The Kind of Life We Live

Here at Empty Mountain, we live the kind of life where on our way home from the nearest town, population 900, we have the pleasure of sometimes seeing the incredible strength, beauty & grace of an eagle sitting in a tree by the river close-by to where we live (see pic above we took two days ago on Friday).

We live the kind of life where just last weekend I learned I need to start putting a lid on the soap dish inside the uninsulated shower house outside because turns out critters will start gnawing on the bar soap for a snack in the depths of winter.

We live the kind of life where we are acutely aware of where the sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening and how it changes throughout the year and amid each season because our electricity needs depend on moving our solar panels around to match the sun’s arrival and departure.

We live the kind of life where one time last summer I encountered a small rattlesnake friend who was posting guard by the door of the loo.

We live the kind of life where the locals are critters & creatures and our nearest neighbors are trees and none of them subscribe to the notion that busyness is a badge of honor or that to rest is unimportant or negatively lazy.

We live the kind of life where no longer do we need to shutter the windows with curtains, because the only ones who would ever be watching us on display are coyotes, wolves, deer, elk or bears.

We live the kind of life where we chop wood to stay warm inside the cabin and collect rain water to wash our hands, body, my long hair, and the dishes.

We live the kind of life where our biggest challenges are wilderness, temperature, weather & season based, not people generated noise, forever motion & constant commotion, and commerce related.

We live the kind of life where we spend a lot more time outside than we ever did when living in town, and underneathe our feet the paved hard surfaces have been wonderfully replaced by the earthen ground. 

We live the kind of life where at first it was hella hard adjusting to our new surroundings and now I’m not sure I could ever go back to once again living in a town - I would miss my forest sangha too too much.

We live the kind of life that inspires me to write poems like this:

19-degrees, 4:30am
and they have come for the trees

Strange as it seems there is wisdom
in holding both realities

Yes the loggers are good men
come to do their necessary work,
mitigating wildfire risk,
of which our small cabin in the big woods
may be a very real beneficiary

Yes an agency I trust compiled data
based on facts determined such measures
are for good reason

Yes the trees will be put to good use
and other growth will spring forth
in another season

Also true are my own quiet pleas
for their work to be over, done,
through

Early the loggers arrive and with
full trucks they depart

For the loss of these rooted lives
my heart aches more & more

Truck after truck
day after day
every Monday through Friday
for now over a year, the pines
& firs where I live have been
disappearing

And I feel quite certain
they’ve taken enough away

Dear loggers, please & kindly,
let the ones still standing
remain