Wouldn't it be awesome to provide as much as possible for oneself? Here is a "word picture" of my dream:
Imagine a small cabin. No big whoop. I don't care if it's made from wood or mud. I don't care if it is a school bus, a discarded grain silo or shipping container.
Home blooms anywhere.
One of our first chores would be to erect a clothesline. Planting those poles would cement our claim, symbolizing strength as it would also celebrate escaping conformity, community associations and subdivision restrictions. This simple, domestic staple screams "FREEDOM." At last, no fear of citation. Clothes will flap as flags of independence.
We would catch water from the sky and the sun's rays would purify it. I've heard this is possible. A composting toilet would suffice, even providing fertilizer for fruit trees and non-edibles.
We would have a small array of solar panels. Not that we would need them. Prior to electricity, humans lived totally without it, obviously. What a secure feeling knowing we can survive without the spoiling of our modern era.
Let's go beyond a backyard garden--further even than chickens and goats. What about growing grain? How about raising bayberry for candle wax? A trip to the craft store is what suburbanites do.
Why choose to be dependent?
Our days would be spent gently tending the garden and animals. Some days we would work harder than others. Mostly, we would just consistently chug about the grounds and relax fireside in the evenings. We would enjoy sing-a-longs with neighbors.
And smile a lot.
I read a storybook in grade school about a little girl and her playhouse. Its details soaked into my psyche: flowers in window boxes, dainty curtains, stuffed animal roommates, a tea party. This current homestead vision is similarly charming.
If only I could take a photo of a dream.
(Clip art provided by Designed to a T.)