View from the Hill

My web wanderings have taken me to some interesting places this week. One of those was No Impact Man, the web site of Colin Beaven, whose news story I blogged about last week. He and his family have undertaken a year-long simple living experiment in their Manhattan apartment…no electricity, no chemicals, no toilet paper. Not only has Beaven written a book about the experience, but there’s now a movie in the making.

By the sounds of things, we should be taking our friends’ advice to write about our experiences. When I read No Impact Man, I can see where the publicity might go a fair way towards helping the world change its destructive ways, and it’s very tempting. Then I think about all the attention it’s garnering, of how many eyes are trained on the Beaven family, of the impact of that focus, and I cringe.

There are many people outgoing enough to thrive on the front lines of the activist scene. I’m not one of them. Just the thoughts of a public appearance is enough to send this sociophobe under the bed, and yet this is what authors have to do to spread the word far enough for it to make any difference.

While I admire the Beaven’s pluck and laud them for their remarkable efforts, it’s not something I could take on, not even to save the world. Given my antisocial nature, I’m sceptical as to how effective I would even be in such a role.

So I think that if I do ever arrange our experiences into some sort of book-length chronicle, it won’t be with the intention of making a big impact in the environmental awareness arena. Our homesteading misadventures may amuse and enlighten, you never know, but the author won’t be coming down off the hill.

We’ve never known people like the people here. To begin with, they’re unbelievably friendly and unfailingly kind-hearted. When we first arrived on the hill, we were gifted with everything from work clothes to free welding. Our mailbox post was a gift, as was the roof bracket that secures our stovepipe, and oftentimes our dinner was compliments of a kind neighbour. When we ran out of wood our first winter, a team of snowmobiles arrived, firewood in tow, driven by concerned individuals who, like everyone here it seems, expected nothing in return for their quite substantial efforts.

Simply amazing…an experience so rare as to be priceless in our city-dwelling existence. And I have to say that in the face of such kindness and generosity, I was—and am—filled with great pride to be able to stand up and say “I am a Newfoundlander”.

We have learned that life can be very harsh in rural Newfoundland. The weather is extreme, the land itself is untamed and the living is often difficult. Yet, though they have known the hardest of conditions, Newfoundlanders are an easy-going lot, quick to laugh and always ready to celebrate life. And while they are fiercely proud and protective of a distinct culture that is theirs alone, they nonetheless welcome the stranger as a friend.

Perhaps it’s the longstanding need to pull together for survival that engenders such spontaneity and acceptance and the willingness to lend a hand. Or perhaps it’s got to do with being surrounded by water and more or less forgotten by the world. Whatever the reason, the inhabitants of this island are a breed apart

We’re thrilled to be counted among them.