soundtracks of our love in the hollows
He prefers the silence. I prefer music in the home. We take turns with these soundtracks of our lives in the hollows., but we always begin with the quiet of the forest.
We enter our homestead through a heavy-duty green gate placed as an ominous protection for the former cannabis farm operations that took place in sections of the 260 acres beyond. We’re taking down the hoop houses and creating gardens for artichokes, plant allies, and food. We are learning from the sun, soil, and life that lives here year-round.
It takes a four-wheel drive and confidence to maneuver the two miles and 400-foot drop in elevation to the trim house built by two generations of pot farmers, and now turned into a sweet cottage for me and my beloved. After passing the site of an 1850s homestead with shards of ceramic cups and plates, an iron sink, and their fruit trees as evidence, we travel through a high grass meadow with blackberries and raspberries growing alongside the road. I am in love with the view of 18,000 acres of protected forest of green conical and rounded tops. Really, truly in love with this home for Redwood, Madrone, Oaks, Firs, Manzanita, Horsetail, and so many varieties of mushrooms I have yet to discover.
The road dips and curves as it spirals downward like the Matterhorn ride at Disneyland with sudden turns around blind corners. We don’t see the abdominal snowman or sasquatch but there are sheer drop offs 100 feet long. Redwood fairy circles covered in shamrock green shaggy moss could stop your fall, or the fiery orange glossy Madrone trunks, Douglas Fir, Tan Oak or even more orchards of fig, apple, pear and olive trees. We’ve seen quail, deer, turkey, bear, mountain lion use the road and other trails in the tall grass and mud. The road takes a final dip then a quick ascent up a hill canopied by an olive tree and a series of madrone trees and we arrive at the now transformed and magickal cottage.
Solar-powered Edison bulb lanterns alight our path while we unpack clothes, food and the latest supplies to make our off-grid life a little easier, more comfortable: a home we are creating together. I brought all our fridge magnets, more face towels, and butter. I always bring butter. We brought our battery one-hundred percent charged because the late fall sun’s daily arc is so low on the horizon that it only occasionally peaks through the densely packed trees or over the top of the old lumber road. During the day we can place the solar panel to catch the merest of light, and when that fades, we are challenged to conserve and spend no more than 10 watts a day, including power tools and daily usage. I’m writing by candles and filtered sunlight while listening to music from my phone, which I’ll charge in the truck when we go into town for a post hole remover and to mail a Box of Magick giveaway to contest winner.
Upon each arrival, Joey turns on the access to well water, which is pumped at the top of the property and sent to us through a series of pipes and storage containers. Next, he turnson the propane for the fridge and the stove, then he gets on the floor to light the fridge’s pilot light. I monitor the temperature of the house that we haven’t visited in 4-10 weeks by either opening windows or lighting the propane stove and candles, then unpack the groceries and stock everything we brought.
We are here in late November waiting for the arrival of the tractor so Joey can fix the road by widening the dangerous spots, securing hillsides that could erode, repurposing trees that have fallen or will fall with the next heavy rain in our garden, digging out French drains, placing culverts, creating garden terraces and walkways, and a myriad of other Tonka truck abilities. We have worked harder on the property than any visit in a very long time.
We completely dismantled one hoop house. We recycled plastic pipes and irrigation, bagged trash and dumped enough perlite soil to create one hundred square feet of garden for rows of corn, artichokes, chamomile, calendula, nettles – mass production space. Another hoop house is still intact alongside but we are dumping the bags and clearing the debris to create two sitting areas and a greenhouse to catch the sun as it moves.
Joey and I have stayed snuggled in the hollows for three days – working our bodies to their limits, clearing the slate so we can create a comfortable off grid, fully sustained life. I don’t know if this land will be our forever home, or simply a canvas that we work with in harmony to have food, medicine, and water for a time. We are learning from nature how to live with the seasons. We balance the survival skills with comfort, like a soaking tub, surrounded by sweet smelling flowers and a view of a beloved forest with the full moon alighting the top of a tree.
