

A very capable woman friend of ours is single, in her sixties and lives even more remote than we do.  Breaking a leg in three places would be much more than an inconvenience for most people.  Not her.

Down at the beach a kilometer from her home, she was dragging a dinghy up past the high water mark the other day.  When her left foot accidentally wedged in a rocky crevice, she fell back with the boat and heard her leg snap three times.  She knew instantly that it was broken.

Her island is small, miles from ours.  She is the only full-time resident.  In the summer it is more populated.  In winter it is usually just her.  She has homesteaded there for the last thirty plus years. She keeps it all going by herself.  Her home is neat, clean, functional and welcoming. She is an excellent cook.  Her exceptionally large garden is lush, diversified and bountiful.  So is her orchard.  She can and has done everything that needs to be done to live off the grid and she does it well.  J is capable, competent and is the archetype of this lifestyle; tough, independent and, not just occasionally, a bit single-minded and stubborn.

You’d think a broken leg would challenge anyone and one broken miles from any help would pose a major threat.

And it did.  But not so much for her.  First she just lay on the beach for a few minutes and contemplated her situation. Which was, by any definition, dire.  So, she concluded that she had to act and she had to act alone.

And so she did.

First she bum-hopped, dragging the broken leg, the fifty or sixty feet up the beach to her ATV.  Then, standing on her one good leg, managed to mount the vehicle and ride it up the steep, bumpy goat track of a road to her house.  Dismounting back to her derriere, she bum-hopped again up the stairs and in to the house where she managed to get seated in a rolling chair.

My guess is that she took a few minutes more to gather herself together…..

Then she made an elaborate aluminum splint with padding and managed to set her leg in proper support.  She made some calls to arrange some help but managed to get herself back to the beach and into her boat.  She cleaned up and did the dishes before departing.

She then picked up a friend a mile away and they boated ten miles to get car keys from another friend.  Then the two of them went to the community dock where the vehicle was parked.  Her friend helped her into the car.  ON THE DRIVER’S SIDE!

He took the boat back.  She drove herself to the hospital.  “My left leg was broken. My right leg was fine.  And the car was an automatic.  I could drive!”

It was splinted again at the hospital but, as she said, they basically just replaced what she had done and she spent the night in town with friends.  The next day her son took her to another hospital further south and she underwent surgery with pins and screws embedded in the breaks. Then she went back to the northern town and stayed for a few hours with the same friends to rest.

And then she decided that she needed some supplies so she went shopping.

The store provided her with an electric scooter.

With her supply of groceries she drove back down the incredibly bumpy (after a bad winter) logging road to the community dock and her friend and a couple of neighbours helped her into her boat.  She got home that evening and cooked dinner for her friend.

Is OTG always that hard?  No.  No.  And no!  If it was, I wouldn’t be here.  J has been here decades.  She has faced this kind of challenge several if not many times.  For J, it is just a damn nuisance.

So, do ya think you are tough?  Really?

Epilogue: two days later a public hearing was being held regarding a zoning issue J cares about.  She hauled herself down to the beach (ATV, crutches), got in the boat and attended the meeting (no idea how she got up the steep hill to the community centre).  She presented from a chair with her crutches and cast propped beside her.  Some of the locals helped her to and fro. But not THAT much.  Please be reminded the broken leg is fresh and NOT yet set.

So, do ya think you are THAT tough? 

ACT one, scene one:  two friends but distant neighbours meet at the community centre one day.  I am one of them. The other approaches me, “Jeez, I remember reading in your book about how much lifting and carrying was required out here.  At the time, I just read over that quickly.  Now that we have come out here, too, I know how hard it is.  Oh my God!  Next time write more about that!”

“Yeah.  I know what you mean.  Schlepping is a huge part of it.  But Sally edited out my whinging and complaining because she thought it off-putting for the reader.  I would have dedicated a chapter to Tylenol threes alone.  Couple of paragraphs on the merits of opiates.  Could have done a trilogy on sleep.  It is hard to pass on that kind of painful experience in a meaningful and entertaining way.  I eventually just came to describe it as: ‘like dragging a dead hippo up a flight of stairs’.”

“What I don’t understand, though, is how you learned how to actually do stuff?”

“Well, how are you learning about stuff now that you are out here?”

“ I ask the locals.”

“You don’t ask me very often.  And I am now a local.”

“Yeah, but one of the first things I learned from you was that you don’t know anything.”

“Good point!  You are learning quickly, grasshopper.”

Act one, scene two:  Attempting to learn stuff.

I walked into the local gas-products shop years ago.  “Hi!  I am building off the grid and want to buy all the stuff I need to install propane gas to my stove, my fridge, a small freezer and a demand hot water heater.  If I draw that system out on paper, can you tell me what I need?  I wouldn’t mind buying a small do-it-yourself gas-fitter’s manual either, if you have one?”

“Unh, I can sell you some bits and pieces but it is against the law for anyone but a provincially licensed gas-fitter to install a system like you are describing.  You are going to have to hire someone.”

“Well, I could do that if I could find someone who wants to travel into the wilderness for however long it will take and scramble up and down mossy slopes in the rain while doing it.”

“That’s gonna be expensive.”

“The fitter’s rates are not the half of it.  I will have to transport them and feed them and likely give them a place to stay overnight.   That will be in a tent unless they want to sleep in the boat shed with my wife and me.  She snores.  Then there are the bears.”

“Bears!?”

“Yeah.  Place is crawling with them.  But not to worry.  I have an extra gun for him or her to carry.  Just a precaution.  It would help if they are gun savvy, tho.  And not afraid to kill ’em if they have to.”

“Let me get Sam.  He’s a gas-fitter.  Sam’s almost retired so it won’t be him.  But he may know someone.”

Sam and I spoke.  He laughed out loud when I repeated the bear and gun story.

“Ha!  That won’t be me even though I don’t believe the bear story for a second.  But I know the mossy slope thing is true.  I’ve been out there.  And no, no one is going to go and do it for you.  You will have to do it yourself and break the law but, just so you know, the law was written so some doofus doesn’t blow his neighbourhood up.  You don’t have a neighbourhood to blow up.  So I’ll sell you the parts.  I’ll even tell you how to do it.  Do what I say and then test it.  And, if you blow yourself to smithereens, don’t come whining to me.”

“Smithereens don’t whine.”

“Good.  We understand each other.”

And so it was I got a half hour lesson on flaring tools and regulators and liquid soap testing and all that.  That was twelve years ago and so far, no smithereens have resulted.  If I was to add anything to Sam’s instructions, it would be to put all your gas lines under the house in a well ventilated place where any leaks will blow away and none can collect.  NO enclosed spaces.  Where the lines enter the house, a gas detector is a good idea, too.

Nothin’ like learnin’ on the fly, eh?

….http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/opinion/commentary/ct-trump-effect-globalization-economy-europe-perspec-0314-jm-20160311-story.html

I read google news.  I get to select the topics in which I have interest and, further, I can dial in how much interest I have and so limit or expand the number of articles.  I have lost interest in professional sports, for instance, and never had any interest in ‘celebrities’ so I don’t get any of that.  But I do have interest in new inventions, the environment, politics, China, Hong Kong, economics and all things off-the-grid.  I get a lot of news on alternative energy and OTG.

But what a bizarre picture they (journalists) are painting about living off the grid.  It’s almost all lies!  Yesterday I read a very short article on two people (with kids) who moved off the grid and it described their incredible hardships.  The photo that went with it showed a woman with a large bucket on her head indicating the water she had to carry for their once-weekly wash. Insane!  http://www.wideopencountry.com/really-like-live-off-grid/

The reality of the picture showed that her modern looking SUV-type car was at the top of the slope she was walking down so, that alone, made water carrying stupid.  A hose at the top and the water would have flowed downhill.  What utter drivel!

My point?  Well, most articles depict someone living OTG as a poor, heroic/tragic figure battling against the elements while living minimally in a crude, wattle-and-daub hillbilly shack.  The featured folks are described hiking to and fro with geese and chickens and pigs underfoot. Their snotty nosed kids dressed in rags are being taught the 3 R’s by way of candle-light and readings from the bible. Hoses run on the ground to get water, the outhouse is in the middle of the overgrown garden and some stringy hippy-type is making shakes with a home-made froe under a tarp strung high on trees.  Total nonsense.

Most people I know living OTG live relatively comfortable lives.  They have simple but working systems that provide the essentials.  They buy ‘extras’ from town. They want for nothing.  OK, they do not have 52 inch TVs but that’s mostly because they have chosen not to HAVE TV. Their fridge may be propane but, other than that, it works like a normal fridge.  They have hot water.  Washing machines.  Light.

I admit that many OTG homes are more basic than the granite counter-top, stainless steel, marble entry town-homes of the city but so what?  They still have counter-tops and entries.  They are warm and dry.  And their view is a 1000 times better.

We are a smidge upscale compared to most.  We have drywall.  Many didn’t go to that trouble and so they have painted plywood or varnished cedar for their wall covering.  L & M (a young couple 10 miles away) built almost entirely from what they had on their property and their house is absolutely gorgeous (they are very skilled).  Natural wood planks make the walls but they did it beautifully.

Yes, it was hard getting here.  But the bulk of that hardship was because we were late middle age and had no skills.  That, together with the logistical challenges, made it hard. But, today, we live like Riley.  The hard physical work we undertake, we do so from choice. We take a break when we want to.  We quit when we want to.  It is a bit hard physically by modern city schedules but it is enjoyable by ours.  It is NOT hardship.

You should have it so good.

I confess that I have inadvertently added to the myth that is so often being reported.  I did so unintentionally.  I just wrote the book about what was new and challenging to us and, by limiting it to the difficulties mostly, I gave the erroneous impression that we are some kind of masochistic fools wearing hair-shirts while lifting logs in the hot noon-day sun.  And we did do that.  But only once.  Once was enough.  That kind of work is stupid.  So we took off the hair-shirts, bought some winches and we don’t work that hard and stupid anymore. (mind you, we still do find new ways to work stupid).  We still get tired but we are just NOT enduring hardship.

Living OTG is no harder than living in the city.  Different.  More physical.  But NOT harder on an overall measure.  Yes, the transition was hard.  And using muscles that you haven’t used in a long, long time can be painful.  But only a fool would continue to endure hardship for a long time.  We worked hard for a few years so that we do not have to work so hard now.  We still have challenges but, to be frank, they make us feel more alive.  I want them.

I say all this for one reason: do not think that living OTG is all hardship or full of pain. There is some.  But that is NOT the attraction, that is simply a small price to get to a wonderful place.  And – finally – read what I am saying, not what the imbecile journalists are writing.  They look to sensationalize and exaggerate minor and temporary difficult aspects of life OTG.

And – with respect to the older pioneer authors of ‘yesterday’ – read their books for the adventure or the history.  But do NOT think that is the way OTG is done now.  Today almost everyone has vehicles, solar panels and satellite.  Many have cell-phones (which don’t work that well but they can use them as they get closer to civilization or higher on mountains). Pumps, pipes, windows and insulation have made the trip into the forest and their OTG houses CAN be nice and comfy.  They may NOT be but they CAN be.

And NO! That is not just a function of having money.  I could  – if I was younger – build a modern, comfortable, warm and roomy house complete with outbuildings for next to nothing simply by salvaging what is thrown out in the city.  Add $50,000 and I could have satellite and alternative energy as well.

Seriously?  I do not understand the ‘agenda’ of those writing about OTG as if it were only for the hardy, Dan’l Boone-types.  I’m not.  And I like it.  I am just a cut above Liberace on the manly-endurance scale and I can do it with a little bit of effort.  Not much.  And Sal excels.

So can anyone.

Town day.  So much to do.  So, so much.

“Look, I say we use our heads for once and stay overnight in town.  Spread the chore list over two days.  Waddya say?”

“Well, I have a quilting course which wouldn’t get me over to help anyway and the list is long so I am onside.  Ya wuss!  Ya gonna make a habit of this?”

“Well, it’s a coping mechanism, isn’t it?  As one gets on, one makes adjustments.  I think we should be making a few more adjustments, actually.  We could get a few things delivered by the water taxi as it goes by or by the monthly barge?”

“Won’t the milk go sour?”

“OK, a bit more thinking is needed on this topic but I am gonna plan to do less and pay more for that to happen.”

And so we stayed at Money Penny’s B&B Tuesday night in Campbell River. Had dinner out at a nice restaurant.  Very civilized.  Sal’s course had taken her late into the afternoon but I got two things done on the car, bought some materials for more slip-proofing and picked up a few odds and ends that are usually put off because they take so long to get and are only small items.  Visited a friend for a few minutes.  I also put our book in the Campbell River Museum.  By three, I had picked Sal up from the ferry and a bit later we had an early dinner.

GREAT breakfast.  The next day was then spent travelling to Comox for a mini-Costco run. Found and scored some organic fowl at a turkey farm nearby.  Hit up another organic vendor on the highway and returned in time to complete the usual ‘shop’ in Campbell River and get on the 1:30 pm ferry.  Stopped in to see a friend in need of a book on Quadra Island.  Picked up another boat like WASABI on the way home and got it stowed away nicely.  Hit the seas about 3:30.  Raining hard but flat water.  Got home and unloaded by 5:00 – 5:30 pm.

We have never done a major shop and arrived home before dark in the winter.  We have never done as major a shop so easily.  We have never had a less stressful ‘town day’.

So, THIS is the new town-day plan, town-days.

And, ironically, it is only marginally more expensive.  One night at a nice B&B and we can now accomplish about 1.5 times what we used to accomplish by beating ourselves up and getting exhausted.  Given that the tasks are more tiring as we age, that’s not too bad.  It’s not the world’s best plan, I admit, but it’s a good one for now.  And I will get on some kind of ‘delivery’ plan when I can figure out something that works.  Minimum charge for the water taxi to ‘stop and drop’ a delivery is $150.00. But it is 200 pounds, I think.  200 pounds of food (200 pounds of bottled, packaged, wrapped, frozen food is more like 150 of actual food) is enough to delay a town day a whole extra month.

Something to consider.

A friend just asked, “Is there an end-game and what else have we learned?”

YIKES!  I must admit that we have been so immersed in this experiment for so long and still feel that we are not so very far into it that contemplating an end-game has not really crossed our minds.  So, good question…..

‘End Game’ to me means still being alive but not living here.  If I die here, then there was no difference to the game and the end just came.  Ergo, no official end-game.  But, if I move and die elsewhere, then that move would be the so-called end-game.  And do I have a plan for one?

Short answer: NO.  This will likely do, thank you.  We are good here.  OTG will see me out, as the Brits say.  When that happens, Sal plans to go cruising but even she will return to here.  We may go on holiday and kick the bucket dying in a hail of cartel gunfire on a Mexican beach or get run over by a tuktuk driven by a mad monk in Thailand.  But those are not end games, those are accidents.

Almost 90% of people live out their lives at home (except for a miserable and usually short interim time in hospital).  Only 10 or so percent go to ‘rest homes’.  We fully intend to be amongst the majority of homebodies and going out in a hail of gunfire is much more likely than a retirement home for us.  Preferable, too.

As for lessons learned…other than the ones we have already shared…..?  Another good question. The simplest answer is that we have learned that we have options.  Urban life is NOT the only way.  Neither is OTG the only other way.  There are dozens of ways to live the last 25 years of your life and, tho OTG is our current focus, neither of us would rule out a dip in another pool.  I think we are good here but that doesn’t exclude trips at the very least.  We can and will likely still travel some.

But the question was deeper than that, I think.  Is there anything profound?  Spiritual, maybe?

I don’t think so.  Many, many little profound, even spiritual lessons have been learned to be sure but none of them particularly earth-shattering.  A much, much greater appreciation for nature, having personal time, enjoying the quiet, living in great partnership, these have all been experienced; greater satisfaction working on things tangible, the lunacy of much of what passes for modern life.  The absence of so much ugly.  But all those are things you have heard before and likely feel yourself.  They are as much the result of aging as they are the result of living OTG.  I think living OTG enhances and magnifies those feelings but they are not new or surprising lessons.  Thoreau wrote about them.

If there is anything new – completely new – that we seem to have learned, it would be about ourselves.  We are much happier with where we are and what we do.  But some of that might also be that we are happier with who we are.  A little personal growth through creativity and self reliance goes a long, long way.

Is going off the grid rebellion?

Hard to say.  If it is rebellion, it is passive rebellion.  No fighting is required.

Generally speaking, rebellion is defined as defiance of authority with a desire to replace it. OTG is subtly different.  Going off the grid tends to simply ignore authority as much as possible in the hopes that the favour will be returned.  No replacing required.  Live and let live.  So, there is no defiance and no effort to replace Caesar, Big Bro or Obama.  OTG is no more a defiance or rebellion than was Jesus in Judea, I guess.

In other words, defiance may just be in the eyes of the beholder.  Like being black is often perceived as defiance by the police in the USA.  Or being anything but old stock Canadian was to Harper. GW Bush famously said, “You are either with us or you are with the enemy.”  George had no room for Mr. In-between.

So, to those people, we are rebels.  To us, we are not.

To be fair, I do consider myself a bit of a rebel but rather more of a passive one than a bad guy. I am not openly defiant.  I don’t even have a stud or a tattoo.  I am actually just a spoiled-brat kind of rebel.  I pick and choose my somewhat random acts of passive defiance whimsically most of the time.  Hormonally, at the very least.  Basically, I just seethe a lot.

Aside from getting off the utility grids (power, water, sewer, gas) but exploiting them to my benefit when it suits me (roads, communications, health care), I basically just advocate for making every effort not to facilitate Big Brother or any of the holding companies in every way possible while still staying convenient to myself.  I don’t hate them.  I just don’t like them.

Which, I think, is fair.  They neither like me nor hate me.  They, and all institutions, are basically structural psychopaths who don’t care one way or the other about the people they interact with.

So, we try to avoid, by-pass, replace, recycle, do-it-ourselves and maybe even barter now and again.  We shop local whenever possible but we know that the corporate-world plays hugely in even local transactions.  My closest tire store doesn’t make tires, for example. BF Goodrich does.  EXXon supplies them.  So corporate world gets a piece of me.

I try to pay cash but resort to credit card when it’s impossible otherwise.  Like when using Amazon online.  If I pay cash, then I deal only with the human seller.  If I use a card, I involve many, many others and the government as well.  All but the seller and I acting in a very parasitic role.  We resist but we do not fight because you cannot win against the parasites.  And, because, like so many other minor ‘establishment’ intrusions into one’s life, no single trespass from a parasitic psychopath warrants much more than a shrug of surrender and frequent bouts of Head and Shoulders.

There are, however, so many small intrusions in modern life that it makes one feel like death by ten thousand cuts.  It did to me.  If one really begins to feel all that systemic violation of person, one may attempt to flee.  We did.

But, if you choose to go, I advise fleeing some distance.  Big Brother does not tolerate even passive rebels gladly in the city.  It’s even harder if you live in the suburbs.  It is against the law in many jurisdictions to collect your own rainwater (for drinking) or to turn off the power or the gas supply.  Ironically, the utility companies can turn off your power and this – even if you are in agreement with that decision – will make your home officially ‘unsafe for human habitation’ by the city and they will prosecute you for that.  Basically, you can’t win.  You can’t get off any of the grids and still live in the city.  You can try but, really, you just martyr yourself.  If you have any doubts about that, read some of the stories of the rebels who didn’t want smart meters installed in their homes.

So, back to the question: Is living off the grid rebellious?  I think not.  OTG is more like living like a Quaker or the Swiss.  It’s an attempt to stay neutral.  And healthy.  And free. But we pay our taxes.  NOT a rebellion.

Please tell them that when the SWAT team has kicked in my door and beaten and tasered me.  I was officially NOT a rebel up until that point.

*Sal’s hairdresser claims to be a sovereign citizen.  So, he should know.