Installing the Wood Stove

It's mid-December now and time to get the wood stove going. So far, I've been heating with kerosene. It raises the temperture in the tent by 40 degrees so it's been fairly comfortable up until now, but I don't burn the kerosene through the night and mornings are pretty damn cold as a result. Soon, the kerosene won't be able to keep up with the drop in temperature so it's time to start burning wood. I feel safe keeping the wood going through the night, so my mornings are about to get a lot more comfortable, too!

I heat my tent with a Yukon II wood stove. It has a 2 cubic foot firebox which provides a 6 to 8 hour burn time. The stove is specially designed for tents. It's lightweight and easy to install and remove. It has a tent heating capacity of 14' x 16' at zero degrees, and 10' x 12' at 30 below. My tent is 12' x 14' so it really does the job, even during those bitter-cold, windy winter nights, as long as you tend to it properly.

Yukon II tent stove

I ordered my tent with a pre-installed stove jack in the back wall. The stove jack consists of a sewn-in piece of heat-resistant fabric with a 5" hole in the center, just the right size to receive the 5" stove pipe required by the Yukon II. To install the stove, I just run 5" stove pipe from the stove, right out through the stove jack, and then extend it out and up, well away from the tent and rain fly.

Last year, I had a difficult time hanging the stove pipe. Nothing in a tent is solid, so it's a challenge to hang the pipe. I had ended up just cobbling things together with wire and hangers, but I never liked the results. This year, I decided to solve some of those problems.

What was needed was a solid metal post outside, so I drove a 10' piece of conduit a few inches into the ground, then anchored the top of the conduit to the 4x4 rain fly post with a piece of angle-iron.

Vertical piece of conduit attached to the rain fly post

With the metal post in place, I ran a 7' section of pipe from the stove jack in the back wall of my tent to the metal post outside. I angled the pipe upward at about 45 degrees and attached the high end of the pipe to the outside metal post. Then I attached the other end to the interior tent frame.

One end of the pipe attaches to the outside post...

...and the other end to the interior tent frame

The woods that I live in are covered with pine trees, and the ground is thick with pine needles. It's a tinder box, so I can't let any sparks leave the stove pipe. After doing some research, I decided to build my own spark arrestor. I just couldn't find anything safe enough on the market, especially for 5" stove pipe. I constructed my spark arrestor from 1/4" welded wire screen. I went twice around with the screen so the final openings, with the screen overlapping itself, are close to 1/8". That's a lot better then the 3/4" openings of most spark arrestors on the market. I capped the screen with a 6" pipe cap to help keep the rain out, then attached the bottom of the screen to a piece of 5" stove pipe using a hose clamp.

Spark arrestor for the top of the stove pipe

I attached the completed spark arrestor to a 2' section of pipe, then attached the whole assembly to the 7' section of pipe that I had hung previously.

With the spark arrestor in place, the exterior pipes are complete

Next, I moved to the inside to complete the installation. I connected the stove to the outside assembly using a 4' section of pipe and a couple of elbows.

Final section of interior pipe in place

Tonite I'll light the stove for the first time this year. I'll have to leave the door open for awhile because new stove pipe gives off some initial fumes. I'm ready for winter now, and ready to wake up to a warm tent on snowy winter mornings!

My First Anniversary of Tent Living

I don't remember the exact date that I spent my first night in the tent, but I do remember that it was right after Thanksgiving 2011. So it's been a year now.

I remember how tough the first few weeks in the tent were. I was still constructing my front door, so there was nothing but a zippered entrance in the canvas. And the canvas was stretches so tight over the metal frame that I couldn't zip the entrance closed. So I draped a blanket over the opening, but the cold night air moved in freely.

And I was having a tough time installing the wood stove. There was nothing to hang the stove pipe from. Everything moved, nothing was solid. It would take me three attempts and plenty of smoky failures to finally get it right. In the meantime, I was heating with kerosene, but it just couldn't keep up with all the air infiltration.

No toilet in those first few weeks, either. And no dump sink. Much of my morning routine was spent outside. I'd bring a warm cup of water outside and brush my teeth. And I dug a temporary trench for my toilet.

I was cold all the time. Really cold. I slept on a futon mattress on the floor since I was still building my bed, too. Cold. And full of doubt. I felt like I had jumped in over my head. Could I really pull this off? What was I thinking?

But tent living is all about acclimating, and learning as you go. Some problems you can solve. Others just fade away as you get used to the new lifestyle.

During those first weeks, I dreaded going to bed. I didn't trust the kerosene heater through the night so I'd shut it down just before bed. The warmth lingered for awhile, but soon the cold night winds would sweep it away through the canvas walls and out the blanket-covered entrance. Within 10 minutes, the inside of the tent would reach the same temperature as the outside. I'd curl up in a ball in my bed with just my nose and a small bit of my face exposed and try to fall asleep as doubt started playing in my mind. What was I doing out here? What the hell was I thinking?

Then one night, sometime in December, something came over me. It was my first real turning point. I had been living in the tent for some weeks and had gotten used to many of the discomforts. The cold didn't seem to bother me as much, and I was building confidence with each successful day. So that night, I turned off the kerosene heater as I had always done. But instead of dreading the coming cold, I walked over to the door and ripped down the blanket! Cold air blasted in immediately and the heat was gone in seconds! I thought to myself, "Come on in, you bastard! You're gonna anyway!" Then I crawled into bed, laid flat on my back, looked around the moonlit tent, and started smiling, then laughing! My fears and doubts were fading. My confidence was building.

By January, things finally came together. My door was in, the wood stove was working, and my toilet and dump sink were installed. My mornings became much more comfortable. Things got a lot easier, and I finished out the winter without too much discomfort.

Spring was easy. I moved to a new location in April, so that set me back a few weeks, but it was a great time of year to move. By May I was pretty much back on my feet again, and the weather was great!

About that time, I noticed another change that had been taking place in me. It had happened over a course of months, and the change was so gradual that I hadn't noticed it. It was my stress level. Sometime in June, I hit a stressful period at work and I started thinking about work during my off-hours, especially at night while I was trying to sleep. It was during that period that I realised how well I'd been sleeping up to that point, and how the stress of my previous lifestyle had just faded away over time. The temporary stress at work had awakened me to this gradual change and helped me realise how relaxed and carefree I had become.

By July, the summer heat was inescapable and it took me until August to figure out how to deal with it. Again, acclimating my body to the outside temperatures played a big role, as it had during the winter months. And getting some shade over my tent made a huge difference. And just like winter, by the time I got things figured out, the season was over and the next one had arrived.

Autumn was an easy time. A time for rest and reflection, and preparing for winter. Autumn was the time that I noticed another change in me. The novelty of tent living had worn off. This place was now my home. Months before, I would often stand and look around my place and smile. Living this lifestyle was a dream of mine that I had finally realised and I would often stop and take the time to appreciate what I had accomplished. But now, several months later, I'd come home from work, walk in the door, light my lamps, change my clothes, and start dinner without thinking twice about my surroundings. Over the months, the tent had become my home and the novelty had disappeared.

And now, once again, winter is only days away. It's been a year now, and oh what a year. This winter will be so much different than last. I'm all set up and ready for cold weather. No doubts. No fears. Just hanging out in the woods this winter, enjoying a lifestyle that now seems more and more normal, my memories of my old lifestyle fading as the days march on.

My Morning Routine

This morning I woke up a little after 6am. I had set my cell phone alarm for 7am but my bladder had other ideas this morning. It was still dark outside and the birds hadn't started their morning songs yet so I knew it was still pretty early. I poked my arms out from under my blankets and was happy that it wasn't too cold this morning. I'm not burning my wood stove yet because it gets the tent too damn hot this time of year. Instead, I'm using the kerosene heater, which means that mornings are cold in the tent.

I had slept well the night before. I always sleep well at my place, especially this time of year. I love the cold nights, just not the cold mornings. My bed is soft and warm and piled high with bedding. There's a futon mattress at the bottom, then a down comforter and a soft blanket. Then me. Then another soft blanket. Then two sleeping bags zipped together and stuffed inside two heavy fleece blankets that are also zipped together. Then a poly comforter, and finally another sleeping bag on top. I'm never cold at night.

My winter bed

But I sure get cold in the morning.

My morning routine takes about 90 minutes, but the first 30 minutes are all about warming things up. Warming up the tent. Warming up some bathing water. And warming up myself with a hot cup of coffee.

The first thing I do is jump out of bed, run over to the propane cook stove, and light both burners. That starts heating up the tent.

Propane cook stove puts out some quick heat in the morning

Then I go out onto the stoop and light the kerosene heater. It gives off a lot of fumes when it's first lit so I let it burn outside while I run back in and jump back into bed for a 5 minute snooze.

That's the coldest part of my morning. As I snooze and wait for the kerosene heater to burn clean out on the stoop, the propane stove begins warming the tent, so the next time I get out of bed it's 10 degrees warmer. This morning, that meant 50 degrees inside instead of 40, which wasn't bad.

After my first snooze, I get up a second time, run out to the stoop, grab the kerosene heater and bring it inside, and jump back into bed for my second snooze.

Kerosene heater in the early morning hours

That's it for the painful part. I snooze a second time for 10 minutes or so while the kerosene brings the tent up to 70 degrees or so. Then it's time to start getting ready.

The third time I get up, it's nice and warm in the tent. I put on a pot of coffee and a pot of bathing water.

Coffee and bathing water on the stove

It takes about 15 minutes to perk the coffee and heat the water, so I brush my teeth, use the toilet, maybe exercise a little, and wake up a bit. By now the sun has started to rise and the birds are singing. I check the temperature. It's still 40 degrees outside, but now it's creeping up toward 80 in the tent. That's bathing temperature.

Once the coffee is ready, I move the kerosene heater closer to the vanity and sit the coffee pot on top of it to keep it warm.

Keeping the coffee warm

Now comes bath time. I put the pot of bathing water on the vanity and start washing up.

Wash tub and warm bathing water

I take sponge baths, starting with my face and hair, then my underarms. Next, I put the wash tub on the floor and stand in it while I pour water over my entire body. Finally, I squat over the tub and wash my...other parts.

With my bath finished, my morning routine is about done. I get dressed, wipe up the vanity, and take the waste bucket from my toilet out to the tree bog. I take the kerosene heater back out to the stoop and shut it down as I leave for the day.

The Middle of Autumn

November. The middle of Autumn. Fall and Spring are the easy and comfortable months in a tent. Not too hot and not too cold. November is also when my living expenses peak due to heating costs. October days are still warm enough to leave the heater off on occasion, and by December it's time to burn wood, which I get for free. But in November I heat every morning and every night with kerosene, so my heating costs go up to $30 or $40 per month. It's a bit the same in Spring, but by then 40 degrees feels damn warm so I'll leave the heater off more frequently.

November is a time of acceptance. In early Fall, I felt cold when it reached the mid-50s, and I didn't want to think about the cold weather that was just around the corner. But now, a few months later, the trees are bare, the nights come early, and it's normal to see 40 degrees in the morning. I've stopped fretting over the coming of Winter and I'm enjoying Fall. I've accepted the coming of colder weather.

It's a time for rest and reflection. I think about all I've accomplished since my first night in Brandy Station earlier this year. Things were such a mess back then. But now, I'm ready for Winter. My rain fly has proven itself in some pretty good winds, so I'm confident it will hold through Winter storms. I've finished my interior make-over and winterized my front door. My big projects are complete for the year. I can rest.

This is also my second November living in a tent. My one-year anniversary is weeks away, and I've been thinking about that a lot lately. Now, for the first time, I know what's ahead of me. I've crossed the uncharted waters of Summer, and as I round the turn and head back into Autumn, I know what to expect. Winter is cold and dark. And it can be lonely, since those Summer visitors shy away a bit. It's a quiet time. A good time to read and meditate and play music.

November is also a time when warm-weather pests are gone. No more spiders casting webs across my path. No more ticks. No more stink bugs. Even the mice that bothered me so badly last Summer are no longer such a problem.

Once you hit November, there's no denying that Summer is over. It's gone. And when the occasional Summer-like day appears in November, you appreciate it as a gift. A gift that will be gone tomorrow.

Thinking about November, I realize that I am in the November of my life, too. I turned 54 last month, and the analogy is a strong one for me. The Spring of youth is more and more distance, but the Summer of my life, when I worked so hard and raised a family, is just there over my shoulder. November is a time in between. A pleasant, peaceful time, before Winter.

So I'm enjoying my November. I'm enjoying every moment. I'm not thinking about the cold winds of January. They'll get here when they get here, and I'll manage them well. Now is a time to give thanks and to enjoy what each new November day brings into my life.

Oil Lamps and Candlelight

Last night, it was already dark when I got home from work. The waxing gibbous moon lit the path to my tent pretty well, but I opened my cell phone anyway to help light the way. The day had been an exceptional one for late October in Virginia, around 80 degrees, sunny and warm. And the early evening was still warm. There would be no need to light the heater. Maybe just put on a sweatshirt.

I entered my home and, as usual, sat my cell phone on the kitchen buffet next to the kerosene lamp, leaving it open so that I could find the matches. I have three lamp. The one in the kitchen, another one on the end table near my bed, and a third hanging overhead at the back of the tent. I always light the kitchen lamp first since it's right by the door. With that first lamp burning, I can see well enough to go around the tent and light the others.

Kitchen lamp

Bedroom lamps

This night, I would be practising music and reading, so I pulled out all the stops and lit up everything I have. Although oil lamps put out a lot of light and are very economical, I find the light to be a little harsh compared to candlelight. I've really gotten used to soft lighting at my place. I have five big candles sitting here and there around the tent. One on the end table near the door, three in the bathroom, and another that I keep on a stool that doubles as a table. I lit them all. And I turned the oil lamps as bright as they would go. I don't usually do that, but this night I needed to read.

Bedroom workspace lit up for reading

Have you ever lost power and had to revert to candles and oil lamps for awhile? When I lived in a house, those were some of my most memorable moments. There's a sense of peace that enters the room when you turn off those bright electric bulbs and light candles. People often ask me about electricity. Do I miss it? Will I get it someday? No, I don't think so.

Financial Freedom

Here are some interesting financial statistics about people in the U.S.:

• Our average household income is around $4500 per month (after taxes)
• Our average housing costs are around $1400 per month (including rent, mortgage, taxes, insurance, utilities, maintenance, and so on)
• Other household expenses (like transportation, food, entertainment, and so on) are around $2700 per month
• Around 70% of us don't like our jobs

U.S Department of Labor statistics

That's how it is for the average American. Chances are that if you're reading this post, then you can relate to it. You can see yourself in those statistics. We're living one month at a time. Money comes in, and money goes right back out. What's left each month (around $400 on average) hopefully makes its way into savings or investments to help us secure our financial freedom at some point in the future.

But what is "financial freedom"? If you Google it, you'll see things like:

"Financial freedom happens when your wants and your needs are exceeded by your passive income".

You'll also get lots of advice about cutting expenses, increasing income, eliminating debt, increasing savings and investments, and so on. And like the old saying goes, "Freedom ain't free!", right? So the common wisdom is to work hard and sacrifice now so that you may someday attain financial freedom.

Work hard, at a job you don't like. And cut back so that you can save and invest more. That's right, cut back on those very "wants and needs" that you're trying to attain. Sacrifice now so that you can be free...later.

Later. When you retire. At age 65 if you're lucky, but more like 67 these days. That gives you about 10 or 12 years of "freedom" at the end of your life. Stay health, so that you can enjoy those final days of freedom. And pray that your investments in stocks and bonds and real estate weather the ups and downs of our volatile economy. That the politicians and financiers of the world that you've entrusted with your investments are indeed worthy of that trust.

So, how's that plan make you feel? Secure? Not me. It makes me nauseous. It's a bullshit plan.

For example, look at the whole "wants and needs" part of that plan. Most of the financial advice out there focuses on cutting back on your current expenses, and moving that money into savings and investments. Why? So that you can spend later. Spend now, and you can't spend later. Don't spend now, and you can spend later. Spend spend spend!

Enough!

There are "wants", and there are "needs". And you can't cut back on needs. Period. Otherwise, they were never really needs to begin with. I'm talking about enough food and water to keep you health, and adequate shelter and clothing to protect your body. Those are truly needs, and there are few. Everything else that we spend our money on are "wants".

Want true financial freedom? Start by thinking about your wants. Think hard. And stop wanting so damn much! The goal is to want exactly what you already have. To be satisfied. Maybe that's the true price of freedom: to work hard at not wanting so much. Or at least not wanting things that cost so much money.

But changing your "wants" is hard. And there's a reason for that. It's called society.

We see the material possessions that our peers have and we want those things, too. We see advertisements for products and we're compelled to buy. And if we can't have the things that we want, the things that others seem to have, we feel bad. We even feel like failures sometimes. Our society has even gone so far as to weave this message into our definition of "success". It's insidious, and it's hard to stand up against.

We even define "poverty" in this way, in comparative terms to the rest of society:

"Poverty is the lack of the usual or socially acceptable amount of money or material possessions"

We measure ourselves by what is "usual" and "socially acceptable". We are "poor" only in relationship to the society in which we live. Think about that. Think about it hard. In fact, work as hard on that concept as you do planning your retirement, or budgeting your expenses, or managing your investments, or working that extra job. Because changing your "wants" is just as important as all of these things. Maybe even more important.

And what about your job? Well, the standard advice with regard to financial freedom is to make as much money as you can. But if you're like most people you really don't like your job. At least that fact is recognized by the financial experts, with their focus on investments and passive income. At least they acknowledge that the main goal of financial freedom is...to quit working! Or more accurately, to not have to work, and to therefore have the freedom to do what you want with your life.

Hmmm, to do what you want with your life. So what does that look like to you?

I live in a tent, and I do it by choice. I have all the food I need. I have all the clean water I need. I'm safe and dry and warm. My needs are met. And I have all the extra things that I truly want. I have extra money. I have extra time. I'm able to do the work that I enjoy without having to worry too much about what it pays. I'm free. Join me.

New Kitchen and Bath

If you've ever taken a tour of my home, you've probably noticed that my kitchen and bath were pretty..."campy". My kitchen consisted of a piece of plywood resting between two pine shelves. My bathroom vanity was a piece of plywood on top of two wooden stools. My dump sink was a plastic bucket with a hole cut in the bottom for the drain. And my tent toilet was a plywood box.

Well, not anymore. Last week I put in a new kitchen and bath!

I really love my new stuff! The kitchen is an old wooden baker's table with plenty of storage underneath. I was getting tired of all the clutter on my old kitchen shelves. I still have one of the old shelves for storing food, pots and pans, and glasses and cups, but it's now tucked out of the way behind my closet so it's not such an eyesore.

My new kitchen

My new bathroom is awesome! I picked up an old oak wash table at an antique store. It's five feet tall and fits perfectly on my 5-foot side wall. I replaced the old plastic dump sink with a new porcelain vanity-top sink from Lowes. It's much easier to clean than the plastic bucket that I had.

My new bathroom

I even found an antique earth closet! With arm rests!

My new earth closet

Maintaining the Path to my Tent

My tent site is tucked in the woods about 30 yards from where I park my truck. In April of 2012, when I first moved in and began setting up, I followed a game trail from the parking area down to the tent site. Soon the game trail became a well-worn path. In May, I put down some mulch and pine needles, and over the summer I would occasionally pull weeds and sprinkle more pine needles here and there to cover muddy spots as they appeared. By October, the path was in need of some serious maintenance.

I live among pine trees, so pine needles are easy to come by. Especially in the fall when the trees start shedding.

Pine needles cover my "back yard"

I have around 50 yards of paths that run from my parking area, to my tent, and then down to my living area. The path from the tent to the living area needs less maintenance. It's not used as much as the main path, and it's on a good grade that drains well so there's not much puddling when it rains. But the main path from the parking area to the tent was in sorry shape after summer rains and general neglect.

Gathering pine needles is a bit of a chore. Even though they're plentiful, you still have to rake them up and separate out the sticks and pine cones. I just rake up a pile, then comb through it with my hands and separate out the big stuff.

Raking up sticks, pine cones, and pine needles

Separating the needles

It took a while but the results are worth it. I now have a nice, soft walkway. No more puddles when it rains!

Before

After

Stink bugs!

Holy crap! Stink bugs have invaded my tent! They're *everywhere*!

In my clothes. Crawling around the floor and walls. Up on the ceiling. Especially on the ceiling. They tuck themselves in between the tent frame and canvas. They're inside my kerosene lantern. Inside of it, damnit!

I've almost eaten them on several occasions. Picked them out of my food in the nick of time. Bastards!

I really hate stink bugs. I thought the ticks were bad in the spring, but I would gladly trade. I even prefer mice to these bugs.

I went to the laundromat today and started pulling my clothes out of the basket to load into the washer. I'd see a stink bug here and there and shake my clothes out and when I was done I looked down and there were dozens of them just crawling around at my feet. Embarrassing. People probably thought I lived in a tent or something :)

Rain Fly Support System, Version 3.0

A few months ago I tried a new design for my rain fly support system. It consisted of two vertical 4x4 posts and a horizontal 25-foot cross piece running from post to post. It worked great...for about two days...then it failed miserably.The cross piece was just too flimsy. It twisted and turned and finally cracked.

I posted the failure on Facebook. Some of my friends consoled me. Others offered suggestions. I was already thinking about building a sturdier cross piece, something like a light structural beam, and many of my friends offered similar suggestions. Then my son, Boston, suggested a different approach:

"I think a compression member is asking for trouble. Why not a thick, strong rope under tension instead of a beam? Keep the 4x4 posts at the gable ends for compression, and turnbuckle the beam rope on the ground. Less weight over your head if it fails, too."

As soon as I read his post I knew he was on the right track.

I drilled 1/2" holes at the top of each 4x4 post and ran 50' of 1/2" twisted nylon rope from post to post. The rope has a 600 lbs working load. I intended to put 200 lbs of tension on the rope to keep it flat. That would leave 400 lbs for snow load.

Sighting down the rope from the front post, 14 feet off the ground

I staked the ends of the rope to the ground using two, 2 1/2' x 3/4" pipes at each end, and rigged a sort of block-and-tackle on the rope using four D-rings. I pulled the rope taut.

Block-and-tackle made from D-rings

The block-and-tackle worked well and I was able to get the rope pretty flat, which in turn keeps the rain fly smooth and stationary.

Rope in place, anchored, and pulled taut

I draped the rain fly over the rope and staked it down.

The finished rain fly

Water

Of all the modern convenience that I left behind when I moved into a tent, running water is what I miss the most. No electricity? No problem. Earth closet for my tent toilet? Well...okay. Heat with wood? Cook with gas? Sure. Drink warm beer in the summertime? I suppose I'm even used to that now. But carrying in containers of water is pretty inconvenient.

It turns out that finding a water supply is fairly easy, and we're all very lucky in this country that clean water is so readily available. Most people are happy to let me use their outdoor spigot. I found that out last November when I first started living this way. I was looking for a water supply and I noticed a spigot outside of a country store. I went in and bought a few items and started talking to the store clerk. I explained that I was camping in the area and needed to occasionally fill my water containers. They said, "Sure, help yourself!" From that day on, I made it a point to be a good customer at that place, and gave the clerk a dollar each time I filled a container. I'm sure they referred to me as "the water guy".

At my current location in Brandy Station, my landlord let's me use his hose spigots anytime I want. The closest one is on his guest cottage which is about 150 yards from my tent. It's a nice walk, especially carrying 7 gallons of water.

Filling up at my landlord's place

And that's one of the things that I really appreciate about water: it's *heavy*! One gallon weighs a little over 8 lbs, which means my 7 gallon container is almost 60 lbs when full. That's heavy enough to really knock you off balance when you carry just one container. And while carrying two gives you nice balance, it's over 100 lbs! And for some reason I just can't seem to fill those containers part way. I'm always compelled to fill them to the top. That's because water is so precious to me now.

I use Aqua-Tainers to carry my water. They're tough, and the spigots hold up well. I have two, one in my bathroom and another in my living area.

7-gallon Aqua-Tainer

My average water consumption is about 3 gallons per day. Here's the breakdown:

• Bathing: 1.5 gallons. I take sponge baths.
• Cleaning: 2 quarts. I do dishes every few days, which takes about 1.5 gallons.
• Cooking: 2 quarts. A pot of coffee, and maybe rinsing some veggies.
• Toilet: 1 quart. My tent toilet is an earth closet which consumes no water, but I urinate in a dump sink and flush each time with a cup of water.

In the summer, my water consumption increases a lot. That's because I often take two baths a day, and I typically use more water for each bath since I go outdoors and pour cold water directly over my head. Those are 2-gallon baths, and that gets me to around 5 gallons per day in the summer.

In my tent, each cup of water is precious to me, and I've gotten very good at putting every single drop to work. For example, I rinse my soapy hands with just a 1/2 cup of water. And it takes less than a gallon to rinse a full drainer of dishes. When I shampoo, I use 1 cup to wet my hair, and 2 more to rinse it.

But my extreme sensitivity to water conservation disappears when I'm back in a conventional house. For example, when I'm staying with friends I'll take long, guilt-free hot showers and enjoy each moment. And I'll often leave the water running while I brush my teeth. That's because I don't have to carry the water that I'm using there so there's no real penalty for wasting it. (Hmmm...no penalty for waste. Now that's a topic for another post!)

Late Summer, Early Fall

It was 58 degrees this morning as I began taking my clothes off to bath. I would bath indoors today. With warm water. It was just a few days ago when I bathed outside, dumping cold water over my head and body. Enjoying the invigorating sensations and looking forward to staying cool for sometime after my bath. But not this morning. Today I would heat my water. And light the kerosene heater that gets so much use in the fall.

Driving out the morning chill

As I walked around the tent barefoot, sipping my morning coffee, waiting for my pot of bath water to warm on the gas burner, I noticed that my feet were uncomfortably cold. The rest of my body was fairly comfortable on this cool morning, but my feet were just a bit too cold. Then I remembered, "Oh yeah that's right, my feet are always cold in the winter."

I thought back to last winter and how I was able to warm up the tent quite well, even on the coldest of days, but how the uninsulated floor always remained so damn cold. By January, I would be acclimated to the cold again, and I would once again walk comfortably in stocking feet, or even bare feet. But it would take weeks to adjust to winter's cold, just as it had taken time to adjust to summer's heat. I knew the secret was to expose the body to extreme temperatures as often and for as long as tolerable. I knew that. And I knew I shouldn't be lighting the kerosene so soon. Warm water, yes. But I should bath in the 58 degree air and let myself be chilled by it. I should start acclimating now, in September.

But I lit the kerosene anyway.

Soon, it was 80 degrees in the tent, and I was able to forget that this was September. And that colder and colder air would soon be coming. And that the heat of summer was all but over. I enjoyed a nice, warm, comfortable bath and kept the door closed. Soon the door would be closed all the time, and the woodstove would be installed, and the tent would be feeling much smaller. But I put those thoughts out of my head, at least for this September morning.

My Tent Toilet

WARNING! This post contains graphic descriptions of human solid waste disposal. If you find this topic offensive or repulsive, then please do not read this post!

Well, the time has come to talk about one of the more delicate topics of tent living: What to do about human solid waste.

How to dispose of human feces is an age-old problem. It's as old as the problem of gathering food, or staying warm and dry. It's one of the basic problems of human existence. Throughout the ages there have been a number of solutions. The most common solution in the US today is the flush toilet, also known as the water closet. Another familiar solution, especially in rural areas, is the pit toilet or "outhouse". The composting toilet is also gaining popularity.

But when it comes to outfitting a tent with a toilet, there are some unique challenges. How do you comply with local health regulations while at the same time maintaining a light footprint on the land? Turns out that's not an easy task.

My search for an effective waste disposal system started by considering a number of options:

• Flush toilet (aka water closet). The ubiquitous ceramic toilet found in nearly every American home (and all the plumbing that goes with it!)
• Pit toilet (aka "outhouse"). That cute little wooden house with the moon on the door
• Composting toilet. Dry toilet designed to encourage aerobic composting
• Chamber pot. Container that collects feces. Requires a separate means of disposal
• Earth closet. Dry toilet that collects feces. Requires a separate means of disposal

Some of these systems, like the pit toilet or composting toilet, are "all-in-one" solutions whereby the waste enters the system and stays in the system. Others, like the flush toilet or chamber pot, require an additional "down stream" disposal system, such as:

• Septic tank and drain field. Typically found "down stream" of flush toilets
• Tree bog. A tree bog is essentially a compost pile that contains human feces and other organic material. Tree bogs are located near trees or other nutrient "hungry" vegetation, hence the name
• Cesspit. A covered pit in which human feces is deposited. (Like an outhouse, but without the house!)

I immediately ruled out a flush toilet and associated septic tank and drain field. Too expensive. Too much impact on the environment. Too much water consumption.

I then shifted my attention to pit toilets, which happen to be legal in my area of Virginia. I came up with various ideas to try to make the outhouse experience a nice one (yeah, right!) Like a colorful, cheerful little house with a cute moon cut into the door. And plenty of ventilation courtesy of solar powered exhaust fans. Even a gas heating system for those cold winter nights. But outhouses have a bad reputation, and I was sure my guests would be less than thrilled to use one. Then there's the problem of digging that big hole, and explaining it all to my landlord. Even so, it was a possibility.

Next, I considered a composting toilet. Again, they're pretty expensive, and it just seemed like overkill. Why such an elaborate system? But I did like the idea of composting the waste. And zero water consumption.

Chamber pots and earth closets were simpler than composting toilets, but required a separate means of disposal, like a cesspit or tree bog. But I sort of liked the idea of taking the waste far away from my tent for final disposal.

In the end, I settled upon an earth closet (using sawdust, which I get for free from a local sawmill, instead of dirt for the litter material) and a tree bog.

An earth closet is simply a bucket-like container placed below a toilet seat. You sit on the seat and defecate into the bucket. It's similar to a chamber pot except that it's design as a non-movable fixture with a seat. The other major improvement over a chamber pot is that it uses "earth", or in my case sawdust, as a litter material that keeps the feces away from the walls of the bucket, thereby improving sanitation. The sawdust is also used to cover the feces after use.

Below is a picture of an earth closet invented by Rev. Henry Moule in the 1860s.

Moule's Earth Closet from the 1860s

My first earth closet wasn't nearly as high-tech as Moule's design. It was based on the simpler Loveable Loo design. It was a simple plywood box with a hole cut in the top. I attached a traditional toilet seat for added comfort.

My original bathroom

My first earth closet

The plywood box had a hinged top and was large enough to hold two five-gallon buckets, one for the waste (on the left) and a second for the sawdust (on the right). I put a scoop in the sawdust bucket. After each use, you just lifted the lid and scooped sawdust onto your waste.

Inside the earth closet. On the left is the waste bucket. On the right is the sawdust bucket.
(The dark stain on the inside of the top is from incense smoke.)

In October of 2012, I installed a new kitchen and bath which included an old earth closet that I found at an antique store.

My new earth closet

Of course, the earth closet isn't the end of the story. It's just the collection device. The waste must still be disposed of, and that's where the tree bog comes in. A tree bog is really just a compost pile located near a tree or other vegetation. In my case, I simply dump the earth closet waste bucket around a tree some distance from my tent. The sawdust, feces, and toilet tissue creates an extremely active compost that breaks down quickly. I move from one tree to the next every three months or so. After about six months, the bog breaks down to something very close to dirt and can then be buried if desired. But at that point, there are very few pathogens left and the bog can as well be left in place.

I'm trying to keep all aspects of tent living above-board and legal, including my waste disposal system. So before going too far I visited my county health department to see if what I wanted to do was legal. I explained exactly what I had in mind. The earth closet with sawdust. The tree bog. The option to just leave the bog above ground, or to bury it after six months or so. It was an open discussion with full disclosure.

As we discussed the solid waste problem, the health department agent began asking me about liquid waste. So-called "grey water". I had already decided to install a dump sink and dry well to solve that problem, and to use that system for all grey water, including urine, so I told them about that system, too. I would use the dump sink for dish water, bathing water, and urine, and the earth closet for solid waste.

Well, after a good discussion, with me looking for every possible loophole I could think of, we finally concluded that what I wanted to do was against county health regulations. For one thing, the county doesn't differentiate between grey water and black (or toilet) water. All of it was just waste water that had to be disposed of in a proper drain field. For solid waste, I had three choices: a certified composting toilet, a flush toilet (with a septic tank before the drain field), and a pit toilet.

Damn! Oh well, I tried.

From that point, the conversation turned to understanding the process for health code violations. (That's right, I was moving to Plan B, outlaw toilets!)

In my county, the process for health code violations is as follows:

1. The county health department receives a complaint (usually from a neighbor) about a potential health code violation
2. A county field agent visits the accused violator and investigates the complaint
3. If a health code violation is found, then the violator is cited. At that point, the violator has 30 days to remedy the problem
4. After 30 days, the field agent returns to ensure that the problem has been remedied. If it has, then the case is closed

No fines. No fees. No legal actions. I can live with that.

The violation in my case would be the tree bog. Tree bogs have been around for nearly 20 years and are fairly well known in Great Britain. They appear in permaculture designs near Zone 2 (by the orchards and beehives!) But alas, in my area of Virginia, they are currently illegal.

Cesspits, on the other hand, are perfectly legal where I live. So if I'm ever visited by a county health department field agent, it looks like I'll get a 30-day assignment to dig a 5' x 5' x 4' pit. Ok, that's fair.

I'm pretty happy with my system. My earth closet is comfortable and easy to use. It's simple, eco-friendly, and it consumes no water. In the summer, I dump the waste bucket after each use, but in colder months I can simply cover the feces with sawdust and I don't need to dump the bucket so frequently. It's surprising how well the fresh oak sawdust covers odors. I routinely burn incense as an air freshener. And between the sawdust and the incense, I have absolutely no problem with odors. In fact (and I know this sounds gross), there's a sort of sweet, pleasant smell that surrounds you when you sit down on the earth closet.

The earth closet is a 200-year-old solution to an age-old problem. Hopefully tree bogs will make their way to the US before too long as an alternative to pit toilets. Both of these solutions fit right in with tent living and I'm pretty pleased with the results.

My Finished Living Space

A few months ago I found a nice shady spot near my tent that I began setting up as a living area. It started with just a few camp chairs and a tiki torch. Then I added a hammock, which was a huge improvement. I've spent many hours in that hammock already. Next came a picnic table. Then a camp stove and a fire ring. And finally I built a frame and added a wooden swing.

My "living room"

The hammock gets a lot of use

I love this space. I often have friends over for dinner and drinks and we spend most of our time down here. I keep a cooler at the picnic table and fill it with ice when I entertain. This area is about 20 yards from my tent and I've made a path and lined it with tiki torches. It's so nice at night. I'll bring down my CD player and do some outdoor cooking. Grilled sweet corn, fish, or steaks. Fresh vegetables. Goat cheese and bread warmed on the coals. I've even brought down the camp oven and made grilled steak nachos with fresh guacamole. And always plenty of beer on ice. And a hammock calling out my name. It's my favorite "room".

FAIL!: Rain Fly Support System, Version 2.0

A few weeks ago, I complete my new, re-designed rain fly support system. The support system consisted of two vertical 4x4 posts and a horizontal 25-foot cross piece running from post to post. I built the cross piece using doubled-up 1x8s, face-bolted together. I staggered the joints so that they were 4 feet apart.

The finished board was 1-1/2" thick x 7-1/4" tall x 300" long (that is, 25'). It was a ribbon of a board, and when you picked up one end the tried to get it to stand on edge, it would inevitably twist and turn and lay down flat at the other end. I was a little concerned about this behavior because I needed the board to stand on edge once I fastened it to the posts.

When I first installed the cross piece, it had a nice, gentle twist to the right. It sort of reminded me of the pleasant lines taken by wooden strakes on a rowboat. But I didn't want this thing to glide through water, I wanted it to stand up on edge. My good friend, Tom, who helped me put the board in place said, "You'll never get the twist out of that thing." Well, maybe, but I was still gonna try my best.

I attached a few ropes at different locations on the board and pulled and tugged as needed to get the board to stand up on edge. I finally got it pretty close and staked the ropes in place.

The board would hold its position for about a day before slowly sagging and twisting in a new direction. So I'd pull and tug and stake out the ropes again, only to have the board twist at yet another place a day or so later. This cat-and-mouse game continued for awhile. Then, a few days ago, I was trying to straighten out a particularly nasty twist and heard a "crack!" I peaked under the rain fly and saw exactly what I didn't want to see. One of the joints had cracked. And with that bad joint, there was no way the board would handle any sort of a snow load this winter.

Failed joint in the 25-foot cross piece

Well, turns out Tom was right. I couldn't get that thing straightened out. I'm leaving the board in place for now, since it's still fine during the summer when there's no snow. The rain fly has quite a sag, but it's still sheds rain just fine, and it offers much needed shade on these hot summer days.

Twisted cross piece and saggy rain fly

Okay, okay, so let me be the first to say it: FAIL! I guess it's back to the drawing board (and I already have some ideas for Version 3.0).

Completed Rain Fly Provides Welcome Shade

A few weeks ago, I complete my rain fly support system. The support system consists of two 4x4 posts, one in front and the other in back of the tent, with a 25-foot board running parallel to the roof ridge from the top of one post to the top of the other.

Completed support system

With the support system in place, the final step was to drape the tarp over the cross piece, spread it out flat, and stake it down. I fastened metal conduit to the eaves of the rain fly using nylon zip ties. That kept the lines straight so that water would shed properly, and spread the tension across the full set of grommets instead of just a few.

Tarp in place

I designed the support system such that the rain fly would be 2 to 3 feet above the peak of the tent roof. That would keep the hot summer air away from the tent. The rain fly would act as a big shade tree in the summer. And it worked better than expected. The shading effect has reduced my interior temperature by more than 15 degrees. Now, when it's 95 degrees outside and the summer sun is directly overhead, it only reaches perhaps 97 or 98 degrees inside the tent.

Two-foot gap between tent and rain fly allows air to circulate

The Work We're Designed To Do

Doctors. Lawyers. Executives. Engineers. Information technologists. Prestigious white-collared folks with money. Successful people. People that are role-models for our children. Consider the nature of their work. "Work with your head, not your hands!", we're advised. But look at what these "dream jobs" do to our bodies and to our spirits.

Our bodies are designed to be used. Lifting weight makes us stronger. Walking keeps our heart and lungs healthy. We're design to stay physically active throughout our lives. Sitting at a desk eight hours each day is bad for our bodies.

And what about our minds? Try doing some mindless, physical, repetitive work for an extended period, like digging a trench or pulling weeds, and notice how the mind enters a relaxed state of wandering. How the mind and the body begin to harmonize. The mind begins to notice the body as much as it notices the tasks being performed. It hears the sound of the shovel entering the soil, and also the sound of breathing. It feels the soreness of the hands, and also the pounding of the heart. The mind, the body, and the work become one. It's called being "in the zone", and it's a relaxed state without stress.

Now, leave that sort of physical labor behind for a moment, and let your imagination enter an office job. Read some emails. Attend a meeting. Solve a technical problem. Interact with your co-workers. Talk to your manager. And while you're doing all of that, sit in a chair in a sterile, air conditioned office. Are you even aware of your body?

There are good jobs and bad jobs. But which are which? That depends upon your values and the trade-offs you make between money and stress and health. One thing is for certain, our bodies aren't very good at office work, and our minds aren't very good at it either, considering the amount of stress it brings. Our minds and bodies are designed to garden, and gather food, and build simple structures using our hands. We don't like "bosses", but we appreciate helpers and wise friends with good advice. We like small undertakings that satisfy basic needs, like picking tomatoes when they are ripe. But unnecessary activities done just for the sake of money, like producing unnecessary consumer goods in a plastics factory, leaves us feeling empty.

We've come a long way from the 20-hour work week of our ancestors. And the path that we took was all about man-made objects. Well we've apparently succeeded because most of us now spend our days working to provide goods and services that are not really needed at all. They're unnecessary niceties. And having been on this path now for so many generations, we've all but forgotten the type of work that we were actually meant to do. And even worse, we continue to teach our children that mindless, physical, repetitive work is for losers. "Work with your head, not your hands!", we tell them, from our easy chair, while we watch too much TV, and eat too much pre-processed food, and wait and worry about tomorrow and how our day will go at work.