Why I Live This Way

Who knows why people do things. We all make decisions every day, big and small, and it's a complex process. We have to factor in our emotions, our perception of the situation, our beliefs about the future, our values, and on and on. Some decisions are therefore difficult. But surprisingly, deciding to live in a tent was pretty easy for me. That's partly because when I decided to do it, I was living by myself so my decision wasn't going to impact anyone else. And I had to move out of my house anyway so it was a good time to make the decision. But still, why a tent?

Living in a tent has its roots in backpacking, which I began in my teens. I loved backpacking then, and still do today. Through backpacking I learnt about simplicity and how easy it is to keep our bodies alive and healthy with just a few man-made objects. I would spend a few days in the woods with only a few items and would emerge happier and healthier. I also experienced the peace of mind that comes from spending time in nature, and I came to value it. I soon began describing the time I spent camping and backpacking as "vacation". (But what was I "vacating"? Hmmm...some early seeds!)

I've also had a pretty strong streak of independence throughout my life, a good dose of self-confidence, and I'm a pretty creative thinker. So I naturally come up with unconventional solutions to problems and am not afraid to try new things. For example, I designed a log home while I was still in high school with the dream of building it and moving in immediately after graduation. I was sure at the time that I could do it and that I'd be happy living in a small, rustic cabin in the woods.

Later in life, when the stress and insecurities of the modern lifestyle would creep in, I'd look for answers. And that search would always lead me back to the notion of simplifying my lifestyle, including my housing arrangement. But with a wife and three children I'd be impacting my family and the trade-offs never added up. Even so, I kept trying. It was during those family years that I searched and researched. Timber frame. Wind power. Straw bale houses. Active solar. Earthships (or what became known as "tire houses" in my family). Passive solar. Systems to heat in the winter. Systems to cool in the summer. And of course, the ever-challenging bathroom!

Then one day, not so long ago, I found myself alone. The kids were grown and were living on their own and my marriage had ended. But ironically, I was also at a point in my life where the stress of modern living didn't bother me much and I was no longer in such a hurry to live in a "tire house". So even though I had to move to a new location, I was content to look at conventional apartments as a solution for my housing.

But then, I heard a voice inside me saying, "Hey, what about a tent? Just live in a tent?". (Yeah, I hear voices sometimes :) )

Indeed, why not live in a tent? I had talked and dreamt about simplifying my life for 40 years and now I had the perfect opportunity. There might never be a better time. So, late in 2011, I decided to try it, at least for a year or so. I started researching, designing, and constructing in October and moved in in November, 2011.

For the first few months, I enjoyed the novelty of switching to this new lifestyle. There were always "improvement projects" going on and new problems to solve. I was also very busy in other areas of my life in those early months so I didn't really begin to settle in to my new life until very recently. The novelty is wearing off as time passes, and what started out as some sort of experiment is slowly becoming my home.

The other thing that has changed recently is my view of the modern lifestyle. When I first started this experiment, I was convinced that the benefits of tent living would far outweigh any disadvantages and that it was clearly a better way to live. But now, I'm starting to see things differently. For example, I just *love* running hot water. And air conditioning. And refrigeration. It's so comfortable to dwell in a modern house, and I appreciate these comforts now more than ever. Oh, the decadence of a shower!

At the same time, my lifestyle at home is so simple and menial that I remain constantly mindful of nearly ever task that I perform. As I draw water, I know how close I am to the bottom of the container, and how soon I will be fetching more. I watch the night creep into my tent and think about how much longer I can wait to light my candles. I hear the birds beginning to sing in the morning and begin to plan my day as I snooze one last time.

So what started as an experiment in alternative housing has evolved into much more. I have never been so mindful and relaxed at home, and never so appreciative of modern comforts when visiting others. I am awake, like never before. And that gift of mindfulness is one of the main reason I continue to live this way...for now.

My Finished Stoop

Last night I finished building the stairs that lead up to the small porch at my front door. I can now enter and exit my place without using a ladder!

Stoop to my front door

And what better way to celebrate then to have a little cook-out out on the stoop.

Grilling by candle-light out on the stoop

My Living Space

I found a very inviting shady spot near my tent that's perfect for a living area. There's extra seating for guests and a hammock. A tiki torch provides the right ambiance for evening gathering.

Living and entertainment space

This space is still evolving. I'd like to prepare meals there so I'll be adding a small picnic table soon. And a fire ring is a must! But then I think I'm done.

Simplicity

Sitting on a sandy beach, facing the ocean, wearing nothing but my swim trunks and a squint from the bright sunshine, I listen to the ocean gently pound the shoreline with wave after wave after wave. The sand slowly wears away, and the sea takes in the salt and minerals from the land. The sea and the sand blend in this way.

Living creatures, on the other hand, resist such erosion. Being alive means that we remain integrated, not disintegrated like the sand and the surf. We stay together. We maintain our self. We fight against the disintegrating properties of nature in this way, because we are life forms and that is what we do. All life forms resist disintegration, only to yield to it finally upon death.

And all the things that living creatures construct, from ants hills to bee hives to skyscrapers, are of this same nature. We gather and fashion and construct and fight the forces of nature that want to breakdown and deconstruct. And once we are finished with our work, we step away. But nature is always there, trying to break down our objects, to return them to sand and salt.

And so it is with our own life, and with all the things that we make, and with all the things made by others that we acquire and care for and try to keep from decomposing. We fight the constant waves of nature, trying to keep our stuff intact and in proper working order. We build our sand castles by the sea. Then we dig our moats to protect them. Then we watch and worry and repair as best we can, always knowing that the ocean will wash it all away when we retire for the evening.

There were times in my life when I owned many things. Some were big and expensive like a house. Others were small. Some were useful. Others were intended to give me pleasure just by their mere presence. But I could never figure out how to just enjoy my multitude of things without worrying about all the maintenance. So I'm trying a different approach now. I'm trying not to own things. And I've never felt so relaxed.

I'm sitting on a sandy beach now, facing the ocean, wearing nothing but my swim trunks and a squint from the bright sunshine. And there's not a sand castle in sight.

Mice!

Living in a tent in the middle of the woods has gotten me used to all sorts of creatures. After all, I'm in *their* environment so it makes sense that I would have guests popping in. And for the most part, I've gotten used to them all. Wasps that dart into my tent on hot, sunny days. Moths that find my evening candlelight. And those damn ticks! And spiders and fireflies and mosquitoes and snakes and lizards so on and so on.

I've gotten used to them all, and have come to a place where I actually enjoy being in their midst, with one exception: mice!

A few weeks ago I woke up in the middle of the night with a start. I sat up in my bed wide-eyed, looking around my dark tent, searching for the source of what had startled me. Everything was quiet, so I just sat there motionless in my bed and waited for a bit. Then I heard the noise again! It was an animal, not too big. A quick animal, too quick to be a snake. And it sounded like it was right next to me. It moved again. My imagination was trying to figure out what it was. Then it moved again, and this time it sounded like it was right above me! I jumped out of bed, backed away from the noise, and reached for my flashlight.

I shined the flashlight around the ceiling of the tent just above my bed where I had heard the noise. Nothing was there and all was quiet again, so I hit the canvas ceiling with a sharp slap. There it was! I heard it run down the side of my tent for a few feet and then stop. I hit the canvas again. It ran a bit more. I banged the canvas harder, trying to knock whatever it was off the walls. Slap! Slap! Finally it was gone.

This continued for a few more nights. I'd wake up, startled by a noise. Then I'd listen for the noise again, bang the canvas around to chase the damn thing away, then fall back to sleep. I had seen both lizards and mice outside the tent, and had decided it must be one of those. The size and speed seemed about right. A few days later, I confirmed that it was indeed a mouse when I heard that same familiar noise during daylight hours and could then clearly see the cute little silhouette of a mouse walking around on top of my tent.

But mice are only cute when they're not living with you. Last week, I was out of town for a few days and when I got back home I immediately noticed that something had been in my tent. There were bits of nuts and raisins scattered here and there, and it was obvious that the mice had made their way inside while I was absent. That night the noises were different. The little bastards were running around the tent all night long. There were at least two of them. And where there are two there are ten. Damn!

So I bought some traps and caught two of them. Things are quiet again...for now. I also bought some firring strips that I'll fasten to the perimeter of the tent to better seal the canvas. I still need to go through all of my stuff and check for nests, clean up droppings, inspect my food, and so on. But for the moment its back to just spiders and moths and wasps and...no mice.

Sounds

Last winter, there were times when I'd wake up in the morning to ice in my wash basin. The thin canvas walls unable to keep the cold winter air from creeping in through the night. No insulation! Nothing to keep the outside temperatures from coming in.

But those same thin walls let in the most wonderful sounds.

I awaken to birds singing every morning. And the singing is so clear that I can tell exactly where each bird is. I can hear their wings on the air as they fly from tree to tree around me. I hear them chatter at each other, like squabbling children. And I smile as I pull the blankets around me, trying to stay warm.

And at night, when a storm is moving in, I hear the wind moving from tree top to tree top to tree top until finally it hits my rain fly and moves my entire tent ever so slightly, like waves of wind washing over my home. I can hear it start from so far away. I can tell when it will arrive, and how strong it will be. And after it hits me, I hear it move on its way, away from me as it continues on from tree top to tree top. And that makes me smile, too.

I hear the rain drops, too, of course. But not just that, I can even hear the snow flakes during a strong winter storm. The white noise of precipitation is usually calming, but it can also be damn loud during thunderstorms. Too loud to sleep through sometimes. I've spend a few nights like that, waiting for things to quiet down enough for me to get back to sleep. But usually, the soft rain drops make me sleepy, like they did a few days ago. It was late afternoon, and the sky began to darken as a storm rolled in, so dark that I had to light some candles. I sat in my chair and read while the storm arrived. The sky grew darker still, then the rain began, slowly at first, building to a nice summer soaker. I only read for a few more minutes before deciding it was time for a nap. I woke up almost two hours later.

Cold in the winter. Hot in the summer. Sounds all year long.

My $3000 Home

Here's a breakdown of what I spent on my tent. Unfortunately, I didn't keep very good records, but these figures are pretty close:

Platform (blocks, lumber, and fasteners): $300
Interior tent frame (conduit and angle fixtures): $300
Tent (canvas shell, ropes, and stakes): $800
Rain fly (wooden support, tarp, ropes, and stakes): $300
Door assembly (lumber, Plexiglas, and hardware): $150
Wood stove (including stove pipe): $300
Earth closet: $50
Dump sink (bucket, pipes, and fixtures): $20
Cook stove (burners, hose, and LP tanks): $80
TOTAL: $2300

That's for the finished structure with all the systems. Then I had to furnish the interior space with shelves, a closet, a bed, some rugs, some art work, and so on. The whole thing is less than $3000.