Thirty years ago, I moved here. Not to Riverwind, but to this mountain. A single mom with a three year old kid and two big dogs. I knew nothing about living like this. Didn’t know how to bake bread, grow a garden, fix a pipe, saddle a horse. I had patient and generous teachers. Phil, Honey, Becky, G&S, Pat, Paul, John, Bud, and so many others, to whom I bow in gratitude.

The one who taught me to make that bread, as well as a hundred other essential skills like milk a goat, make cheese and strawberry jam, also made sure I read. A former librarian, and like me, grew up in and around NYC, Emmy believed in books, and passing them on. Books as not only a source of pleasure and relaxation, as reading most certainly is, but a source of potential wisdom. You can learn a lot from books. As a start. Then get out there and do it. If it’s just stuck in your head, you may be smart, but you’re a long ways away from being wise. You gotta get out there and live it.

The Good Life by Helen and Scott Nearing was one of her favorites. Remember how inspired so many of us were by the iconic DIY couple and the self-sufficient and sustainable life they built and shared? Their intentionally simple life was formulated to be balanced and full. Full, but not full of clutter, which is the common way. Consumerism, bigger and always hoping for something better, more more more, and the never fulfilled hungry ghost. Rather, the Nearings showed us that full could be full of values, intentions, and ideals they were willing to work towards. They reminded many of us that, well, actually, less may be more.

My neighbors got me thinking about this again because they live a similar life. They make it look easy. I know better than that.

How full is too full?

Looking beyond, there’s a world filled with people rushing around every day, finding identity and meaning in habitual full-ness and busy-ness, then stressing about fitting in time to relax. Ever searching for more-more-more. Forgetting about what is found in less. Seeking fulfillment and security in things like benefit packages, paid vacations, travel to exotic places, cocktail hour and dinner out, the ease of flipping a switch to power on, having your nails done, stopping to buy a Starbucks coffee, and scheduling plenty of time for Netflix.

There’s nothing wrong with any of those, or all of those, but they are not me. I’ll stick with gratitude for simple things. Tending to land, animals, art, creativity and contribution.

With Bob away more than here this season, I have been working double time, doing stuff he usually does, like tractor work, and irrigating. Even the dishes. But I got it.

Long days. Full days. That’s what summer is.

Full. At times, my cup runs over. Then I try to remember, sometime near the end of a hot day, to bathe in the river, lay in the sand, listen to the rush of the water for just a moment or two.

There are the hundred-and-one one-more-things that this simple life requires. (Definitely one of those, “if you know, you know” things, as those of us who do know are so often asked, “What do you do?” To which we don’t responds.)  Social media is not one of them. And though my absence online leaves me at times feeling somehow out of it, it is one more thing I can not do.

Allowing me more time for this:

Being happy.

I think happiness is built by this: Acceptance, appreciation, action, awe.

Happiness includes love. Meaning. Contributing and being a good person. Doing things for others. I am not happy when I’m a bitch.

Shedding the skin of the Mean Girl, nurtured from a lifetime of believing I had to be; instead allowing myself to be vulnerable and open and real, maybe even soft, something that has come on with age. All in all, one of the big lessons learned on A Long Quiet Ride. Something worked.

There is not a day that passes that I do not count my blessings now.

I ended up with more than I ever dreamed of. Thing is, I haven’t stopped dreaming.

Though I love where I am, I am not attached. I question how a person can be. I am not where I am, but who I am. Today. Because tomorrow is always a new day. So allow it, appreciate it, accept, evolve.

In the past thirty years, I moved on, returned, and will move on again. I did not have the privilege to remain in one place. Not everyone is born where they belong, nor finds the place that holds them. On the other hand, not all who wander are lost, you know. Some of us search. Or maybe we flow like a mountain stream, blow like spring winds. Not better nor worse, just what it is. A life rich and full and wild. And if you think I’d trade mine in… well, I think you know me better than that.

Until next time,

With love, always love,

Gin