Living in the Woods

Living in the woods is wonderful, it’s literally one of the best places on Earth. Camping is grand and all, but who needs to sleep in a tent when you already live in the forest and can just sleep in your own bed. You can also make waffles for breakfast, and use a real bathroom, and stay warm by the wood stove when it’s cold. Cities may have society and culture, but they don’t have natural magnificence.

We’ve lived her for three years now. Well, two of us have, my wife and I. Our daughter has only lived her about two years because that’s how long she’s lived on Earth. I grew up in the country, in the woods, but it was different, an old farm with fields and forests, whereas now we live smack in the middle of trees and trees and trees, and for all anyone could tell it has always been trees. That’s not true of course, anyone who knows a little about forests can tell the trees here aren’t old enough. I recently learned these hills were once covered by sheep. I have heard it said that the native peoples of the area didn’t even live in these hills, that it was only a hunting ground.

I like it here, it’s peaceful, there is vibrant plant and animal life, and I don’t have to worry about the wrong people bothering me. It still doesn’t feel quite like home though. That old farm where I grew up still has much of my soul locked within it, and I’m not sure I’ll ever really be free. Here at least I can walk outside and breathe in the forest smells and absorb its sounds, plant a garden, tend some chickens, build human structures as we do. My wife and I garden together, or rather she gardens and I build, talking across the fence to each other. And my daughter will have a magical place to grow up in.