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.

Living a Stress-free Lifestyle

There have been times in my life when I've felt stress. A lot of stress. Days filled with activities I didn't want to do but which had to get done. Sleepless nights when I couldn't quiet my mind. Times when I would worry about things that were out of my control. Like when my roof had serious leaks that I couldn't afford to repair, and it would rain. Or when I almost lost my job. Or when a tree blew down in a storm and cost me over $1000 to get removed. The stress of having to do too many things that I didn't really enjoy, and not having time to follow my passions. The stress of living an expensive lifestyle in which there never seemed to be enough money. The stress of having to maintain the things that I had already acquired, while trying to figure out how to acquire even more.

I used to tell myself that all that stress was just a frame of mind. That I could meditate and practice mindfulness and learn to relax. And in fact I did, to a large extent. But I wasn't very good at it. And I would become a bit numb as I entered a mindful state, observing my stress from a faraway mind, but also having to observe my joys from afar instead of feeling them. It was a good coping mechanism, but then again, so was sleep.

When I first started living in a tent, I figured it would be less stressful. But I never imagined it could be like this. My life is so carefree. I have nothing to do, and all day to do it. I have no lawn. I own no property. I have no bills. My tent needs no maintenance. My systems are so cheap and simple that I never worry about failures. I don't have insurance because there's nothing of value to lose. I don't worry about losing my job because I don't need the money anyway. My life is simple, and I am free.

The modern lifestyle is stressful because it's nice and comfortable and those comforts and niceties comes at a price. I've walked away from comfort, and no longer have to pay that price. Now I sit around on hot summer days, sweating because there's no AC, deer flies buzzing around my head, relaxed and smiling. Thinking about how, when night falls, I'm gonna sleep soundly without a worry in the world. I take long naps on rainy days. I play my guitar and sing. I sit and listen to the birds and insects. I swing on my hammock and sing to the trees around me.

My current lifestyle feels like being on vacation and I'm completely enjoying it. I deserve a carefree life, as we all do. It's the natural state of mankind on this planet, and we can all still choose to live free anytime we wish. I've opted out of the modern lifestyle. It was bad for my spirit. I can go back anytime I wish but I won't anytime soon. I much prefer tent living.