I got curious and went looking for the homestead where I lived from age 9 to age 15. I found it on Google maps, and I was amazed that the land was still recognizable, and I can still see the marks we left there, some 3 decades ago. Fences, a shed in shambles, a huge garden, the mark where the trailer once sat. Marks on the land that are also still on my soul.
Somewhere around 30 years ago, my mother and her new husband, Don, moved to 40 acres of high desert land near Fishlake National Forest and the small towns of Aurora and Salina, Utah. I'm not certain what prompted the move there, but I get the impression that it was a mix of the tail end of the self-sufficency movement, and a desire to be very far away from large population centers in case of dire events. (It was the height of the cold war, after all.)
We lived in a mobile home, and had a second, smaller mobile home for storage. There was no electricity. There was no phone. There were miles of often-impassable dirt roads between us and civilization. I started school there as a brand new kid in a tiny town. I, a smart kid from a big city, was ostracised immediately. Once they discovered that we were not Mormon, and had no intention of converting, I was shunned. I made two close friends, also social outcasts, and we stuck together until I moved away.
The farm started as two trailers and some land. Mom grew a garden around the trailer and she canned what we didn't eat. We added chickens, ducks, sheep, and goats, and mom's garden grew to a one-acre site that can still be seen in the photo above. We were very poor. As a result, the buildings around the farm were built from materials that were creatively aquired. I remember our goat barn was built from panels of wood with big red numbers painted on them - I think they'd been pricing signs from an old grocery store. We found the chicken coop on the side of the road and brought it home. Making something from nothing, and/or scraps of nothing, is a valuable skill that has stuck with me.
Our water tasted awful. I don't remember exactly how we got it, but I think we tapped into some ancient iron pipes that were left from a previous owner who'd lived there many decades before. After a brief period of roughing it, we had a septic system and flush toilets.
We had minimal 12-volt power that was delivered by plugging a cord in the the house to a 12-volt outlet on the bumper of Don's truck. Don installed a few 12-volt lights in the house, including one in my bedroom and one in my bathroom. For some reason I was never able to fathom, I was not allowed to use these lights. I learned to pee and shower in the dark. We used kerosene lanterns for all of our light, and mom and I did laundry in a galvanized wash tub with an old-fashioned agitator and wringer, and hung our clothes on a line behind the house. Our heat was provided by wood that Don and I cut and hauled nearly every weekend. We also bought coal when we could afford it.
After a few years, Don installed a Photovoltaic panel and an array of 12-volt batteries, so we had more reliable electricity. We got a lot of fluorescent lights powered by rechargeable batteries, which reduced our kerosene consumption. I finally got a light in my room that I could use! Later, he purchased a diesel generator that was fired up for special applications, like running the swamp cooler in the summer, vacuuming, and washing laundry in an actual washing machine. My sister was born in 1980, and I believe her arrival prompted the generator, as my mother was fed up with deprivation and refused to let her baby crawl around on a carpet she couldn't clean!
I have no idea if Don still owns this land. He sold almost everything he owned a few years ago, and moved to Mexico.
Somewhere around 30 years ago, my mother and her new husband, Don, moved to 40 acres of high desert land near Fishlake National Forest and the small towns of Aurora and Salina, Utah. I'm not certain what prompted the move there, but I get the impression that it was a mix of the tail end of the self-sufficency movement, and a desire to be very far away from large population centers in case of dire events. (It was the height of the cold war, after all.)
We lived in a mobile home, and had a second, smaller mobile home for storage. There was no electricity. There was no phone. There were miles of often-impassable dirt roads between us and civilization. I started school there as a brand new kid in a tiny town. I, a smart kid from a big city, was ostracised immediately. Once they discovered that we were not Mormon, and had no intention of converting, I was shunned. I made two close friends, also social outcasts, and we stuck together until I moved away.
The farm started as two trailers and some land. Mom grew a garden around the trailer and she canned what we didn't eat. We added chickens, ducks, sheep, and goats, and mom's garden grew to a one-acre site that can still be seen in the photo above. We were very poor. As a result, the buildings around the farm were built from materials that were creatively aquired. I remember our goat barn was built from panels of wood with big red numbers painted on them - I think they'd been pricing signs from an old grocery store. We found the chicken coop on the side of the road and brought it home. Making something from nothing, and/or scraps of nothing, is a valuable skill that has stuck with me.
Our water tasted awful. I don't remember exactly how we got it, but I think we tapped into some ancient iron pipes that were left from a previous owner who'd lived there many decades before. After a brief period of roughing it, we had a septic system and flush toilets.
We had minimal 12-volt power that was delivered by plugging a cord in the the house to a 12-volt outlet on the bumper of Don's truck. Don installed a few 12-volt lights in the house, including one in my bedroom and one in my bathroom. For some reason I was never able to fathom, I was not allowed to use these lights. I learned to pee and shower in the dark. We used kerosene lanterns for all of our light, and mom and I did laundry in a galvanized wash tub with an old-fashioned agitator and wringer, and hung our clothes on a line behind the house. Our heat was provided by wood that Don and I cut and hauled nearly every weekend. We also bought coal when we could afford it.
After a few years, Don installed a Photovoltaic panel and an array of 12-volt batteries, so we had more reliable electricity. We got a lot of fluorescent lights powered by rechargeable batteries, which reduced our kerosene consumption. I finally got a light in my room that I could use! Later, he purchased a diesel generator that was fired up for special applications, like running the swamp cooler in the summer, vacuuming, and washing laundry in an actual washing machine. My sister was born in 1980, and I believe her arrival prompted the generator, as my mother was fed up with deprivation and refused to let her baby crawl around on a carpet she couldn't clean!
I have no idea if Don still owns this land. He sold almost everything he owned a few years ago, and moved to Mexico.
5 comments:
Funny that Xavier and I now live far from civilization with no running water and a little solar electricity. I guess things have turned full circle. And of course Don still owns the property - you would know if he had sold it. Did you hear there might be oil on the land? The oil companies are wanting to drill there.
An hour and a half west on I-70 way back in 1999 and we could have seen the place. ;)
If I'm ever in the center of UT again, I'll see about a drive by.
Well that's good to know that he still owns the place! I knew even back then that there was "oil shale" in the area, but it was far too hard to extract to make it worth anything. He worked for a short time on an oil rig before you were born - so there is oil in the area.
I would object to drilling on that land - would they drain Lost Creek for the water? What would happen to the beavers? And the deer, rabbits, and other critters? It's a beautiful area, and the ecosystem is so fragile. Just look - 6 or so years of relatively gentle, organic farming, and the land hasn't erased the marks we left on it.
As a post-script, I think that life out there would have been a lot easier if we'd had a cell phone. The isolation was the worst part, especially when the roads got so bad it was dangerous to drive.
What a great story - and a part of your life that I knew almost nothing about. Thanks for sharing. It's especially pertinent to me now. :)
yeah, tell me about it. I haven't had a phone for two weeks now and I am going nuts! (okay, we have use of the neighbor's phone 400 feet away, but still...) I miss the phone more than running water! They say next week and I'll be gabbing away again.
By the way, your ID picture looks exactly like a photo I have hanging on my wall... coincidence? Scary. :)
Post a Comment