When Aaron and I contemplated naming our son River, we joked that we would finally be coming out of the closet and waving our hippie flag high. But really, we are more bumpkin than hippie. (To wit: we don't like the Grateful Dead or Phish, groom and bathe regularly, aren't vegetarian, and neither of us waves our arms about when we dance.) We do, however, live a fairly rustic life in the midst of all this concrete and bustle.
Our preferred date night is an evening at home watching a dvd as Aaron sharpens knives and I knit. We both prefer frugality over fashion, function over form. Although I don't see muumuus in my Maine future, who knows what direction the desire for comfort and sun protection will take me. Meanwhile, our kids are diapered in cloth (much of the time) and our older son (having teeth) eats oat groats for breakfast. Things like oat groats give me deep satisfaction on a daily basis. Anything that is economical, healthy, and better for the planet--as oat groats are on all three fronts when compared with boxed cereal--gives me a boost day after day after day. It never gets old for me. Aren't these pleasures more country than city, more bumpkin than Brooklyn?
A family of four leaves Brooklyn's Park Slope, fails to homestead successfully in an off-the-grid log cabin in Maine, and downgrades to faux-homesteading in an on-the-grid farmhouse in Maine.
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