Gotta Start Somewhere

Four years ago, my husband and I rode the crest of the real estate wave, sold our three bedroom rancher in town for $107,000 in May and bought seven acres Northwest of Spokane, WA. I had sworn I would have no part of developing raw land. If everyone develops raw land, there won't be any left! So in essence our place was an existing organic farm, minus a house. For $68,000 we got a good well, septic system, as well as a huge shop/garage, small orchard, garden, goathouse/barn, big shed with chicken coop, big root cellar, and the 12'x10' canning kitchen", (which became home while we figured out what to do about the no house issue), plus two big pastures, gravel driveways, parking areas, and an incredible view. Since a single wide mobile had stood on the top of the knoll, with the panoramic view looking north towards Tum Tum and the mountains, a flat area stood ready for another mobile. A cement patio and sidewalk to the driveway remained, where we set up our outdoor dining porch.

The house sold so fast, we weren't quite ready for life without a hot water tank, so during the sale process, we moved our stuff into the big shop and outbuildings, sleeping in my four season tent beside the canning kitchen where we set up the phone, computer, fridge, and kitchen stuff. It had a little closet, cupboards, counters, and a sink. An extension cord from the garage plugged into the breaker box, and we hauled water from the hydrant by the garden. We moved a load every day in our huge Dodge van, taking showers and packing at the old house, and unloading and living "outside" at the new place. Before we could turn around, the grass was three feet high! To get the garden in, we had to rent a rototiller, but first we had to rent a brushmower and mow about four acres of three foot tall orchard grass just to be able to walk around. Did I mention we had a lot of rocks? We had a lot of rocks, granite, because the top of the knoll is actually an eroded outcrop. Wooded on one side, and opening up to prairie in the pastures, with the view to the north and west of virtually empty prairie, mountains, and stands of ponderosa, our friends were astounded when they first saw it. It was cold at night, so we made a firepit and had our chairs set up there at night before going to bed. The sky was really dark when there was no moon, with a bright swath of Milky Way. Steve set the telescope up by the garden, where a "security" light a quarter of a mile away didn't interfere. Why people have those stupid lights I'll never know.

When the house closed, we had to get the last of our stuff, take our last hot showers, and start life without a hot water tank. We had two cats which we had to situate in the canning kitchen. We put their "potty" in the entryway, a closed in porch with a big window and screen door. They settled in quickly, staking out favorite spots in the closet. The canning kitchen had a large covered area beside it, which was obviously for stacking and storing firewood, but we set up our table and outdoor kitchen there, with strings of colored lights in the rafters. The tent was next to that, and I had to rig up a tarp over it after a three day deluge of wind driven rain. We got one of those huge plastic storage containers and used it for a bathtub, putting it between three firs where we could see out, but nobody could see in. Taking baths outside as the sun went down was very relaxing, and even though it was a huge hassle to boil two big canning kettles of water then carry them outside and fill the tub, I loved it. We lived like we were camping, sleeping on the ground in a tent, hauling water, but with phone, internet, and power--a hippie dream come true.

It was awesome until June 21, when we had a little visit from Mother Nature in the form of a hurricane like storm, with 80 mph winds. The power went off immediately, (and so did the water), and suddenly the canning kitchen seemed terribly inadequate. The radio station, (our NPR affiliate, where my husband is the Morning Edition host, went off the air. We were cut off, and on our own, hunkered in the stifling hot canning kitchen, terrified of the roaring storm. Luckily, none of our trees fell, although our neighbor lost one that took his powerline with it. It took a couple of days to get the power and water restored, and we got a crash course in how to start the pump. The storm helped us get better acquainted with our next door neighbors, Neil and Judy, and their three daughters. They have a real house, and Neil is an artisan woodworker, making huge boardroom tables of solid hardwoods, with custom inlays. Neil told us the backstory of our place, who lived there before us, and so on, since he'd lived there since the mid '80s. Neil is quite a talker, and we knew right away we couldn't have had a better neighbor.