It’s a running joke amongst our friends that our place is the safe house for any type of future apocalyptic scenario. I’d like to believe that they just want to get together, laugh, drink wine, and discuss the mysticism of Yeats before the zombies descend, but in reality, there’s something about owning your own wheat grinder that makes people believe you’re ready for nuclear war.
Half-sours on the counter always a staple during summer months
Finding your tribe is harder than you think.
As homesteader credentials go, I’ve got some good ones. I’ve intentionally birthed a baby on the floor, have more chickens than children, grow kohlrabi, use wood from our property to heat our home, regularly forage for edibles, homeschooled my kids pre-COVID; and yes, I make my own yogurt, beans, cheese and bread, and have been feeding a sourdough starter since the spring of 2000. They really did exist back then.
Bees and chickens perfectly complete the garden cycle for me.
These are choices fueled by economic necessity, philosophy, and joy; but even with all that under my belt, I’m hilariously underqualified. True homesteading is much more than saving money and growing tomatoes. It is a fully immersive and exhausting life, and I have the greatest respect for those who pursue it with passion and perseverance. I’m just not one of them.
I learned this the day I helped to butcher chickens at a small rural homestead belonging to a friend-of-a-friend. I was deeply inspired by what they had created there. It was an economic endeavor unsupported by a city job, or indeed the financial security of a previous one.
While the feathers flew, I snuck a glance at the seven-month pregnant owner of the farm up to her elbows in chicken entrails. She’d just finished hanging a fresh load of diapers on the line and would be heading in the house shortly to begin lunch.
I thought of myself at seven months pregnant with my second child, avoiding the sights and smells of anything more offensive than a potato chip, and guiltily thankful for the convenience that disposable diapers had brought into my life after two years washing and hanging up diapers in the attic of a tiny flat.
Reluctantly, I realized that I wasn’t made of that kind of material, no matter how much my values aligned or how fervently I wished to be.
As babies became young children, and friendships in a new place often began with mom relationships, it became more difficult to figure out exactly where I fit — crunchy or conventional — and surprisingly, it would bother my young mind.
During one memorable child’s birthday party in a friend’s subdivision I was asked by a newly-met mom why I thought we should have the right to keep chickens in backyards (I was fighting the town council at the time). She let me finish, actually rolled her eyes, and uttered one word — “WhatEVER.”
Yep. Not in that camp.
But was I in the other? Yes, I was a home-birther, a homeschooler and a dedicated gardener and cook, but I wasn’t giving up coffee for chicory, and when it came to breastfeeding in public, I’d just as soon have a light blanket over my pink bits. Meanwhile my Back-to-Earth friends were embracing an aggressive level of nudity around the dinner table that made others suddenly realize they’d left something in the other room.
It started to become clear that I was definitely on the outskirts of that group too – wanting to hit my fortieth birthday before I died of exhaustion and/or exposure.
Raw-milk mozzarella, sauce from the garden, and whole-wheat crust – but wait! Is that store bought, non-organic Parmesan?
Where’s the Middle Ground?
Problem is, I was also extremely far away from those bonded by hydrogenated peanut butter, frozen taquitos, and the cahones to say “whatever” to a complete stranger. I had a hard time relating to parents who made different dinners for each child, or who didn’t want to compost because it was “too messy,” or thought my chickens were weird and that the eggs they produced were weirder. Neither did I keep up with the latest trends in footwear or jeans length (hard to do when you treasure hunt your entire wardrobe from a thrift store).
End of season sauerkraut – Alright, you’re back in.
So, one side thought I was a hippie, the other thought I was a poser. Perhaps you too are stuck between these two worlds, laughed at for suggesting evening primrose oil and nutritional yeast to Midol-gobbling friends, but not ready to have henna flowers painted on your pregnant belly.
What’s a crunchy middle-of-the-roader to do?
Many years since, I have realized that I was less alone than I thought I was, which is perhaps why I’m writing this article. If you find yourself between crunchy and a hard place, and you aren’t afraid to embrace that dichotomy within you, you’ll find others feeling safe enough to do the same.
Perhaps we should band together and rejoice in our moderation – providing a counterweight to a world that continuously flirts with extremism. Culturally, we can clearly see the unhappy results of this type of thinking, but that’s nothing compared to the toll it takes on an individual seeking ideological perfection. Whether it’s credit card debt to buy the newest iPhone or two hours of sleep after processing sixty pounds of surplus cabbage – there’s always a price to pay.
And if you believe that the laid-back vibes emanating off of the Back-to-Earth/Homesteading movement preclude it from fostering the “I’m-better-than-you” environment that plagues the modern consumerist lifestyle, then you have yet to sit in a circle of women who make their own cheese, and confess to a guilty pleasure in the occasional slice of American.
I only did that once.
Embrace the Dichotomy
It’s taken me a long time to figure out I don’t need to be one or the other, or apologize for choices that don’t fit strict lifestyle ideals.
To the homesteader friends who ask me why I don’t keep goats or pigs, I no longer mumble something vague about “considering it.” Instead I reply “I’m a gardener, not a farmer. I keep chickens and bees.” To the suburbanite friends who ask me why I feed a furnace instead of turning a dial, I smile and share my heating bills for the last year.
If you love the freedom in the layers of a wrap-around tie-dye skirt as much as you love the tailored feel of a lined jacket — but would almost certainly never buy either in a multi-plex shopping mall — I, and many others, are right there with you. It’s not tough to live “outside the box” if that’s where your heart takes you — it’s just tough for others who are trying to put you in one (including yourself).
I’m continuously working on ignoring all those voices and much more successful at it than I used to be. Hoping you are too. When things are breaking down around here, it’s usually because I am trying to live up to some preconceived notion of perfection in one arena or another, and only succeeding in making everyone’s life a misery in the process.
I’d rather be a dichotomy. It gives one so much more freedom, creates some interesting dinner conversations, and provides less opportunities for apology. – MW
Well, we, personally, do live outside the boxes of most people I know, but I have to confess I fail to recognise either of your alternatives. (Though I have heard of parents cooking individual meals for each child and blessed the lucky stars which made me decide not to have children at all…) I think there’s partly a USA/UK difference and partly simply different lifestyles to either of them – and to you! (we have no kids, no chickens..)
But what I do recognise is the judgemental attitudes, the rigid preoccupations and categorising. For me that’s the problem and I think it’s growing. I think the polarisation of politics in both our countries hasn’t helped: I can remember when everyone deplored the fact that there was nothing to choose between the political parties. (though we may be moving back that way in the UK now).
We seem to create divisions over every possible issue. You illustrate some of them, but there are many many more in all aspects of life. How can that help any of us?
I have thought that kicking out sexual censorship left a vacancy for new forms of censorship and disapproval. That could account for a lot. And we once thought we were creating a new, free and enlightened world! (Before your time, though). Xxx
It does feel like we are consistently pushed to an ‘all or nothing’ approach to most things in life now. Balanced individuals ignore this – but it does take time and experience to gain that wisdom. I am always in awe of those who figured it out a lot earlier than I did! And yes, I do think there is a UK/US difference here. While suburban is suburban, there is a sterility to much of it in the US that places things like backyard chickens or homebirth as just plain bizarre. – MW
Oh Marianne, I’ve been in some version of that same dichotomous zone since the 1970s! I might venture to say it’s more common on the west coast and a few pockets around the country, where being a little “unconventional” is usually considered a quirk rather than a social failing. But comments and judgement are universal among humans. I’ve just always tried to remind myself how lucky I’ve been to have the choices we have now, even if at times they seem too many.
Anne I think of those choices every time I have a lousy vegetable season and thank Heaven I have the ability to find them at the store. Also, after a long summer without a bathtub during a renovation years ago, gratitude is with me every single time I turn on the shower. Hot water out of the wall. What a miracle. – MW
M.,
Advice from a laid back Type B to a Triple A . . . do not worry about where you are in the universe of lifestyles. Other than your Mom and your Hubby, nobody cares. I don’t mean anything harsh by that. Speaking for all of humanity (as I am wont to do), we wear a veneer of civility and, sometimes, kindness, but otherwise, what you do and how you live concerns us not at all . . . until we wish to educate you on how WE feel, or think, or live.
That’s why you got the eyeroll. The woman in your story likely did not care a whit about your lifestyle. She just wanted to mark her territory. It was easier to roll her eyes than to pee on a fire hydrant.
So, enjoy what you do. Feel good about it. And don’t bother with using cultural yardsticks to measure yourself. Now, having dispensed my daily allotment of words of wisdom, I shall retreat into my garden.
Write more. We like it.
Nothing harsh taken John – and I appreciate your wisdom. Many times over the last few years I have felt deeply compelled to roll my eyes back into my head, deliciously enunciate ‘Whatever’ and coolly take another sip of wine, but better angels dictate I must stick with the time worn “Hmmm. That’s interesting. Would you just excuse me a minute I need to refill my glass?” Less messy than the figurative hydrant, but it does mean draining one’s glass in a hurry. – MW
Thank you, Marianne. I can relate on some level. I’m not nearly as judgemental of others as I once was. I’m more worried about turning 70 in May. Heaven forbid the wages of deepening old age. My dopamines are in short supply and I stumble trying to remember nouns. I am left with less ambition (not such a bad thing) and often need to ask Rose to please pass the “thingy.” The salt shaker shouldn’t be that hard to remember.
Less ambition I think is a blessed thing. My father had very little ambition beyond that of providing a good life for his family. And his was a profoundly beautiful life. Marking May in the calendar, but you must give us a date! Taurus or Gemini? Earth or Air? (There’s that crunchy coming out again.) – MW
Marianne, I can sense your exhaustion, but knew we are kindred spirits … to a point … sort of. It was early on when I saw the image of the pickles. I too make pickles – two kinds – one from a recipe given to me by a neighbor a couple of houses up the road who makes his own. He also makes pies from fruit they grow. (Me too.) And pirogies. (Not me.) It’s getting harder though as I age (I’m 82.) But darn if there isn’t that sense of accomplishment that drives you to want to do it for at least one more year!
My recipe is an easy one I have used for years and years from Marian Morash’s beautiful book “The Victory Garden Cookbook.” If I had one vegetable gardener’s cookbook to recommend, it would be this one. I’ve never made pirogies either! – MW
Perhaps we should band together and rejoice in our moderation – providing a counterweight to a world that continuously flirts with extremism. Culturally, we can clearly see the unhappy results of this type of thinking, but that’s nothing compared to the toll it takes on an individual seeking ideological perfection. Whether it’s credit card debt to buy the newest iPhone or two hours of sleep after processing sixty pounds of surplus cabbage – there’s always a price to pay.
This paragraph means the world to me, thank you Marianne for writing it.
I’m so glad to hear that Jessica – thank you. – MW
This reminded me of a friend I had in college who described herself as “trail mix” – a bit crunchy, but also a lover of things like hot water showers. I so appreciated that description then, as it helped me realize I didn’t have to be all or nothing, and I so appreciate this post now. As a young(ish) mother – I have young kids anyway – the pressure to be a certain type of mom is certainly still there. But this was a great reminder that I can be a dichotomy – a hiking, cycling, gardening, bread-baking, thrift-store and library loving mom who also is happily looking forward to sending her oldest child to public school in the fall.
‘Trail Mix’ is my new favorite phrase. Thank you! Ignore the pressure and enjoy surprising people with quirkiness. And I very much wish you luck in kids going back to school soon! – MW
As someone who lives a car-free, green lifestyle and who has attended more than my fair share of “simplicity circles,” my POV is that we all do what we can and it is all a spectrum that we ride up and down on. In different stages of life, you will embrace it more or less depending on your time, resources, and energy levels. Some of us are pushing more into it during COVID (gardening and walking more), some have reverted and forsaken their reusable kitchen cloths for disposable chemical-soaked wipes.
Yes, it should also be judgment-free, but we all know we’ve gotten the stink-eye and given it ourselves from/to those are deemed not living up to their homesteading bonafides. (What! You bought pasteurized milk!)
Thank goodness this is not an either-or thing. You can be striving for a greener lifestyle and choose a few modern, convenience luxuries to indulge in. You can be a homesteader AND still love the occasional Big Mac!
I love my life in the middle! Though I do often feel I’m pissing off both “sides” in the process – Whatever!
Marianne, I love your post. Sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own land. I have enormous respect for homesteaders like my friends at House in the Woods CSA and others. I am fortunate I can support them and get fresh vegetables when my garden and/or skills are limited.
After conforming to a corporate office life I am just happy to dig in the dirt and see some success. I am continually humbled by flowers, bees, bugs, winged visitors large and small. I am appalled when a neighbor removes a mature tree bc he’s “tired of cleaning the gutters”. I am thrilled to find another earth mother hippie freak like myself. And I am still learning when and with whom to share my joy (and trials).
p.s. looking forward to the new book