A New Hike

We usually snowshoe to this higher peak once or twice a year. The forest, which was virtually impassable in the summer, has sadly been chopped down, but in doing so it’s become possible to hike to. Though I would rather have kept the trees, being able to enjoy this wild place and notice the changes in plants as it approaches alpine elevation is interesting. I hope to make a habit of hiking there at least once a week now, to ponder how small most problems actually are.

Greenhouse Bonus

I’ve over-planted tomatoes in the greenhouse, and they’ve gotten so thick that a surprise has grown in their shadowy understory. Cremini mushrooms! I don’t know where their spores might’ve come from, but with such a dry, wild-mushroomless season, they’re welcome to grow under the tomatoes. We started picking, cooking and freezing them to enjoy this winter.

The Only Rain

The B.C. government issued a rule restricting people on quads and other off-road vehicles from travelling down backroads in an effort to prevent wildfires. Though I’m not a fan of added rules and mandates, and it meant I couldn’t ride my dirtbike, I did agree with their decision. They’ve since rescinded it.

I can only hope people act responsibly in the backwoods as hunting season gets under way. After such a dry summer, it wouldn’t take much to start a fire. August brought only one real rain, barely enough to saturate the ground. I really hope September brings a monsoon.

Sweet Success

We didn’t take any honey from the bees last year, letting them keep every bit they stored in hopes they’d survive the winter. It worked, and all summer they’ve been thriving in their home in the loft of the barn. We decided to take only two frames, ones in which the comb was made a bit funky, and it’s turned out to be a lot of honey.

Figuring out how to extract the honey was fun (and messy). We already have a couple of batches of mead started. It feels amazing to be seeing success with honey bees, and I hope they do well again this winter.

Windows in the Barn

Sitting in the barn hiding from the midday heat, we had an idea. We still had a few used windows sitting aside since first coming here, and instead of storing them for another winter, we could install them in the south wall, looking out into the greenhouse. It would bring in more light and, in the winter, hopefully some warmth.

It was a bit of a funny decision at the time, but I’m really glad we did it. I’m happy with how it turned out. Now, sitting in the barn hiding from the midday heat, I can look out into the greenhouse and check on the plants’ progress.

Winter Prep on Pause

The tomatoes in the greenhouse have yet to ripen, but soon I’ll be clambering to pick and store them. I’ve dried and put away my yard tea, but still have lots to do in the garden before the snow flies. Thankfully, Rose came to visit the mountain and helped Curt with the potatoes and garlic.

At the end of the month I had to leave the mountain and be with my brother in Kamloops, putting my plans on pause.

My Brother Broke His Neck

I woke up in the morning to a text from my brother the night before:

‘I broke my neck, I think I’m having surgery tomorrow.’

My heart dropped and I lay in bed in shock. Very luckily, he still had all of his movement and feeling, but was restricted to a bed in ICU, not allowed to move. Two days later they operated on him, fusing his C5 and C6 vertebrae and replacing two discs. I began packing as Luci watched, clearly knowing I was going somewhere. She looked very unimpressed.

I knew he’d likely need help for a while after surgery, so I got Curt to drop me off at the hospital in Kamloops, a three-hour drive away. I got there a few hours after his surgery and was astonished to find him alert, able to walk, and hungry.

Returning to the Mountain

As I write from Kamloops, Curt tells me it’s raining on the mountain.

Finally.

It gives me a feeling of longing, like I’m missing something. Being there as the mountain receives water. The sweetness of cottonwoods and aspen, the peppery scent of the alder. The sound of birds and squirrels excited for the change. The feeling of cold rain as it tries to get into my bones.

It’s been over a week, and this is the longest I’ve been away from the mountain since I moved there six years ago. A week of grid-tied life has been different. Comfortable, yet uncomfortable. I’m glad to have been here for my brother, and I’m looking forward to getting home.

Thank you for being here ❤️

Here’s the actual post

Though I have no idea what caused it and it didn’t affect everyone, I apologize for the spammy looking email.

Thank you,

Amy Jay

I consider winter on the mountain to be from November to April, and I need to plan to be snowed in for that time. Nights have been cool, often dipping below 10°C, making me hope it’ll be early. After that, life will become about skiing, snowmobiling and snowshoeing.

Winter Water

During winter, laundry is done less often, showering is less frequent, and the bunny population is smaller, so less water is needed. I like to store 4 totes of water. It’s not a lot, but it can be supplemented by snowmelt. Having survived with much less before, I think we should be okay.

Water has been a challenge all summer, and it won’t get better before the snow flies. With the natural spring dry, we’ve had to start trucking water up from town. We can bring 600 litres at a time, which is the most we can carry without flipping the truck on the steep, uneven road. The place we get it from, however, closes on September 21st.

If we have to cart 4,000 litres up, 600 at a time, we’d better get serious about bringing water up for winter soon. That’s a lot of trips up the mountain, especially when there’s still so much else to do before the snow arrives. I’m trying not to think too hard about how many times we’ll have to make that drive. I’m still hoping for rain.

Vehicle Maintenance and Fuels

I sincerely hope to be snowed in for at least a couple of months this winter. We’ll try to plow or pack the snow on the road until Christmas, then let it happen. After that, life will become about skiing, snowmobiling and snowshoeing. The snow machines will need a tune-up before then; the snowblower we use for walking paths could use a carburetor cleaning as well.

We’ll start topping up all of the jerrycans and propane when it gets colder out and the fear of wildfires has subsided.
Here’s the fuels inventory list;

• 6 - red cans for gasoline

• 4 - yellow cans for diesel

• 3 - 20# propane tanks

• 2 - 30# propane tanks

• 2 - 100# propane tanks

The gas is for the snowmobiles, snowblower and generator, which sees more use in winter. The diesel is for the tractor. One of the 100# propane tanks will keep the freezer going all winter but having the second full is good, just in case. The other smaller tanks are for the stove and the on-demand water heater.

At the end of the day, as long as my snowshoes work, I know I should be okay.

Preparing the Pantry

My goal is to live as self-sufficiently as I can this winter and eat exclusively from the land. It feels like an especially steep goal, especially given the unusually dry summer, but I haven’t given up on it yet. Instead of having a specific goal for how much I want to have in the pantry, I’m preserving as much as possible and looking forward to sharing what life will be like.

The garden has been mostly a success. Potatoes have done well, and the tomatoes will start producing en masse very soon. I’m going to experiment with drying some of the potatoes for use in winter months, while the tomatoes will become sauces. Thank you for all of the amazing tomato preservation ideas .

The pantry to-do list;

• Dig up potatoes, carrots and beets and prep for storage

• Freeze (rabbit) meat and pressure-can broth from leftovers

• Wait until frost to dig up carrots

• Figure out what to do with amaranth and other wild grains

• Can tomato sauces once tomatoes ripen (another couple of weeks)

• Pick gourds once ready

• Daily foraging and storing (usually drying) berries, mallow, plantain, salsify and more

I’m putting away foraged foods for the rabbits, ducks and chickens, but having store-bought kibble in case anything happens to it seems prudent. No one’s starving on my watch. There will still be store-bought kibble for the kitties, and I’ll reserve some offal if I get a deer this hunting season. For us, staples like flour and rice will be store-bought, as will salt and sugar.

I’m struggling with whether or not to buy coffee or start solely drinking my yard tea.

Firewood and Power

We’ll need around three cords of firewood to stay warm through winter. With so much to do, I know it’ll be put off until the very last minute. We’ve made some logging friends who have said they’ll reserve dry, dead wood for us, which will hopefully lighten the workload. It’ll hopefully be my preferred type, too; that would make life significantly easier.

The chainsaws could use a tune-up as well, but the axes are as ready as I am for cooler days. Something I’ve always been aware of but never fully appreciated is how differently the sun rises and sets from summer to winter. The solar array is doing well, but will need to be adjusted as the angle of the sun changes and the days become much shorter.

I’m sitting in a camping chair in the shade, writing about the impending winter, being entirely distracted by the ducks. They seem to take comfort in being around people. Close, but not too close. It’s nice since I feel the same way. They simply sit and stare at me in their funny-duck way.

Summer 2026 on the mountain was different in a way that has had me on edge. I’m looking forward to winter immensely, perhaps more than I ever have before. There’s something comforting about knowing what’s coming, preparing for it, and then letting the snow close the road behind us.

July happened in a flash. Summer is half over, and truthfully? I’m a bit relieved. It’s been a Different Sort of Summer, and though there’s been lots of success and great moments, I’m looking forward to when things calm down just a smidge.

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Having worked out the literal and figurative kinks in the water system, June started strong. The garden was growing, the days were long, and it finally felt like we could settle into summer on our little off-grid mountain homestead. Then, right at the beginning of the month, we got news that a close family member had passed away.

Wildlife Therapy

The month began with a serious low. We went for a walk to the top of the property the afternoon after hearing the news. I began to process the grief, and my mind felt fuzzy. On our walk, Curt noticed something bright yellow sitting on the tire of the truck.
”Is that a tennis ball?” he asked

I crept over to it and watched as it swayed with little fluffy breaths. In typical Amy fashion, I gave it a little poke. From behind a wing, a little head appeared, looking less than impressed. It continued to sit there, glaring, as we backed away quietly.

Deer always avoid my yard, having ample space to go around and stay out of eyeshot. One morning though, for the first time ever, this pretty doe decided to come say hi. I had no idea the cats would growl at a deer, but that’s what they did. For the following weeks, the natural world kept lifting my spirits with exceptionally magical moments and giggles from the cats.

Duck Swap

Duck eggs are amazingly nutritious, but for Curt they’re a little too nutritious. The different protein and rich yolk were too much, so we decided to replace the large egg-laying ducks with less practical but much cuter call ducks. Though cute, they still have a job - to hopefully seal the pond with their poop. So far it appears it might be working (?!). Though not full to the brim, the waterline is higher than last year.

Luci on a Leash

Summer Solstice

Though getting away from our responsibilities can be tricky, seeing our friends who live a few mountains over is something I really look forward to. Without planning - it often happens on Solstices. They live similarly to us, without power or typically running water, growing their own food and taking in the natural world around them. We met for a dip at a swimming hole they showed us last year.
As it turned out, it was the summer solstice, so we got to celebrate our way of being inadvertently tied to nature's rhythm.

The Growing Garden and Cucumber Failure

I had to try to put my cukes in the ground - they were getting too big, but now my cucumber starts are entirely gone. There were 8 - none survived. Lesson learned. Other plants did survive, however. The tomatoes nearly died in the night’s cold; the brassicas (kale, broccoli, cabbage) are thriving. Thankfully, I started more tomatoes for the greenhouse, and the ones outside look like they still might make a go of it. The fruit trees are content, which makes me very content.

We bought something new for the garden space we call ‘the orchard.’
Can you spot it?

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A bowl for us and a pile for the bunnies

Big Buns

Knowing exactly how much feed would be a normal amount right now is difficult because some of my bunnies are surprisingly large. At less than 3 months old, they’re topping 7lbs! I’ve been working to selectively breed rabbits from the auction, and it appears to be working. From a rabbit I named ‘Twunny’ and another I called ‘Big Brown’, I think I’ve found my ideal meat rabbit.

Every morning I pick ‘weed’ the garden and give the bunnies the ones I know are okay. In addition to their regular store-bought feed (something I’m hoping to eventually get away from buying altogether), they’re eating Lambsquarters, Grasses, Mallow, and more. It’s cut my feed bill in half. Not only are the weeds feeding them, but they’re also feeding us some of the best salad I’ve ever had.

Mini-Panther Adventure

If you’ve been here a while, you might know - early into this adventure on the mountain, we recruited Luci, the assassin. Her job, to deal with mice, squirrels, and anything else making our life nearly impossible. When we left the snow-covered mountain to celebrate Christmas with family, we couldn’t leave the kitten to freeze, and so she came with - on the snowmobile. I packed her little kitten self into a backpack, and away we went.
She got surprisingly accustomed to it.

Now, when we leave for town, she sits on top of the backpack looking both hopeful and resentful (typical cat). I figured I was overthinking it, but after it happened enough times, and feeling a bit guilty, I decided to try taking her for a little drive down to where the backroad meets the nearest actual ‘neighbour’.

She loved it. Not all cats would, but she was very clearly excited. I wouldn’t suggest trying that to everyone who has a cat - Gandalf gets terribly carsick. I think I might need to bring her along on more mini-adventures.

Moving into July

I’ve never appreciated quite as much how healing the natural world can be as I did this past month. Swifts have begun building a nest over the door to my house, bringing daily entertainment as they swoop overhead and perch on the string of lights just outside. New plants have even emerged from the freshly delivered gravel, giving me something new to identify and figure out how they might fit into life here.

Though I’m deeply saddened by the loss of a close family member, I know they’d be happy to see me living these days exactly the way I want to.

The new ducks have settled in, the rabbits are happily munching on weeds, and the garden has turned green in a way that feels almost overnight. Losing all of my cucumber starts wasn’t ideal, but it hasn’t dampened my excitement. I’m more optimistic about the future on the mountain than ever before.

I’ve spent as much as a month entirely alone, and months just myself and Curt. I understand why so many people fantasize about disappearing into the wilderness and leaving the rest behind, but off-the-grid has become an idiom for that fantasy. Like ‘bite the bullet’ doesn’t literally mean chomping on lead, ‘off the grid’ doesn't necessarily mean vanishing from society. Somewhere along the way, a technical description became something else.

This Is Off-The-Grid

A couple of days ago, a connector to the solar panels decided not to work. I was charging batteries and noticed the system was depleting. Fast. It became a problem which needed addressing if I didn’t want to read my book by candlelight that evening (which isn’t altogether bad, but lights are nice). It needed to be sorted out right away.

In its most literal sense, off-grid simply means living without one or more public utilities. For some people, that means electricity. For others, it includes water, sewer, or natural gas. For me, it means all of the above. Outhouse, propane for cooking and showering, water from a natural spring, and solar power. When someone tries to tell me I’m not off-grid, because I’m here sharing with you, I wonder what they could possibly mean.

So, What DO They Mean?

Do they mean I should stop writing? Stop using the internet? Stop communicating entirely? Did they seek out stories about life beyond the utilities, then insist that anyone sharing those stories can’t really be living it? Did they seek out off-grid information, then dismiss someone living it firsthand?

No. What they mean is something entirely different.

For them, off-grid living has very little to do with electricity. It’s become a fantasy and a symbol. When those people use it, they aren’t talking about utilities. They're talking about dancing naked under the moon, howling with the wolves and, above all else, being free.

I can’t blame them. Modern life can be exhausting. Notifications, traffic, bills, ads, algorithms, there’s so much competing for time and attention at every waking moment, never letting up. When people say they want to go off-grid, they’re not saying they look forward to maintaining solar batteries or troubleshooting water systems. They’re dreaming of a break and disconnecting from the noise.

MY Off-Grid

When those people argue that off-grid means disappearing from society and living life untethered, I get it. I feel that in my bones. I used to work 80-hour weeks, tried to keep up with the algorithms, sat in traffic surrounded by the noise. Heck, I could see my workplace from my balcony.

Now though, the version of “off-grid” people tend to imagine when they talk about it has started to happen in my life on its own, in a different way. The quiet, unplugged, disappearing-from-everything version. Not as withdrawal, but as the result of how I’ve chosen to live and having the time to realize what matters to me.

Where Fantasy Meets Reality

I’m writing this in the barn, with the bees humming above me (they live in the loft). I’m on a blue couch I found on marketplace, my laptop plugged into the small 200W solar system which powers the barn independently of the house. Most of what keeps this place running is something Curt and I need to understand and maintain ourselves. Though it’s difficult at times, I love it.

I live off-grid because I like taking responsibility for things usually outsourced to utilities. Sharing that experience online doesn't make me less off-grid. If anything, it reminds me that independence and isolation are not the same thing. I can’t imagine living in a way that removes me so far from systems and people that I couldn’t still share small moments like this.

Writing this won’t stop the occasional person from finding my writing and telling me I’m not off grid, but it will help me to remember something important. They're not defending the idea that I’m fake or phony, they’re defending their fantasy in which they can unplug from it all. If they take the time to dig into my content farther they’ll see me - writing online from my buzzing barn in the middle of nowhere, powered by the sun.

When I first moved to the mountain, it was bare subalpine land, sitting just where normal growing ends. There were so many hungry hares and gophers - anything I put into the ground was devoured, and a garden seemed impossible. The second year, we built a greenhouse on the roof, which succeeded until a hailstorm took it out. Years three, four and five, I had goats, and even rhubarb wasn’t safe from their sampling.

Now, not only has my little lettuce bed experiment been a HUGE success, but the wild edibles are also showing up en masse. Flavours in food I’ve never experienced before are becoming usual staples in my daily diet.

The Car Rally That Changed Everything

Here’s a weird story.

While building the rooftop greenhouse, we began hearing the roar of engines in the distance, breaking the usual silence and reverberating through the mountains. It sounded like someone had gotten stuck in a familiar muddy area, and after 10 minutes of listening to the noise, we decided to investigate. To our surprise, cars participating in an off-road rally had made a wrong turn, realized their mistake and decided to do donuts in the soft muddy stretch.

Seeing the pristine space ripped up was a bit jarring, until we realized - we can use that deep, dark soil for the rooftop greenhouse! Once carried up and put into beds, the edible green Lambsquarters (even better than spinach in my opinion) began to sprout right away, competing with our garden variety plants. What’s really odd about that is, I’ve never seen it on the mountain before, even where we got the soil.

Lettuce Success

My raised bed/cold frame experiment has pleasantly surprised me. Warm manure at the bottom of the bed, topped with rabbit manure and dark wild soil, has turbocharged growth. Green lettuces are thriving, arugula is going bonkers, and other little greens are starting to germinate. Though wild greens are delightful, some good ‘ol lettuce is a welcome addition to my salads. There will definitely be more cold frame experiments in my gardening future.

Dandelions, Lambsquarters and Other Edible Wild Greens

The undisturbed soil simply didn’t seem to have dandelions - until we started stirring things up. Now they’re everywhere, and now the yard feels properly homey. I’ve tried making fritters out of their flowers and learned that almost anything tastes great made into a fritter. Their leaves add a nice bitter bite to salad. Oxeye Daisies, on the other hand, add a unique cucumber-like flavour. They’re pretty strong, so a little goes a long way.

I’ve been surprised to learn how many leafy wild greens are actually edible. That said, don’t eat anything without being confident you know what it is. Sheep sorrel has a distinct leaf shape and a sour green apple type flavour, making it an interesting addition in small amounts. Sweetroot, on the other hand, adds a licorice-anise type flavour which is very tasty.

A Wild World of Flavour

It’s been a Goldilocks spring on the mountain. An incredible variety of plants is thriving, bringing flavours I never expected to find here. From mint and green apple to licorice, alongside home-grown arugula and garlic, it’s hard not to get excited about a big bowl of salad grown entirely on the mountain.

Ultimately, the mountain decides what will thrive - and sometimes what will appear as if by magic.

I lay awake last night watching lightning illuminate the sky all around, followed closely by thunder rattling the cups on the shelf. Electrical storms are both thrilling and nerve-racking up here. Being at a higher elevation feels like my odds of being struck could be greater, though I don’t know if that’s true. Eventually, I fell asleep as the sky still flickered and rumbled in the distance.

Screech the Strange Rooster

Screech might be a bit off, but I had to keep him; he’s the friendliest rooster I’ve ever known. Like Heihei from the Disney movie Moana, he walks around in an oblivious sort of way, sometimes standing in my path. I’ve even tripped over him. When people come over, I pick him up, hold him straight up to their faces and ask,
“Is there something strange about my rooster?”
They look surprised - He doesn’t fight or flail, but lets me hold him while they assess his strange demeanour.

When Chick chick’s eggs didn’t hatch, I wasn’t overly surprised. I suspect the failure is on Screech’s side, and by rights, I should consider getting rid of him. But I like him too much, so- he stays. Chick chick spent a few days getting over the disappointment of not hatching her own brood and has befriended the new auction chickies.

Water Win

For a moment, we were entirely out of water. The springbox we built to harness the natural spring stopped working due to the natural flow being significantly less this year. We decided to change things up, dig a new trough and lower where the water totes sit to improve the flow. After a week of digging, adjusting, moving rocks and laying some pipe, we have water again and finally got to have a shower.

Solar Tiller

The modest 1kW solar-powered system is creating enough surplus to use an electric coffeemaker, so I asked myself, what comes next with the solar surplus? When I began digging the garden, I found my answer - the electric garden tiller we bought at auction years ago for $5. Surprisingly, it works great!

Growing up on a farm in Ontario, we had a scary, loud, gas-powered tiller for mum’s garden. Plugging an electric tiller into the solar power feels very different. Still somewhat chaotic, yet less noisy and a bit more peaceful.

Sturdy Soil

The second summer here, I tried planting seeds in the wild mountain dirt and learned how unsuitable it is for growing garden-variety plants. Most grew but were dwarfed by the cold nights and hard clay/silt. Creating soil for a garden here has been a long, patient process, and now is the time to see it finally come to fruition. I’ve combined aged goat, pig, and chicken manure with rabbit fertilizer and some rich natural dirt from near the spring. It looks amazing in the garden and I’m excited to see how it does.

Dirty Laundry

I heard a strange noise coming from my little washer/spinner machine as I started a load of delicates. I watched it, wondering what it might be and hoping it was nothing. Smoke began rolling out of it, with the distinct smell of a cooked motor. I unplugged the machine quickly and muttered some choice words.

Washing clothes by hand was something I got used to in the beginning of living here. Socks and undies aren’t so difficult, but bedding and bigger items can be a real chore. I’ll have to go back to hand-washing until I decide to either replace the motor or get a new machine altogether. The spinner side still works, making getting rid of the whole machine a bit of a challenge (for me).
What might the spinner side be good for?

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Idyllic Moments and Big Challenges

Screech may not be able to make chicks, but at least he’s a nice rooster, and Chickchick has made friends with the newbies. We got the spring to work, and my garden is ready to be planted. The addition of a solar-powered tiller has been a happy change that makes work here much easier.

Though May was challenging, the beauty far outweighed the bad. The world is suddenly full of colour (predominantly green) with wild sprinkles of purple (wild clematis), yellow (dandelion and arnica) and even blue (two lobe larkspur). The bees are buzzing, chasing the sweet scent of pollen, which fills the air. The ducks happily waddle across the yard in search of bugs and tasty new greens. I’m feasting on duck eggs and fresh nettles daily.

The forest is vibrant and lively, and though I’m washing my laundry by hand, it beats sitting in traffic.

Warm beneath my blankets with a cat at my feet, I sit up and look out the window. The house is cold, around 10°C. The sun is already up, illuminating newly sprouted blades of grass in the lawn. They’re glowing white, and I rub my eyes and squint until the frost comes into focus. It’s been warm for weeks, and I’d considered planting my seedlings, but I’m glad I didn’t. Time to get a fire started.

There’s something about the brisk transition from warm blankets to an oversized sweatshirt that I adore. I start a fire and turn on the inverter to the coffee maker. After years without, letting a machine make my coffee is a strange but welcome change. The rooster hasn’t crowed yet - it’s too early even for him, but I throw on my rubber boots to let out the animals while my coffee brews.

As I step out the door, I slip on the frosty step. I giggle in the crazy way we sometimes do when narrowly escaping impending doom. Not today, frost.

The ducks excitedly run to the pond, all quacks and flapping wings. Three are large ducks with big bellowing quacks, and two are little ducks with Donald Duck voices. One of the little ones sounds like she was a chain smoker in a past life. I let out the chicks, another excited flurry of feathers, and go back to the house for my coffee, carefully walking up the step.

The cats go out, and I tell them to get the gopher across the yard, before it eats my hazelnut trees. I add some wood to the fire and pour my coffee. It’s Victoria Day weekend, aka May long, and I wonder if this cold weather will put a damper on people’s weekend plans. The frost on the roof begins to melt and drip as I sip my coffee and think about what the day might bring.

I remember, today is my Nanny’s birthday. My mum’s mum. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have been born in 1931. I give her a call, she and my mum are driving somewhere. They’re 3 hours ahead of me; their day is already well underway. Nanny’s short-term memory isn’t great, but her long-term is thankfully intact, and I tell her if I were turning 95, I’d forget too, which makes her laugh.

The list for today is long, but weather-dependent. I sip my coffee as a mist rolls around the yard and settles. I suspect that from the town below, my mountain is clouded over at the top. The world has gone out of focus; this time it isn’t my eyes. A raven perches on a bare tree top, calling to its mate.

What the day will bring is uncertain, but I’ve had my coffee, flirted with frost, and started my day with Nan’s laugh.

It seems like it’s happening all at once. The deciduous trees suddenly have leaves, grass is growing, and wild flowers are popping up everywhere. They don’t seem to have noticed the lack of rain and snow melt, but I certainly have.

The spring box we built a few years ago has failed, an…

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Spring has sprung early on the Mountain. The ground is bare and snow-free; making April the time to take advantage of the early thaw to get some things done. Man, was it busy. My fingers are already rough and calloused, and Curt got himself a sunburn. I’m wildly optimistic for the months to come, albeit a bit nervous too.

Holy - Solar

There’s been a noticeable increase in sunlight, and the battery bank has been tiptop. It’s a welcome change; I’ve even been using my electric coffee maker! Though I love taking my time with a pourover, with so much to do, having my pot brewed and ready when I wake up is also pretty amazing.

A new problem presents itself, but a great problem to have. I’m accustomed to hanging laundry on the line, and cooking over fire or propane, but what should I do with this surplus power? What will be the next step in this sustainable solar-powered journey?

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The Bees Are Alive!

When I winterized the hive in the fall, I kept my expectations low since it’s my first year with honeybees. I used fabric batting and a heavy blanket with air holes for ventilation. To my surprise, they’ve been coming out on warm days en masse! I’ve provided them with sugar water so that they have food before flowers begin to bloom.

Did you know bees poop? I didn’t know to expect a mess of bug poop on the side of my barn when they emerged the first time. Though it looks sticky, it cleans off easily with a wipe. (thank goodness)

Water Woes

We finally installed proper gutters for rain catchment - just in time to catch the only rainfall of the month before things became quite dry. Having water set aside has been a blessing since other usual water sources are already becoming scarce.

The seasonal upper spring, which usually starts to run this time of year, has already stopped flowing. This is a problem because the lower spring isn’t running very much either. It seems like it’ll be a very dry season on the mountain, which is concerning and brings back memories of the beast in Fort McMurray. It’s time to plan for the worst, just in case.

Gravel and Rocks

Part of the fire prevention plan is to put gravel around buildings, but bringing gravel up here isn’t easy. The road is too treacherous for a large delivery truck, and the Tacomas can’t carry much. Curt found someone willing to bring gravel in a 1-ton truck, 2 yards at a time. Now, Curt’s working to spread gravel and landscape as I write.

Future mud seasons should be less treacherous, and the change to the yard will hopefully mean fewer ticks in the house.

In addition to gravel, we’ve begun setting aside rocks to use as garden edging. Though probably pretty boring to read about, seeing the yard looking more beautifully manicured is a really nice change. The edging isn’t just pretty; the mass of rocks also helps keep plants warmer overnight. Once I’ve built my herb spiral taller, I’ll plant perennial herbs in it.

Broody Birds and Frizzled Friends

With his girlfriend spending her days keeping a clutch of eggs warm, Screech the rooster is a lonely boy. He’s been moping and lying around most of the days. Sometimes he walks up to me, as if to say, “I’m bored”. I pick him up, tell him he’s a good rooster. Hopefully, in a couple of weeks, Chickchick will hatch some babies, and Screech will have his buddy back.

Curt bought some chicks from the auction. It’s hard to tell much about them until they get some feathers, but I noticed something unique as we put them under the brooder. A couple of them appear to be frizzles, a funny type of chicken with crazy backward feathers. What they’ll look like as adults is a mystery.

I tried to give them to ChickChick, hoping she’d nurture them when she went broody, but no luck - she’s determined to hatch her own brood.

Lettuce Bed and Indoor Starts

To protect things from frost, I decided to try building a “cold frame” garden bed. Intended for lettuces, I built it in front of the house and seeded right away. Typically, I don’t start planting outdoors until June 1st, and even then things aren’t safe from late frost and hail. To my surprise, little lettuces are already coming up inside it and aren’t being killed by sub-zero evening temperatures. I suspect this successful experiment is going to be a game-changer for gardening on the mountain.

Big Days At a Mile High

They grow up so fast- The baby bunnies born April first are hopping, eating hard food, and their mum looks ready for some time to herself. It’s amazing how quickly things change on the mountain. I’m in disbelief that April is already over, until I look around at all of the work we’ve done.

It’s a strange kind of spring this year. The wild plants didn’t pop up through the snow, impatient like me for sunny days. Instead, they’re beginning to sprout, and everything seems to be happening all at once. My nettles are almost big enough to start sampling, and I’ve begun keeping an eye out for wild mushrooms.

I’m excited for the season, and what it might bring, the surplus of solar power and the head start, but nervous about how dry it is. For now, I’m hoping for some rain, or even a little snow.

It seemed unlikely my condo would go up in flames - but it also seemed unfathomable that 3,000 structures would be wiped off the map. In the month that followed, the fire that attacked Fort McMurray became known fittingly as The Beast. It had a mind of its own, was hell-bent on taking everything, and nearly did.

Having built a life on a mountain surrounded by beautiful (potentially combustible) trees, it’s time to plan for the worst. This spring has been dry, and wildfires have started early. It’s time to apply the lessons learned from The Beast.

The red arrow is the house, the white after - is not snow

What the Beast Took

When my life in Fort Mac began, it was a big move, eased by having family friends who brought me into their home and made me feel like one of their own. We shared dinners around the table, watched TV together in the den, and poked fun at the grandparents. The house was large. A 5-bedroom with colourfully painted walls and an interesting layout. Eventually, I moved out and bought my own apartment.
That colourfully painted house was burned by the Beast.

My car spent May 2016 in the Fort McMurray airport parking lot. I’d gone to Vancouver for 5 days and expected to return May 3 - the day it all began. From an airport live cam, I watched in horror as the sky darkened. The airport hotel on the other side of the tarmac disappeared in the smoke, never to reappear.
Whether the cars in the parking lot had burned was unknown.

I received a picture from a neighbour and friend. The skies all around the condo building were dark and tinted orange by smoke and fire. You could practically feel the heat. Had I been there, on my 6th-floor balcony, I would have witnessed a new subdivision burning to the ground as emergency crews worked feverishly.
Bulldozing garages to create a fire break to slow the destruction.

When I finally returned to work, I began hearing people’s stories from the evacuation. One man’s windshield wipers melted to the windshield as they fled through the fire. Another got notifications from his abandoned car as it was incinerated. “Front left tire pressure low, back left tire pressure low.”
A dozen of the 70 people in my department lost their homes.

Returning Home

I returned on a bus from Edmonton, shedding a few tears as I got into town. It was a post-apocalyptic scene, smoke still hanging in the air.

Curt was flown to a camp north of town before I could return, and got my car from the airport. It was unscathed, covered in ash, sitting there as though nothing had happened. Red Cross provided emergency kits in buckets to anyone who needed them. They contained food rations and stuff to start cleaning up.

Crews had worked tirelessly to make Fort McMurray as safe as possible for people to return to. Grocery stores, which had spent a warm month without power, had been emptied, cleaned and restocked. Barricades had been placed in areas that were unsafe to enter. Fridges from people’s homes lined the streets, full of rotten food.

I’d accidentally left a window open in my condo, which seemed to help prevent the smoke smell from settling in. Somehow, the power to the building had never been turned off; the time on my microwave was still correct. How okay my place was while being surrounded by a charred, greyscale world made for a surreal apocalyptic feeling.

What the Beast Taught

The people of Fort McMurray were accustomed to persevering through intensely cold winters and floods caused by the spring river breakup, but this was a new challenge. The Beast had circled the town like a predatory animal, fuelled by underbrush and strong winds, lunging at homes and businesses at every opportunity. Since then, fire mitigation strategies have been put in place, and we’re taking a page from their book.

This spring on the mountain has been warmer and more snowless than any I’ve experienced so far. Two nearby communities have already had out-of-control fires that were extinguished quickly. With that in mind and the ten-year anniversary of The Beast weighing on my heart, it’s time to get serious about the fire remediation plan.

Burning Grasses and Underbrush

Curt and I have been trimming and burning underbrush since the snow melted. Taking away the most ignitable fuel, it’s surprising how readily dry grass burns. It’s also a bit cathartic following the wall of flame, that is, until the wind picks up and things get scary. Burning always requires having water on-hand and watching it closely.

Creating a Firebreak

I always hesitate to cut down trees, and the last thing I want is for my mountaintop oasis to look industrial. For the sake of wildfire prevention however, I have to make some concessions. We’ve been removing the higher risk types of trees, like Balsam Fir, while leaving fire-resistant shrubs like Ninebarks.

Storing Water and Irrigation

Keeping water totes topped up and pumps ready is crucial if a fire makes its way here. The plan is to keep some totes uphill where their water can be gravity-fed down to a sprinkler on the house, keeping things damp if we’ve been forced to leave.

Evacuation Plan

People packed some funny things in a hurry to leave Fort McMurray. This was pre-COVID, but toilet paper often made the cut while things like pants, photo albums and passports were often missed. I have a written and digital list of things to pack in case we have to go.

Starting with irreplaceable things and animals, then necessities and more expensive things. That way, between myself and Curt, we won’t miss anything or take extra time looking for something the other person already grabbed. Also on the list is moving flammable things, such as propane tanks, away from the house.

First Time Lucky

I was lucky the first time. The Beast took, but it also gave experience and insight. It showed me how quickly things can change, how little control we really have, and how unprepared I was for that reality. Though I wasn’t there when it began, ten years later, that lesson still lingers.

Living off-grid now, there’s no one coming to restore power or water if things go wrong. I have to depend on myself in a way I didn’t before. This time, I’m not relying on luck. I’m preparing for the possibility that I might have to leave again, and doing what I can to make sure there’s something to come back to.

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He struggles with meat and the nature of killing for food, describing meat and hunting as dirty and savage, clearly having strong views about it.

On a couple of occasions, my mountaintop adventures have been compared to Thoreau’s time at Walden Pond. Though he was certainly more philosophical, touching more on social issues of his time, I can see the similarity from a logistical and motivational standpoint. I find the comparison flattering.
Here’s the most famous quote from Walden;

Before I had an attention span for wordy books like Walden, back when I was still working in the trades, the phrase ‘Live Deliberately’ resonated with me. The thought of living with intention and being more connected to the natural world around me became a goal, and led me to where I am, and the things I do today.

One of my hens watched me from a distance, hoping for some offal. I threw her a little kidney.

It’s worth noting that Thoreau wasn’t a vegetarian.

The first time I tried to abstain from eating meat, I was a teenager. Food options weren’t very diverse in my small town, and I didn’t last six months before I felt weak and needed to go back to meat. The second time, as an adult, I was doing all of the right things. I was still lacking energy and grumpy after only a couple of weeks. Though it works for some, it clearly doesn’t work for me.

There I was, knife in hand, doing exactly the thing he struggled with. I thought,
‘That’s distancing yourself and putting yourself above nature.’

I worked around a finicky little bone (the clavicle) and thought about how much easier it would have been for me to grab a 9-dollar pack of chicken at the grocery store. No mess, no fuss. Food without a face in a styrofoam package.

I stopped for a moment to watch Luci the cat stalking something.

If she captures it, it won’t have a quick ending like my dinner had. That’s cats, and that’s the natural world we’re part of. We don’t hate cats for liking what they like. (Even if it is horrible)

Our relationship with domestic animals is interdependent. Neither of us live a good life without the other. My chickens need a coop, my ducks come to me for food, and when the rabbits have escaped, they don’t leave. They need me, and I need them.

A whiskey jack waits patiently in the trees for the scraps, while keeping a keen eye on Luci.

Relationships among wild animals are also interdependent. Cougars need deer and rabbits for food. Without the predators, deer and hare populations would boom, and they’d begin to starve while ravaging the forest. Death is far from an ending in the natural world.

It’s been interesting to witness, living in the woods. The first few years here, deer, hare, and grouse were very abundant. The past couple have been predator-heavy, with lots of coyotes, wolves, and cougars. Now it’s turning back again, with more prey animals. The balance isn’t a steady thing.

I went inside to bring the loins to Curt. He made a delicious teriyaki ‘chicken’ salad (not chicken). My hen got a kidney, Luci had some liver, and the Whiskey Jack is picking through the offal.

When I came here, I looked forward to being close to the things that support my life. I knew meat would be a big part of it, and I was ready to face the reality. If anything separates us from the animals, it’s that we can decide to do things as ethically as possible. The killing part hasn’t gotten easier, but I think that’s a good thing.
Thoreau’s famous quote goes on to say;

It might seem counterintuitive that Henry David Thoreau uses marrow as a metaphor for the richest parts of life while viewing meat and killing as primitive. What he wrestles with, I’ve chosen to confront head-on. Distancing ourselves from these realities risks turning life into something moral, but impractical.

Taking part in the cycles of life and death doesn’t make me unrefined. It’s my way of facing the essential parts of life Thoreau went to Walden Pond to find. I still value his writing, but I don’t fault myself for being a mindful animal.

The blood on my hands, and choosing not to look away. That’s deliberate.

For the first time in six winters, we didn’t get snowed-in.
My cheeks tingle as I warm up by the evening fire, sun-kissed and wind-whipped all at once. My rosiness is caused by a combination of bright, cold and windy days. It comes as a bit of a surprise, but I’m glad spring is here, in all of its unpredictable glory.

Spring has Sprung in a New Direction

My 4-foot fences never disappeared under the snow. ; we put tire chains on the truck only once, for fun. The snowmobiles are parked for the summer (I was still riding until April 19th last year).
Being isolated and stuck for at least a couple of months had become my normal. This year, the mountain is teaching me something different. I don’t know exactly what, yet.

The light spectrum is noticeably changing. Blues and greys are being replaced by pinks and yellows, and the world is becoming vibrant. Plants need different light spectrums, and watching the world shift colour makes me even more excited for this year’s garden.

Controlled Burning, Again

Nature decides what can be done and when. It’s taken time to learn to read the signs and grasp opportunities as they present themselves, but now it feels natural. The early bare ground has brought an opportunity to get a head start, and though winter wasn’t what I expected, I’m glad I allowed myself to winter and took a break before things get very busy.

Though the ground is still frozen, the grasses and underbrush are dry, making it the perfect time to do more burning and fire remediation. Cutting and dragging trees and branches to the fire for days on end is a bit tedious, but seeing more area open up for gardening is downright thrilling. It’s a long day’s work, but once the snow is gone and the grass has dried, burning will be too dangerous.

Naturally knowing what needs to happen at particular times feels good.

A Week Alone Followed by Rubber Boot Season

I enjoyed a quiet week to myself while Curt went to the coast to see family and take care of things. Days were spent splitting firewood, filtering drinking water, and dealing with the inevitable curveballs this mountain throws at me when I’m alone. The week came with a jolt of cold weather, snow, and wind, allowing me a reason to stay indoors. I spent my spare time prioritizing future projects and keeping up with daily chores.

With false spring finally behind us, days are consistently warm, but nights are not. The soft, mucky ground in the yard freezes overnight, thawing midday. It makes getting around tricky and a bit chaotic. We’ve both taken a couple of tumbles, which thankfully still means brushing ourselves off and laughing about it.

The upper spring flows during the day and has filled a 1,000L water tote over 3 days.

With no snowmelt left to catch, having it is a relief - we’re down to 250L and only a couple of showers away from empty.

Wild Berry Bars

Putting the dried berries I picked up the hillside from the house into my oatmeal has been okay, but I just found the best way to use my big jar of dried Thimbleberries and Huckleberries. Mixed with quick oats, peanut butter, honey, and vanilla, then pressed into bars, it really highlights their flavour. The thimbleberries have a nice crunch, while the huckleberries have a great chew and get stuck in your teeth.

Starting Seeds

The time is here, and I am thrilled. I went through all of our seeds, organized them and set aside the first ones to start. Tomatoes, perennial herbs, some melons and gourds are all started in the front window. Curt started a bunch of peppers, since I love spicy food, I really hope they germinate.

I started sweet potatoes by half-submerging old sweet potatoes from the pantry into water. I started them too early, but at least they make a beautiful houseplant. Even before April, some of my cucumbers have already sprouted from saved seeds.

Baby Bunnies Due Soon

Three of my rabbit does (Heather, Foxy, and Tart) are due to kindle in the first week of April. In preparation, I made them new nesting boxes. When I gave Heather her new nest box, she excitedly began pulling out fur - a sure sign little bunnies are on the way. I noticed in her excitement, she completely balded a spot on one of her forelegs.

So that she wouldn’t have to pull too much more fur, I picked dried grass for her to use in the nest. She eagerly grabbed it from me in a big bunch and put it into her new nest box. How many will she have? The last time Foxy kindled, she had fourteen.

If Heather, Foxy and Tart each had ten, the bunny population could quickly jump from 6 to 36.

Close to Normal

I’m feeling more comfortable than ever on the mountain. When I need to do something like making new nest boxes, I feel competent picking up the tools, naturally knowing which criteria need to be followed and getting the job done without frustration. It’s a good feeling, being comfortable and at ease on the mountain.

Starting from bare land and now having places (like the wood shop and barn) to put things is a dream. Beginning to put focus on more aesthetic things, like placing rocks around garden beds, is an amazing feeling. I never want this place to feel ordinary, but finding a rhythm here, something comfortable and close to normal, feels great.

Kombucha is one of those funny, polarizing beverages. Some people love it, some people despise it. My interest in it lies more in its probiotic benefits and experimenting with flavours.

What you’ll need:

• A bottle of unpasteurized komb…

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The morning Curt left, he drove away down the forest service road, the sound of branches scraping and the throaty exhaust faded and disappeared as he rounded a corner. Silence fell on the mountain as I stood in the yard in a sort of quiet limbo. I decided to go back into the house, make a cup of tea and collect my thoughts.

‘He should be a week,’ I told myself, hopeful that his plans wouldn’t get pushed back while remaining open to the possibility.

The extra clearance in his lifted Tacoma makes it possible for him to drive through the deep snow, but my shorter Tacoma likely wouldn’t. Even if it did make it down, I definitely wouldn’t make it back. In an emergency, I thought to myself, I’d have to opt for Shibby, my ‘91 pickup/monster truck.

After doing morning ‘chores’, I decided to start working on my to-do list. First up, making a new shower head holder. The one I’d been using was made of an old stick, and though it worked, it took up a lot of space. I made a prototype version out of scrap wood; however, not totally happy with it, I set it aside for another day.

Before Curt left, we moved snowmelt indoors for me to use while he was away. The days leading up to his leaving had been warm, and the snow had been melting off the roofs into outdoor catchment. The stored water in the house was getting low, so I’m glad that we did, because that first night alone, the temperatures dropped again, and all of the outdoor water froze.

As though the mountain wants my time alone to be uniquely mine, every time Curt leaves, the weather takes a dramatic shift. Though I enjoy the challenge (for the most part), it makes me feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone, like I’m making it up.

One night, intense wind blew through the valley, forcing air back down the stovepipe and filling the house with smoke. I lay awake with the windows open, listening to things being blown around the yard. Eventually, it stopped. I went to sleep and had the craziest dreams.

Thankfully, the trip wasn’t extended, and Curt came back a week after he left. I was tidying when he texted me ‘see you soon’ before losing cell reception.

‘See you soon!’ is really about an hour.

I tidied and started doing my dishes when I realized the sink wasn’t draining. It’s only frozen once before, during a -30 cold snap. It didn’t seem likely that it had frozen, but I decided to warm the pipe under the house using a torch just to be sure. I caught it on fire only once, put it out with a handful of snow, and waited. After a tense minute, a whoosh sound, the sink had drained!

I laughed to myself, relieved that Curt wouldn’t be returning to a sink full of dirty dishes and happy for evidence that the days had been colder since he left.

I heard the throaty exhaust coming up the road, still a couple of kilometres away. Like the week before, but in reverse, the quiet was replaced by noise. The sound of my own voice when he got out of the truck surprised me. I showed him the few things I’d gotten done, including the second prototype showerhead which, though unfinished, I’m proud of. That project had been surprisingly difficult for such a simple thing.

I pointed out the icicles which had formed since he left, wanting to make sure he’d seen them before the weather would turn back around. He showed me the things he brought back from the city. We ate home-made cookies (thank you, Rose!) and we told each other all about our weeks.

Adjusting back to sharing the tiny house takes a couple of days. I make a point of sitting still when he’s busy and not crowd him. Letting him tend to the fire is hard for me, but I like that he enjoys it. With Curt away, I felt less inspired to cook good meals, but now that he’s back, we’re enjoying better food together.

The mountain is quieter now in a different way. I’m happy to have had my week of solitude, but happier that he’s back and we can share the silence.

Your support helps me continue creating and sharing these glimpses of my Wild Life. The beauty, the challenges, and everything in between. Thank you for walking with me on this journey, and for making it possible to keep doing what I love. ❤️

For a moment, the world was vibrant and warm, giving me a preview of what’s to come. I knew to resist false spring, but my spirit soared, and summer-time scheming began. My excitement was short-lived, of course. I am now in a dark, grey, cold land again - but not for long.

These are some of the hardest days mentally here on the mountain. The snow isn’t fun anymore, it’s too early to start seeds, the ground is too frozen to make garden beds, and tinkering with my old Toyotas is unpleasant in wet, sub-zero temperatures. The flippy-floppy weather makes it impossible to scratch the productivity itch. It’s too frozen to build, too early to plant, and too cold to enjoy fixing machines.
Still feeling the excitement of false spring, it’s a good time to plan.

The Natural Spring

When everything melts, a spring above the house begins to flow. It’s not the cleanest water, but it works to water the animals and the plants. As soon as it’s thawed enough, it will be the first thing on the agenda, as by the end of May, it will likely be dried up. So it is an interim water source. We’ve created a small spring box to direct it into a hose and then downhill into a water tote. With the minimal snowpack this year, I hope it still flows.
With water figured out for spring, the next big system to get ready is transportation.

Vehicle Maintenance

For moving water, we have a specific Tacoma, simply named ‘the Water Truck’ (a Tacoma with a beefed-up suspension). It’s in need of some maintenance. The main thing it needs replaced is a bearing that holds up the driveshaft, as well as dealing with some rust. It could also use a good wash, but to wash it, it’ll need to haul water first.

Since this year was so snowless, I have high hopes that the pendulum will swing and next year will bring tons of snow and winter fun. Though the snowmobiles are already parked, they’re in need of serious maintenance to prepare for it. Similar to the water truck, my snowmobile needs a jackshaft bearing.
Once getting around is sorted out, food is the next big focus for the season.

The Garden

With a big goal for next winter, it’s time to get serious about the garden. What to plant, where to plant it and how much to plant in order to have enough food stored through winter. We had success with a handful of garden veggies last season, but we’ll need a lot more this year. The greenhouse will be filled with tomatoes, and garden beds built downhill from the bunnies will be (hopefully) stuffed to the brim.

I have the frame of a car tent, which I plan to use to make a low-budget greenhouse. In it, I’m going to grow potatoes and things which are fairly cold-hardy but not great with frost. It’ll look funny, I’m sure - but I think it’ll work.

Foraging and Storage

I’d call myself an ‘opportunistic forager’, meaning that I collect things as I find them. When it comes to wild edibles, especially when it comes to mushrooms, that’s the best way to avoid expectation and disappointment. That in mind, I know I’ll be collecting Nettles, Lambsquarters, and Fireweed. There will be lots of other foraging as plants arise, but the next question becomes how to store them.

I like to can some food, but I don’t love having a ton of salt and sugar in my diet. Instead, I like to dehydrate and freeze things. Since my Solar Dehydrator is looking worse for wear, I think it’s time for an update. I should be able to use the same piece of glass, but I’ll build a new frame and make some modifications to the original design.

Meats and Hunting

To help up my game this year, I’m going to build a hunting blind. I haven’t mentioned this before, and it might sound crazy, but - I’m afraid of the dark. I can muscle through it if I have to, but the less I have to be out in the woods at night, the better. I’ve found a place that’s frequently visited by deer, so the plan is to build a blind there that’s big enough to sleep in. That way, I’ll be there during twilight when deer are most active.

The rabbits will start breeding soon. I have 4 does and 1 buck, which will provide lots of healthy meat. I’m aiming to breed each doe only twice this year, maybe three times if they’re doing well. If they had their way, it would be almost monthly (which is crazy). Between hunting and farming rabbits, that should be plenty of meat.

Wind Power

Last night, a strong wind battered my mountain for a few hours; at one point, it even caused my wood stove to ‘blow back’, meaning the wind pushed the rising smoke back down the chimney into my house. That was unpleasant to say the least. I was reminded last night of another project on the list - experimenting with wind power.

Until now, we’ve hesitated to try it because of the moving parts and how chaotic the wind here can be. However, now that we have a better understanding of solar and independent power systems, it’s time to give it a try.

A Welcome Break

Curt should be back in a few days. Until then, it’s just me up here on the mountain. The snow falling outside the window feels like a good excuse to slow down for a little while. Just me, the animals, my own messes to clean up before his return, and a bit of justified laziness before the busy season begins.

Splitting firewood, filtering drinking water, and making breakfast on the wood stove. I’m enjoying the quiet while it lasts, because I know things will change when he gets back, and I’m looking forward to it.

This morning I’m watching spring mist roll up the valley. It moves slowly, passing between me and the adjacent mountain, into my yard, settling into the snow, beginning its melt.

Typically, I go weeks without seeing another person face-to-face in the winter. My in-person socializing is condensed into short, infrequent visits. The rest of my ‘social’ time/outside influence is online or reading books.
Being disconnected gives me something of an observational perspective, and there are seasonal trends I’ve noticed.

The Down of Winter

Winter brings us all down, whether we know it or not; we all seem to go through a sort of collective seasonal depression. The high of Christmas is over, and things get stale and grey. There isn’t much to look forward to for a couple of months. Valentine’s Day has passed, and Easter is the next big thing to look forward to for most people.

Even without Facebook and Instagram, I see it here on Substack. Big topics are highlighted, heavier and more to the forefront.
The same events that might feel manageable in July feel overwhelming in February. It feels like a lot. It is a lot. The reason it feels bigger and heavier right now (in my unexpert, observational opinion) is winter.

Losing Focus

Writers veer from their usual topics and seem to get caught up in the turbulence. It’s something that’s nearly happened to me multiple times in the past; I’ve drafted articles which I never published. I’ve even drafted articles committing to not publishing articles about my views - because that’s not what I’m about.

Before hitting publish, I remembered - where I am, on a mountain in the middle of nowhere. I realized I was caught up in news and faraway events. Things I can’t change and stories that could just as easily be made up or accentuated to get my attention. Even from a mountain, I’m not immune. Choosing where focus goes is especially important.

Relentless Media

Big things are happening around the globe all the time. The difference is media vying for attention in the season when our attention is easy to get. The events are real.. mostly.. They matter. But our exposure to them is relentless. Winter is when our inner resources are lowest.
It isn’t the season to carry the whole world on our shoulders.

Understandably, people get antsy and critical (especially when hiding behind a screen) in the winter. With so much angst being thrown at us, it’s easy to spiral and hard to stay positive. I don’t like seeing family and friends getting caught up in it. This is the time to take a breath and enjoy our own small spaces.

An Annual Fresh Start

These cold, dark, slow days give us a chance for a break, to sort out our thoughts, focus, and priorities. This is the time to allow ourselves to buffer and enter the new season with a positive outlook - ready to take on what the coming months have in store. The attention-grabbing media tries to rob us of that, and exhausts us before the year gets underway.

We need to protect our peace and allow ourselves to be idle. Fewer headlines, longer walks, more reading, more boredom, less outrage.

The Closing Window

The busy days of summer will bring their own highs and lows. Let’s start the next season strong, resilient, and ready for whatever comes our way. For these last quiet weeks of winter, let’s allow ourselves to be calm. We don’t have to exhaust ourselves before the year begins.

I’m not suggesting apathy. Quite the opposite. I’m suggesting we protect our reserves now so we can meet what’s coming with strength. Without our attention for a moment, the sky won’t fall. Once our minds have had time to settle, we can choose our causes and commitments with clarity, instead of being swept up in the noise.

I may have a unique vantage point, far from much of the noise, but it still finds its way up here. I get caught in it as well. The difference is that I can choose to unplug, observe, and decide what I carry forward.

The clocks change tonight. Spring is close.
Outside, mist is rolling up the mountain, and the snow is beginning to soften.
Have you let yourself winter?

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Your support helps me continue creating and sharing these glimpses of my Wild Life. The beauty, the challenges, and everything in between. Thank you for walking with me on this journey, and for making it possible to keep doing what I love. ❤️