Last night I was sitting in my darkening cabin thinking how lucky I am live the way I do. It’s hard to explain but just sitting there watching it get dark is the best feeling.
That’s the great thing about cabin life, it doesn’t cut you off and protect you from the world like a house. It more enhances life than cut you off from it.
When it’s dark, you know it’s dark. When it’s cold outside, you know it’s cold.
If you want heat, you go chop wood. If you want water, you need to melt some snow.
If the cabin burns down, you need to figure out a new shelter. But that’s all it is—shelter.
Some people think my life is harder than for people who live in a house. I can tell you, from my house sitting experiences, that I have far more time and far less chores to do than a house dweller.
It takes me like 40 seconds to clear the snow off my porch.
When I house sat for my sister, I had a long walk to shovel, many decks to shovel, and a long driveway to plow.
My toilet is a bucket. I have two of them. Once a week I dump them under a big pine tree, rinse them out with my saved gray water, and rake some pine needles over the top. It takes 10 minutes a week at the most. They work flawlessly, don’t use water, and they make top soil.
At my sisters, not one of her three toilets worked flawlessly. A half of day was spent cleaning up after one of them overflowed.
Though my cabin is cold in the mornings, some night it’s probably close to 80 degrees. To be that warm when it’s cold outside feels delicious.
I make a nest on the floor with blankets and pillows and in the dark cabin, stretch out in front of the wood stove and the propane heater, drink tea, look out at the stars, and think, “There is no where I would rather be.”
At my sisters house she has inlay hot water coils that heat the floor of her large house. You set it and the house stays that same temperature all the time. So it’s too hot when you’re sleeping and too cold when you’re awake.
The one thing I thought that her 3500 sq ft. house would have over my 200 sq. ft. cabin was space. In my cabin, I carefully lay myself out to do some yoga postures so I have enough room.
The shocker was that because she had filled all her space with stuff, I had the same problem at her house as in my cabin. She had no more room to stretch out and do yoga as I did.
If I need a new roof—500 dollars. If she needs a new roof—10,000 dollars.
I can wash all my windows, inside and out in under an hour. She needs scaffolding to wash her windows.
My shelter serves me; she serves her’s.
I could go on and on but my point is cabin life is easier, more comfortable, more beautiful, and much more sustainable than big house living.