When the Simple Life Isn't Simple

Months ago, I randomly stumbled across a blog written by a woman whose family was homesteading; and although I cannot remember even a tiny clue about the name of the blog or how I found it, I do remember one post of hers.  In it, she wrote about how she decided to get rid of her clothes dryer altogether, and rely solely on her outdoor clothesline and an indoor clothes rack to dry her clothes.

The idea intrigued me at the time; and I thought, "Wow!  Wouldn't that be great?  If I did that, I could actually contribute to the financial well-being of our family in a substantial way by saving all the money that goes toward the electricity for our dryer.  That would be wonderful!"  Now let me make one thing clear:  Jeff does an outstanding job of ensuring our financial well-being, and I never (literally, NEVER) worry about money.  And not once has he ever suggested or implied or hinted that I should "get a real job" or do something to help us earn money.  But sometimes I do feel a tinge of longing as I think, "I wish there was something I could do to contribute monetarily!"

Was this something I could do?  Could I give up my dryer?

I moved slightly in that frugal direction by buying an inexpensive wooden clothes rack that was small enough to put in my laundry room.  It was so small, in fact, that a full load of clothes didn't fit on it; but I put as many items of clothing on it as I could before putting the rest of the load into the dryer, consoling myself by the thought that the dryer wouldn't have to run as long with only a partial load, so really I was saving some money after all.

And then, something happened that left me no choice.  The dryer broke.

Ordinarily, we would have quickly begun a search on Craigslist for a used dryer to replace our broken one; but because of a unique combination of circumstances, we did nothing.  The broken dryer sat in the laundry room, and I began to tackle the challenge of drying clothes without it.  Ah, the simple life!

Right?

That's when I discovered that there is nothing simple about trying to keep a household of six amply supplied with clean (and dry!) laundry without the convenience of a dryer.  There's nothing simple about lugging heavy baskets of clothes to the clothesline, weighing it down so much that all the lines stretch and one of the poles starts bearing a striking resemblance to the Tower of Pisa.  There's certainly nothing simple about trying to stay caught up on laundry when every single day of the week, it rains (or threatens to).  There's nothing simple about looking at the weather forecast and trying to figure out whether the 50% chance of rain they're talking about will land in my backyard--and if so, whether it will be in the morning or afternoon.  There's nothing simple about finally getting some sunshine and joyfully hanging clothes out, only to have to run out a little while later to gather the clothes because our neighbor (who owns a lawn-care business and mows our yard as part of his rental agreement with my dad--a wonderful blessing for us!) has decided to take advantage of the sunshine, too, and use that time to mow our yard.  There's nothing simple about carrying heavy baskets of wet clothes down the hill to my parents' house to stick in their dryer because I couldn't figure out any other way to get them dry.  There's also nothing simple about the amount of clothes (particularly Jeff's nice shirts) that get so stiff and wrinkly from line-drying that they must be ironed before wearing, especially because I know good and well that if they had only been dried in a dryer, they would be perfectly soft and smooth.

The simple life wasn't quite as simple as I was hoping it would be.

Here's another example:  eggs.  Do you know what's simple?  I'll tell you!  Going to the grocery store, putting a carton of eggs into your cart, handing the cashier a couple of bucks for them, and bringing them home to put in your refrigerator is simple.  You can guarantee those eggs won't have chicken poop all over them, and you can almost guarantee that they won't be rotten (although I know once in a blue moon, a bad one slips through).  Here's what is NOT simple:  having your own chickens, some of whom you raised from chicks which, although they were adorable and you loved the pictures of your children holding them, also left poop all over your porch floor during their stay on the porch until they were old enough to be in the chicken coop.  And then, once you thought they were old enough to be in the coop, you discovered that they weren't quite...making that discovery only after they had escaped from the coop and were wandering around the yard, dangerously close to the pasture and the quick jaws of the dogs who reside therein.  You also discovered that chasing little chickens around the yard is not terribly high on your list of favorite pastimes.  Neither is cleaning poop off eggs.  You do it, but only because you have to; and despite your best efforts to somehow turn it into a fun activity, it's never something you look forward to.  Speaking of the poop...you endure the smell of the poop in the coop, even though at times (especially in summer's heat), you think it might knock you over, even before you get close to the coop.  And don't even mention the flies.

Where once you had visions of how wonderful it would be to have your own chickens and supply of eggs (so healthy! so tasty! so fresh! and free!), you now realize that it takes quite a bit of time and work and putting-up-with-smells and money to have those (healthy! tasty! fresh! free!) eggs.  Not so simple after all.

From chickens to dogs...  Surely it's much more simple to have dogs in the country than in the city.  After all, if you have an indoor dog, you have to house-train it...and take it on walks...and deal with the hair it sheds...and pick up the poop.  It's true that we don't have to do any of that; our dogs have plenty of room to run in our pasture, and nobody cares how much hair they shed or poop they...well...poop.  But even though you'd think they would appreciate their room to run and wouldn't crave more, they do.  And that, sadly, leads to dog escapees, of which we have had an abundance recently.  It is incredibly frustrating to, time after time, look out the window and see a flash of fur go by or, even worse, get a phonecall, ("Umm...your dog is out again; can you come get it?") or a knock on the door which, upon opening, reveals a neighbor girl, with your dog at her heels.  Jeff, the saint that he is, has borne the brunt of all of this; and repeatedly, he has walked the perimeter of the pasture, spotting places where they might have gotten out and using various materials to plug the holes.  This morning, he was awakened about 5:15 by barking and went out, in the dark, to put the dogs back in the pasture and block their escape hatches.  I don't want to go anywhere at 5:15 in the morning, much less outside to put a couple of smelly dogs back in the pasture, so I'm very grateful for his sacrifice in this way.

Lest this blog post come across as one big rant about life in the country, let me hasten to add that I love my life and I love our home and, maybe more than ever before, I'm grateful for this little spot of earth that God has blessed us with.  But I'm realizing more and more that this good ol' simple life, while truly being GOOD is not always SIMPLE.

I could go on and on.  For example, I didn't even mention the area of food preservation yet.  Which is more simple: to grab a jar of Prego spaghetti sauce as you walk through aisle 7 at the grocery store OR to pick tomatoes from the garden, wash them, cut out any bad spots, peel them, cook them, add herbs and spices, fill jars with the sauce, then can them in a huge pot of boiling water...usually during the hottest part of the year, when the temperature in your kitchen feels like it's approaching 105?  The answer is obvious.

From time to time, I read a few blogs of various homesteaders who are really trying to make a go of it off the land.  Even more often, I read blogs of women who are trying to conserve money, provide healthy food for their families, and take good care of the earth and the resources God has given us; and although they may not officially be homesteading, they do look for ways to live "simply."  I enjoy reading such blogs, and I am often inspired by them to find new ways in which I can excel in homemaking.  But sometimes, I have to admit, I get a little tickled by the zeal and optimism of such folks, especially people who are new at homesteading and are obviously still in the "honeymoon" period of that way of life.  I laugh a bit as I wonder when reality will come crashing down around them.

A few days ago, I read a book written by such a woman.  I believe it was in the 70s that she and her husband made the choice to leave their comfortable, "normal" American lifestyle in favor of a small farm that they hoped would provide for them and enrich their life, not to mention the lives of their children.  The book is called Worms in My Broccoli, and the author is Nancy Poling.  I happened to pick up the book one day when I was wondering what to read as I ate lunch.  It's a small book, and I had never looked it over before because it was my parents' book.  It had been left here when my parents moved from this house into a much smaller one before we moved back to the States from Israel, and during these six years we've been here, it just hung out on my Biography shelf, waiting for someone to pick it up and read it.  I'm so glad I finally did.  Although my experiences with "simple" living that I've shared in this post are only a fraction of what Nancy went through, I could completely identify with her enthusiasm (before she moved to the farm) for all the "richness" of life in the country, as well as her subsequent discouragement at all the expense, all the time, and all the labor required to maintain such a simple life.   I found it quite amusing, not because I wanted to laugh at Nancy's blissful ignorance followed by disappointing reality, but because I could identify with so much of it!  I could so easily put myself into her shoes and imagine my thoughts and reactions if faced with similar circumstances.  Hilarious!

I suppose before I end, I should report about our dryer.  After living the simple, dryerless life for 5 or 6 or 7 weeks, the grand experiment (mercifully!) came to an end.  One day when Jeff was off work, I heard a dryer being moved and various noises coming from the laundry room.  I didn't venture too far into that room to investigate, but I had full confidence that some kind of progress was being made.  Sure enough, after one trip to an appliance store to get a part (a fuse, maybe?), Jeff had the dryer up and running again, and I was rejoicing, having learned an important lesson along the way:

An electric dryer is a terrific part of the simple life.  ;-)