The Glory of Running Water

Our cabin has its own well on the property. There is a miniature log cabin in the woods behind our home, uphill which serves as the well-house. An electric pump inside pushes well water through the pipes buried underground and into our faucets.
When we moved in we were afflicted with low water pressure. Most of the time it felt like each faucet was building up it's momentum before spraying out with full force. Josh assured me this problem would easily be fixed with some adjustments to the water pressure gauge but after carefully inspecting the well-house decided he wasn't technically equipped to make any adjustments.
Over a few short weeks the water pressure began to weaken to barely a trickle. I don't need to tell you how inconvenient this is in modern times, there is no other way to wash your hands, wash your clothes or dishes, flush the toilet or shower.
We had to come up with temporary solutions while the well-house was re-inspected (by a professional this time) These solutions included using paper cups and plates for the few times we ate meals at home, using bottled water to wash our hands and brush our teeth, one time I did laundry by hand with boiled bottled water and water from our creek, and Josh made a camp shower using bottled water. We would have to take turns because his design required a second person to stand on a chair and squeeze a 1/2 gallon size milk jug with holes drilled into the plastic cap in order to achieve the spray of a shower head. We would use 1/3 boiling hot water and 2/3 lukewarm for optimum comfort.
These are some of the days that can truly test your love for one another.
When eventually our pressure gauge was repaired I was so relieved and thankful I promised myself to never take running water for granted ever. While I enjoy attempting to live a more simple kind of life, this is one luxury I may never be able to live without.

Winter

I'm sitting in my rocking chair, drinking tea after bringing in two loads of firewood from underneath our porch, staring out the window at the new 2-3" of snow that is shining in the sunlight and it occurs to me I may have a minute to blog after a 6 month hiatus.

Things we learned living in our cabin this winter:
1. Be prepared.
Our first snowstorm hit in October. Right at the end of October a hurricane moved up the east coast and by some great fate collided over our mountain with a cold front moving south from the west. We got our first snowfall on a Monday afternoon! It was light and beautiful and we laughed and played in the snow falling. We drank tea and cocoa and sat by the window in the evening watching the flakes dust our trees. "We're so lucky" I thought to myself. The sky turned grey sometime around sunset and the wind began to howl. The snow kept coming. Harder and harder. I found it hard to sleep. I began wishing it would stop. After a few hours of restless sleep I woke at two am and walked downstairs from our lofted bedroom to find our windows and doors accumulating snow against them like little mini mountains. By the time the sun was rising, we were sitting under almost two feet of snow.
Josh did his best to clear a path for our car, but without a snow shovel, chains, ice scrapers, it was only a matter of time before our car ended up in the ditch across the road from our driveway. After about six hours we had the car towed out and made our one and only trip into town that day to supply ourselves. We are now fully equipped to deal with any and all snow related emergencies whenever they may arise.

2. You can never have too much firewood.
When we moved into the cabin in August, there was a gas furnace. It was not working at the time and since the weather was beautiful that time of year, I took no hurry is setting up appointments with our gas company. They had been out to inspect the unit and fill the gas tank. A part needed to be ordered for the furnace to work properly. When the snowstorm hit us in October, indoor temperatures dropped to 40 degrees. Our wood burning stove was a great help but we went through our firewood pile in one day. We would alternate our time between our bedroom which had a small electric space heater, the kitchen- standing in front off our electric oven with its door cracked open, and the living room, huddled in front of the stove burning two logs at a time.

3. Make time to blog.
Without Internet, cable or a microwave you may wonder why I wouldn't have time to scribble a few thoughts on our daily life here in the woods. Living in a simple way, such as this, has great rewards but most of it feels unimportant while it's happening. It's just life, in one of it's simplest forms.

I will write again and share more of our winter lessons, recipes to fight the cold, books that made me feel warm inside, adventures in our neighborhood and our winter wedding! Promise.

The Fall

The trees sway every few minutes and let down a rain of yellowed leaves. I mistakenly believed fall arrived on a slow moving train. Instead it came abruptly, chilling the evenings and mornings alike. Our firewood collection remains quite humble, but we can see the need for improvement in every brisk, foggy morning that turns to a dark and cold night. We have set to work felling trees and trimming branches in order to clear the property and bulk up our firewood. The neighborhood is still around us, absorbing the sounds of chaos we create. 

Luckily the daylight stays with us through most of our work. The cabin stays naturally lit throughout the day, despite the lush forest that surrounds us. I look forward to wasting quiet days in the cold silence of autumn, counting every knot in the cedar walls and piling logs into the cast iron fireplace. 

The Neighborhood

While still feeling apprehensive about our move from the robust and colorful city of Asheville, filled with music makers, artists and wanderers, we drove to our new log cabin through the rolling hills and lush forests of Clyde. Our neighbors are cows. Driving down the windy country roads that connect our little piece of nature to civilization, we see more cows than people. Furry cows, black cows, white cows, black and white cows, brown cows, and calves. Cows standing, lying down, grazing, alone, in groups, in two's and three's. In wide open pastures that go on for miles, and in small contained areas by the road, in pastures that climb the sides of mountains, and between the trees at the edge of the forest. These cows make me happy. It's somehow reassuring to see a place where the animals out-number the people. They become more than just farm animals, they are my neighbors.

The hills are blanketed with bright, bushy green trees. They appear soft and friendly and I imagine in the winter, as life dies, we will have the chance to see the dark, hard boulders that make up these mountains. The drive down these roads hasn't grown tiresome yet, there is so much life to see, so much corn, tobacco, goats and chickens. Red barns with white trim, horses pulling buggies, and a creek that runs along the road, sometimes bubbling quietly and other times crashing and splashing with all the roar of the Nantahala River. It's the kind of drive that makes you forget where you're going and where you've come from.