camping

How we live now.

/ Gin Getz / 6 Comments

Years back, Bob and I read a book by Dave Ramsey about financial security. It was interesting but not real relevant as I’m firmly planted against living beyond our means. That means, debt is a four letter word for me. (Well I guess it really is four letters, isn’t it?) I don’t like loans. In fact, I don’t even like bank accounts. I’m an odd egg for sure.

Our biggest takeaway from that book was a phrase we embraced then and continue to live by:

“Live like no one else now so you can live like no one else later.“

The premise being, if you don’t have money, don’t spend it. Live simply. Be thrifty. Do without. Save up rather than go into debt. Don’t be buying what you can’t afford. Frugal choices pay off in the long run.

It’s worked for us. We’ll drive a 25 year old truck rather than some “economical” new car that costs more than we make in a year, live off what we grow and pass on Trader Joes… but own the land on which we live.

Even if it doesn’t have a house?

I’m not saying it’s the best way, the right way, or the ideal way for everyone. But it’s worked for us. More or less.

(this is a sneak peak video into our little camper)

It took us a lot of years (like, um, around 50 and 60 respectfully) before we had the courage, grit and gusto (let alone the financial capability) to leave the old family ranch behind and break out on our own.

Finally.

Ours. All ours.

And now…

Here we are.

Still living like no one I know.

For better or for worse. Just how it is.

Go ahead. Laugh at how we live. We do too. It’s a little nuts. But we love it.

You can say it: We are living Red White and Blue. Red neck. White trash. Blue collar. And proud.

We live in a 14 foot camper circa 1964 with a nearby outhouse, no indoor plumbing, hauling drinking water from town and pumping wash water from the creek. We do our laundry by hand in an old churn style wash tub and hang it out to dry on a line strung along the horse fence. All in all, you learn to wash little things like socks and underwear, but realize there’s not much sense in washing the jeans when they’re just going to get dirty again. So, you don’t.

When you’re living at camp, cleanliness kinda goes by the wayside. Yes, I like a tidy home, but you can’t be real picky out here. There’s dirt. Lots of it. And mice, spiders, bats and flies and stuff that take some getting used to. I’m use to it.

Washing isn’t top priority. You save your fork after every meal and though I wash my hands and face in a bucket morning and night, I’ve cleaned my hair only three times since leaving California well over a month ago.

It’s a dirty life, but I love it. Sure, I look forward to keeping a clean house someday. Like when I have a house. But in the meanwhile, I love where we’re at and how we are living and that makes all the dirt and dust and grease and grime okay.

It helps too to have a very patient, loving, and a little bit blind partner living the life along with you.

(yes, that’s hail. and yes, it’s still freezing regularly in the morning, in case you were afraid to ask.)

As for progress and updates and the latest news from up on this high, wild land, well, our son was as usual a huge help getting our floor joists lined out (Thank you, Forrest!!!!!) and Bob and I got the plywood down (see the celebration dance below).

Now it’s time to start going up!

Until next time,

With love, always love,

Gin

Date night.

/ Gin Getz / 4 Comments

Finally a warmer evening.  No rain and hail this afternoon to cool things down to cold. So he heats a bucket of water over the fire and offers me a soak, out under the wide open sky that throws her usual evening show of colors nearly gaudy – blues and violets and magentas and grays, blending boldly in untamed air.

As I slip my dirty feet into the pail, a part of me melts. Between the warm water, watching ground-in dirt abrade, and the generosity of my husband to share this simple gift, I soften.

Two weeks ago yesterday, we left our oasis in California, and today Colorado feels like home. Here, there, wherever I am. Wherever the soil rubs deep into my pores and comes to rest beneath my nails. Wherever the air fills and burns my nose and lungs and wherever the water in which I bathe becomes me. That is where I am, where I wish to remain, where I belong, forever.

Camp is set. A place to sleep and cook and clean. A road to come and go. Water to drink and a place for chickens and horses, dog and this meager thing I call a garden. A place to do laundry, store tools, wash after another dirty day.

We are ready to move forward.

And so, we break ground.

And as the sod is peeled back, revealing rich soil below, deposited a millennia ago by the industrious work of beavers, the story in my heart unfolds just as deep, just as wide, just as rich and wild.

And then we return inside. Into the comfort of what is now home to my man, my dog and me. A tiny trailer, 8 feet wide and 14 feet long, that I decorated as I do, with crystals and warm colors and an assortment of things that make me feel cozy. Things that make me feel at home, as does the sound of that rooster’s crow.

Prayer flags in the kitchen window that were custom made many years ago. The only missing message is faith. Something I am returning to. The path is unique to me. The direction is all the same.

Until the next time,

With love, always love,

Gin