My dad was raised on a small farm north of Columbus, Ohio. The farm is still in the family, but no one lives there anymore. On the property sits a small white farmhouse with a wrap-around porch, and a slate roof, a white barn, a little white chicken coop, a white outhouse, and acres of apple trees. That’s one way they sustained themselves—selling apples and cider. The house is pretty tiny—just a small parlor at the front of the house, a middle parlor with a black stove to heat the house, and at the back of the house, a small kitchen with a room for a table and chairs. At the top of the stairs is an open loft. It leads to a very small bedroom. From the middle parlor, a dinky dirt-floor cellar can be accessed. It has a door that leads out to the backyard. There was no running water in the house when my dad lived there, and there’s no running water now. The family’s water came from two places: a pump in the kitchen (cistern water) and another pump outside the back door. My dad lived there with his father, mother, and two brothers. Town is about four miles away and they didn’t get there very often, according to dad.
It was pretty primitive living, I guess. We used to visit when I was a kid. I remember seeing tall corn stalks in a big garden, which my uncles used to plant, off to the side of the house. There were berry bushes in the wide path that led into the apple orchard. We were always being warned to watch out for poison ivy when we tried to pick the berries. The garden was to the left of the house—on the right was a small orchard with plums and peaches. They were sure delicious.
Yep, it was no frills living. So how come it’s starting to look good to me? Is it because the world seems to be falling apart? Of course it is. The extremist in me says, “What? Find a place to live where you can grow your own food-- have your own water source-- and where there are plenty of trees for fuel? It’s a no-brainer!” I wonder how many fairly normal people are thinking along the same lines lately?
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