Some of our favorite meals to prepare and enjoy are those which don't require traditional kitchen elements. I am talking about real CAMP FOOD. Food that is made outside of a "kitchen." Food that is made beneath the big open sky.
Somewhere around the time when I was studying Shakespeare and tending bar for unruly fraternity bros, I began forming an image in my mind of what my wildly successful adult life would look like.
I have to admit, this lifestyle is pretty great. Living in the mountains, far from the rat-race and all it implies, definitely has its perks. But, such is life, everything isn't always just sunshine and flowers. In fact, some days are really hard.
We're well into our second year on the Life Rustic road, and we're still two very happy campers. We've made a few updates to both the little Jellybean camper and to our lifestyle, including a kitchen demolition and major change of scenery. We even made the life-altering decision to install a composting toilet.
There appears to be a stigma or misconception that sometimes surrounds the tiny community. By community, I mean the ever-growing movement of people who are opting out of thousands of square feet in exchange for the smaller living spaces of recreational vehicles, tiny homes on trailers, school buses, shipping containers, motorhomes, yurts -- the list goes on and on.
Attempting to promote one's own work, hustling for projects and contracts, committing to undesirable work -- all of these things can make a writer (or artist, or anyone, for that matter) feel like they are constantly selling themselves for the sake of their craft. That all went away this summer.
Years from now, when your skin has worn thin and silklike, and your joints are rusted and creaky and won't move anymore, what of your life will you look back to with fondness? Me, when I am old and weathered, I will think of The Rugged Summer.
Let's be honest, practicing minimalism can be challenging. In theory, simplicity should be -- well, simple. Get rid of junk you already have, and don't buy junk you don't need. Easy enough, right?
I've gone off and done quit my job. QUIT. MY. JOB. The nice cushy one at the research hospital. The big girl job. The measure of my success. The one for which we dropped everything and moved. I must be crazy, right?!
On the second day of the new year, my grandfather left this earth. Loved ones surrounded him for days and weeks, and when he departed, his children were by his side. Sometime before he left, Grandpa Ron asked me to tell him about Colorado, writing the request on his dry erase board.