We co-own 10 acres of property with 5 friends outside of Austin, TX that will someday become a sustainable farm slash "artist retreat". This is what homesteading in slow motion looks like.

 

Went to Vegas, acted like weirdos, and had a crazy-fun time. 

On comfort…

There’s a moment when the dirt gets to you, grinds into your pores till your skin is one giant, swollen blackhead zit - or you feel it is - and you’re hit with a tiresome itch like you need to wash your hair, scrub your body raw with a pumice stone, put on a pair of clean pajamas and burrow into an overstuffed couch for an indefinite amount of time - and immediately, by god - or your body will be taken over by alien worm monsters.

At least, that’s my experience. I’m being dramatic, of course.

If the Zombie apocalypse ever crawls out of the grave and scrapes it‘s wormy fingers over our dear planet Earth, I think the breaking point for most of us happy first-world dwellers won’t come out of a constant fear of turning into an undead monster with bloody stump-arms. Nothing so sinister and big. No, I think we’ll all go bat-shit after a week of missing the simple act of cleaning our bodies and crashing in front of a television set.

Sure, we can camp like mighty lumberjacks, all ‘rub some dirt in it‘ and ‘what kills us makes us stronger‘. We can rough and tough it, man. But there’s a thing that happens when you realize the air conditioned car ride home - followed by a shower and a hot meal - will never come. When you can’t put warm, clean socks over your calloused feet, wash the campfire stink from your clothes, watch twelve episodes of something on Netflix or Hulu, and fall asleep in the sanctuary of your personal technological bubble. There’s this squeally little pig-you that pops up like a wart, crying, “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that I don’t have all the things I want right now.”

It happens when you realize there’s just… more… camping.

Trust me, you’ll go a little bat-shit.

We’ve made ourselves comfortable in our little homestead, have a few luxuries that make the day-to-day routine kinder on our bodies and brains, and we’re happy. But when our friends go home after a weekend of tents and eating outdoors, fires and long nights of talking, when they say, “can’t wait to get out of these clothes and take a hot shower,” we have to acknowledge that we’re already home and there’s no shower, no fluffy couch, no Netflix. Damn.

Dirty socks on dirty feet, that’s how it feel sometimes.

This may explain why we occasionally throw ourselves into opportunities that are contrary to what we’re trying to do with our lives (which is, if you don’t know already, to live off-grid). If we ever house-sit for friends, we do it all. We’re like alcoholics drowning in a barrel of whiskey, but instead of the sweet forbidden liquor, we sit on the couch and watch episodes of who-cares-what-reality-show and crank the central air/heat up to high. We eat fast food and run the dishwasher half-full. We become the thing we are trying to get away from.

We don’t live off-grid because we’re afraid of monsters, we do it because we know how easily distracted we can get by comfort and entertainment. We do it because of writing, dance, music, art. We do it so we know what living feels like, even if it isn’t always warm and soft, bright and flashy.

Sometimes the squeally pig-you comes out and you just want to say, ‘screw it, let’s get an apartment.’ But it’s in these moments that something better can happen. The better-you can make bacon. You can go home again, find comfort in the quiet. You can write something great. You can hum a song. You can paint. You can create. And you can feel comfortable because of it.

Oktoberfest in Fredericksburg. 

Went to Oktoberfest this weekend and this kind-hearted biker we met at the hotel gave me a ride on his Harley. Muppet-grin. 

Went to Oktoberfest this weekend and this kind-hearted biker we met at the hotel gave me a ride on his Harley. Muppet-grin. 

The look of psychotic love for one another.

The look of psychotic love for one another.

Started the bottle wall for the raised bed. This is much, much more difficult than I expected, but not impossible. It’s going to look great when we’re done! 

New stair, hiding the piping for the extension cords. 

Best piña colada ever. It comes in a pineapple. A whole, freakin’ pineapple.

Best piña colada ever. It comes in a pineapple. A whole, freakin’ pineapple.

View from our room, anniversary trip to Mustang Island.

View from our room, anniversary trip to Mustang Island.