I am the Perfect Crash Test Dummy - Part 3

Moenkopi Hopi Wash and Lower Village, my home for two years.

For you to have an accurate picture of what this project feels like from the inside, I need to include my experiences of living powered down and more self-reliantly.

I spent two years living in a Hopi village that had no running water, no sewers, and no electricity. The old Mennonite mission buildings where we were housed had electricity and slowly running water, siphoned from the spring at the edge of the lower village and then stored in a water tank above the mission. (I used to say we had walking, not running, water.)  Heat was by woodstove. For my two years there, I split most of the wood, often with an old coughing chainsaw, but frequently by hand.

Living at the mission meant constant work on its systems, such as the roof, our water supply, our septic system and finishing out enough of the stone barn to house a thrift shop downstairs, and me upstairs. All the work was DIY, although sometimes a retired contractor and his sons came to work on our buildings as their way of supporting the unit. Until a brave entrepreneur built a mini-strip mall two miles away in Tuba City, the nearest useful hardware store was in Flagstaff. Flag was an hour-and-a-half drive when there were no sandstorms, thunderstorms, or blizzards. So if something was broken at the mission, we usually had to find a way to fix it with what was on hand.

Some people who came to the mission found this mode of living too challenging. But I loved it. I had no romantic visions of pioneer or rural life; I happen to relish the kind of mental and physical engagement this way of life requires.

For example, the mission was built into the rocky slope of the wash, and it was held in place by a series of terraces with high stone walls. We used to let lower village families garden in the terraces to help them grow extra food. But one night a village man went off drinking instead of turning off the crude irrigation system we had rigged for the gardens. We didn’t notice it running, because it was in the first terrace above the mission. But we certainly noticed a few nights later when fifty feet of stone retaining wall collapsed , just missing the main mission building.

Me, left, and an occasional helping hand.

I spent weeks rebuilding that wall using mud and the mound of rocks now conveniently close at hand. At first it was overwhelming—so many tumbled rocks, so much sandy earth spilling down from the terrace, and after one day of help from a friend, just me and a shovel and a wheelbarrow. And this on top of my regular daily work, too. 

Figuring out the most efficient process of rebuilding the wall started out as self-defense, but I came to really enjoy the problem solving challenge; how much water with how much earth makes the strongest mortar? The rocks that used to be at the base of the wall are now covered by all the higher rocks that fell onto them—how can I get at and use the heavy bottom rocks without moving every rock twice?

Living this way was certainly harder than using a contractor, or buying a pre-made solution. And there were many times when my reaction was more like, “Oh God, now what?” And I do remember the feeling of never being able to get ahead of anything. Because there was always something newly urgent that needed doing NOW, on top of my official job of running a daily rec center and rec program for the village kids, my unofficial jobs of co-hosting visiting travelers, grant writing, and helping run the weekly church activities.

But the truth is, I felt more alive. I’d spent my previous life in school,  reading and writing and studying, and playing music and working in commercial kitchens. So it was alternately daunting and exhilarating to have so much of my life now be in my own hands—if I could come up with a solution to a challenge with our buildings or with my work with the kids, I could just do it. And if I couldn’t, I’d better keep trying because there was usually no backup.

I’ve included as much self-reliance and simpler living as I could in my later life, from working on the houses I’ve owned—carpentry, roofing, electrical, and plumbing—to putting in gardens and even (God-forbid) gardening.

Now,  I don’t particularly want to have to split logs again, or build a fire an hour before I want the room to be warm.

But I do very much want to live more simply and robustly, so that I can directly engage whatever I need and make it work. This gives me a deep, deep satisfaction that I have never forgotten.

The Stuff Behind the Staging

Being in the midst of remodeling feels a little like being a character in a performance. It feels like I'm playing a role, ...or pretending.

Pretending to be clean. Pretending to be organized. Pretending to strive for a more simple, aligned life and inviting others to share that with me. The common spaces of the house we share, and their own suites and storage areas have open spaces on the shelves, have little organized boxes for utensils, has all the herbal teas together on one shelf, and the Assam teas on another.

But my bedroom (where they cannot see) is like the prop shop of a theatre with its working disarray. Thermometers and band-aids, the boric acid eye wash, arm and knee supports, and ace bandages spill over their containers into piles of design magazines I still have to sort through. Extra vacuum bags are thrown on shelves that are already full of emergency earthquake food storage, with that box you grab as your most important papers.

My new studio has all the furniture in its right place, and my art and reference books are in the shelves, but placed haphazardly, so I cannot find what I need. For much of my storage, I have not yet made the decisions about what goes where, so they sit in bags on the floor in front of where they might live.

But this is what's in the place where the new shelves will go that will hold all that disorder:

 This is my new master bathroom: the deep soaking tub, my vanity and one wardrobe, the linen cabinet, and the flooring....plus some boxes of books that might actually get to stay here.

Here's my tub sliding doors, and the tile and grout for the tub and backsplash, the shower head, the vanity sink, another wardrobe, still to be assembled.... 

.....you get the picture.

It's hard to live with and in. But then I remember that during phase1, I lived with this for weeks to give the crew the space to work efficiently,...





so I can have this now:

I will look at this picture of my new wonderful studio and seating area, and remember that the fuss and clutter are so worth it. And when I finally get to use my deep soaker tub and master bath, that new wonderful transparent wall will have the space to hold my backless bookshelves that let light tease through.And when THAT happens, I will sort through my overspill...and simplify, at least to some degree, down to what I really want to keep. It will be real movement towards what's important to me.

Stuff

I’d never considered the assorted furnishings and things I have come to own as an advantage. ‘Til now.

I’ve lost lots of dear people very early in life, starting with both my folks by 28, so I’ve “acquired” things of mixed quality, that either have sentimental value, emotional burden or the responsibility of a “legacy for my kids” attached to them. I’ve always dreamed of a simple place where I actually chose my own furnishings and decor. Mmmm!

However, now that I’m looking at the idea of sharing things with others, I’m seeing value in an assortment of tastes, an eclectic mix. Beyond begin responsible and reusing, it’s fun to offer different sized and styled mugs. There’s playfulness and a welcome in saying- “Pick what you like.” 

I also am coming to realize that I won’t be too upset if things are broken. In my group home, I can let go and relax about stuff to enjoy the company. I can more easily loosen my grip on possessions. And that’s a value I treasure more than my treasures. So now I can pass along the hand-me-downs to fresh eyes and minds that won’t burden the items with history or baggage. Who will just enjoy the choosing process, the sharing, and the aesthetic of the piece. 

Now these things can enrich. Whoda thought?

And So It Begins

So here she is: We call her Toadhall, our 1908 Victorian.

I’m excited!

Because the house doesn't flow well for the way we live, I’ve sorta pushed and shoved furniture around to use our rooms differently since we bought her 15 years ago. I've also wanted to try sharing house resources for a long while too. Years ago, I was part of what was called Conserver Society thinking and the times being what they are now has made the idea seem more, well....imperative.

Now, circumstances are making it possible to take the steps right here in my house: First, I’m starting up my own business again as a residential space planner, and second, my life partner TJ, a very private, amazing man, has realized he too wants the feel of other folk moving and using our house, even as he still needs real private space. Even from me. So that’s my space planning challenge. He’ll be my crash test dummy. If I can make him feel okay, and stay excited by this, I’ve succeeded.

And you’ll see his posts here too, to let you know how I’m doing….

Yes, I'm a little scared too. I want this to work! I do believe that we can enjoy our home's spaces in new ways that are beyond nuclear family. I explored Co-Housing and other intentional community collectives when my hubby was alive. But he was 6'9" and felt inhibited by the small units.

But I miss people. I am my most productive in a collaborative design and business environment. And when I'm doing my own internal, creative in work, I love the feeling that just beyond there's a lovely flow of human laughter and energy. And working at home has all but erased both, so I should be thrilled. 

I am.

But honestly, I’ve been in my own home with just family for years and as much as I want it, I admit that I’m also used to having everything in my house my way. I want to feel enriched and expanded, not invaded. So I’m a crash test dummy too.

But what I believe living this way could feel like is so powerful for me, that I just must try. What's most important is that I’ll design the spaces to flow for group as well as solo comforts and privacy, not just squeeze a group into it. Intend it.

See what you think. Welcome along for the ride!