The Accidental Homesteader (part one)

Last fall, sort of by accident, I picked up a book at the library about homesteading.
My limited knowledge of the word had me thinking in "Little House on the Prairie" terms ... of the time in our nation's history when pioneers moved West, claimed land and improved it. The modern day homestead movement relies on many of the same "back to the basics" principles: using wisely, choosing renewables, and living sustainably.
I was happy to have stumbled on this basic book that offered practical tips on ideas I had found more and more attractive after living in China.I feel that an unexpected part of our international experience has been that we have acquired a sense of urgency about really thinking about how much and what "we" (The West) and "we" (The Johnson's) consume.
The impact of pollution generated by the Middle Kingdom is far reaching. Factory and industrial pollution from coal-dependent China has been documented thousands of miles from Asia in places as far away as the west coast of North America. Yet despite this, in our daily experience, we witnessed that our Chinese neighbors were far more conservative consumers, more thorough recyclers, and more frugal over all.
For example, They ...

• flash fry food in woks


• use air conditioning sparingly (and at much higher minimum temperatures)


• take public transit


• buy local produce


• And wherever possible grow their own veg.

Of course, many of these practices in China are more out of financial necessity than a conscience lifestyle choice. But regardless of the motivation, the end result is practical.
With my observations of Asian frugality, my new found homesteading literary interests, and months of plotting over the winter, I created an amalgamation of schemes that took shape this spring.Mr Johnson (and reality) had to talk me down from the more extreme endeavors (each of which sounded so good in the housebound days of January.)
There will, alas, be no worm bin for indoor composting. And, there is not a small flock of hens* free ranging out in our in-town back acre.

(*Generically, I would have called them "Jen's Hens" and named them Ingrid, Adele and Nora. I would have gotten them, my mythical fowl of February day dreams, as pullets, instead of as chicks. In my homesteading day dreams I really had it all planned out).

It turns out raising chooks and having a penchant to travel aren't good bedfellows. (While we may be able to cajole a green thumbed neighbor into watering our garden every other day while we are on holiday, most folks would be reluctant to feed and water three hens named for female vocalists, not to mention drag their chicken truck to a different location in the yard or compost their droppings!) I was simply not willing to trade my passport for poultry.
But other dreams have come to fruition.

(to be continued ...)