Not A Locust
It's an odd thing, something no one expected, not even ourselves. Though we predicted it, I don't believe we really expected it.
Many people thought (and possibly still think) that Alex and I would move out to the country, live simply for a while, and then crave a return to society and modern convenience. We would eventually tire of the long drive, the difficulties of living in a wilder form of nature, and living with the stunted forms of modern convenience we have out here, like ridiculously slow internet that costs an arm and a leg, sketchy cell phone signals, well water, propane tank, septic tank, no near grocery store or *gasp* redbox.
While we vowed to everyone that we were moving to this land to stay and wanted to raise our children on it and someday be buried on it, both of us wondered if it might someday be replaced by a new dream. And maybe it will. But what surprises me, is that the farther off grid I go, the stronger the call in my heart becomes to separate from the common ideals of modern society. Each passing month, I find new ways to simplify my life, and find increasing joy in the simplicity.
As I read books like "Little House On The Prairie" to my children, or "The Hawk and the Dove" (stories set in a monastery in the 1300's) to myself, my spirit is awakened and my heart sings. These stories of simpler lives speak to my soul. I do not glorify the romance of olden times, wishing I could be part of a different age (at least not one before the inventions of indoor plumbing and electric blankets). But I do see and value things that have been lost, things I want to recover for myself and my family.
Our house is not large by current American standards: 1500 sq ft, no basement or attic. When we moved here, we had dreams of adding on a large addition. But after reading the Little House series with my kids, I began to ask myself, "Do I need more space, or just less stuff?"
"Which would make my life more comfortable, luxury or simplicity?"
It is a profound question.
Doing some early spring shopping, I actually found myself checking the price on the perfect bathing suit, thinking, "$40? I wonder how many bags of potting soil I could get instead." It was then that I realized the enormity of the change in my priorities. When I went to check out (sans bathing suit), I overheard a young woman in the aisle next to me saying to her friend, "sometimes all the therapy I need is a trip out shopping." I looked at the conveyor belt holding my things: diapers, toilet paper, crayons, and a small bag of balloons. And I realized how simple my family's needs are compared to what they used to be.
My husband was expostulating to me one day about the problems with consumerism. Here is a snippet of his rant:
"Look at nature, where in nature do you see consumers? Locusts! I do not want to be a locust!"
It always amuses me to watch my husband step onto a soap box and get worked up, with me as his only audience, knowing full well that I already agree with him. Nevertheless, his words stuck with me. "I do not want to be a locust."
So what does that mean? I think for me it means that my house is not a factory where shopping bags go in and garbage bags go out. And I'm not even talking about living greener (though I do work toward that), what I am talking about is a simpler, more peaceful, less cluttered, less chaotic lifestyle. A lifestyle with fewer demands on my attention. What amazes me is that I am actually achieving it; and where I thought I would feel deprived, I instead feel free.
Many people thought (and possibly still think) that Alex and I would move out to the country, live simply for a while, and then crave a return to society and modern convenience. We would eventually tire of the long drive, the difficulties of living in a wilder form of nature, and living with the stunted forms of modern convenience we have out here, like ridiculously slow internet that costs an arm and a leg, sketchy cell phone signals, well water, propane tank, septic tank, no near grocery store or *gasp* redbox.
While we vowed to everyone that we were moving to this land to stay and wanted to raise our children on it and someday be buried on it, both of us wondered if it might someday be replaced by a new dream. And maybe it will. But what surprises me, is that the farther off grid I go, the stronger the call in my heart becomes to separate from the common ideals of modern society. Each passing month, I find new ways to simplify my life, and find increasing joy in the simplicity.
As I read books like "Little House On The Prairie" to my children, or "The Hawk and the Dove" (stories set in a monastery in the 1300's) to myself, my spirit is awakened and my heart sings. These stories of simpler lives speak to my soul. I do not glorify the romance of olden times, wishing I could be part of a different age (at least not one before the inventions of indoor plumbing and electric blankets). But I do see and value things that have been lost, things I want to recover for myself and my family.
Our house is not large by current American standards: 1500 sq ft, no basement or attic. When we moved here, we had dreams of adding on a large addition. But after reading the Little House series with my kids, I began to ask myself, "Do I need more space, or just less stuff?"
"Which would make my life more comfortable, luxury or simplicity?"
It is a profound question.
Doing some early spring shopping, I actually found myself checking the price on the perfect bathing suit, thinking, "$40? I wonder how many bags of potting soil I could get instead." It was then that I realized the enormity of the change in my priorities. When I went to check out (sans bathing suit), I overheard a young woman in the aisle next to me saying to her friend, "sometimes all the therapy I need is a trip out shopping." I looked at the conveyor belt holding my things: diapers, toilet paper, crayons, and a small bag of balloons. And I realized how simple my family's needs are compared to what they used to be.
My husband was expostulating to me one day about the problems with consumerism. Here is a snippet of his rant:
"Look at nature, where in nature do you see consumers? Locusts! I do not want to be a locust!"
It always amuses me to watch my husband step onto a soap box and get worked up, with me as his only audience, knowing full well that I already agree with him. Nevertheless, his words stuck with me. "I do not want to be a locust."
So what does that mean? I think for me it means that my house is not a factory where shopping bags go in and garbage bags go out. And I'm not even talking about living greener (though I do work toward that), what I am talking about is a simpler, more peaceful, less cluttered, less chaotic lifestyle. A lifestyle with fewer demands on my attention. What amazes me is that I am actually achieving it; and where I thought I would feel deprived, I instead feel free.
