Roughing It In The Woods

Last stop and resting place for this school bus conversion that I found while out for a bike ride in the woods.
It had a wood stove, gas range, counter tops, kitchen sink, two bunk beds, and tables to seat eight.
Landscaping provided by Mother Nature.

One reason I enjoy a stripped down lifestyle is because it is more like roughing it. I like roughing it, and always have. Tenting, living out of a van, cabin or shelter all bring one closer to living harmoniously in, and with, Nature.

There are lessons to be learned here, not all of them comfortable or easy.

Life is not suppose to be perpetually easy and luxurious. Nor is it in our DNA to live in chronic speediness and complexity. Civilization and its marketing branch, consumer culture, makes us soft, dependent, and unprepared to deal with change.

It makes us depressed and dumbed down.

Our bellies, our morals and our minds, all suffer from a morbid slackness, barely held together by thick leather belts of excuses and justifications. Lulled by the easy life, we come to lack intellectual curiosity.

We have been stupefied by stuff. Stifled by silliness. Stultified by the system.

Living simply in a consumer culture is a form of "roughing it". Like other forms of closer-to-nature living, it helps us appreciate what we have, is more physical and healthful, and fosters skills of independence and resilience.

In his book, A Walk In The Woods, author Bill Byrson talks about hiking and camping in a way that describes my experiences roughing it rather well.

"Life takes on a neat simplicity, too. Time ceases to have any meaning. When it is dark, you go to bed, and when it is light again you get up, and everything in between is just in between. It’s quite wonderful, really. 

You have no engagements, commitments, obligations, or duties; no special ambitions and only the smallest, least complicated of wants; you exist in a tranquil tedium, serenely beyond the reach of exasperation, “far removed from the seats of strife,” as the early explorer and botanist William Bartram put it."

I have always enjoyed the feeling I get while hiking, camping, and living on the road. Liked it so much, that it became the model for the rest of my life. I want to feel tranquil and content when I go out into the woods. But I also want to feel that way at home.

I want to feel that sweetness all the time. It is quite wonderful.

My Hybrid

This solar hybrid lantern charges even on overcast days.

I am a new owner of a hybrid. It recharges with any light source, and can go eight hours on a full charge. It will hold a charge for years, is water resistant, and is extremely durable.

My hybrid is a light, more commonly known as a camping lantern. Its 12 bright LED's run on solar, or a battery backup. Over the past several months I have never needed to use the batteries.

Initially I was looking for a bedside table lamp, but conventional varieties weren't doing anything for me. After letting go of most of our possessions last year before moving, we have been in a position of deciding what to replace.

Bedside table lamps didn't make the list. Neither did bedside tables. Instead, I put a chair from our kitchen table next to the bed, then bought the hybrid light to go on it.

The lamp puts out 200 lumens of light, the equivalent of only a 25 watt incandescent bulb. While it's not a lot of light, it does have a 10 meter radius. There is plenty of light to smooch (or snog) by. Or read a book together.

During the day I move the lantern to the window to recharge in the sun.

My hybrid light is eco-friendly, efficient, and reminds me of camping. But mostly, I think photons are fun, especially the ones that come from the Sun every day. I want to capitalize on that free energy as much as possible, and this is my small start in that direction.

Need Clarification

Note this person is not carrying any stuff.

How much stuff do you need? Really need.

On a planet where we are trained to desire more everything, and where need-creep defines that we absolutely must have (toys, collections, appliances, electronics, BBQs...), a little need-clarification goes a long way.

One way to think about what is most important in your life is to imagine being in an emergency situation requiring you to leave your home forever. 

The wildfires are moving toward your house and the evacuation order has come down. You only have a few minutes. What do you take?

Most people who have had to go through this traumatic separation from their homes and stuff have reported what was most important to grab on the way out. The top three were:

1. people 
2. animals
3. photo albums

 
After that they report considering other stuff like clothes and medicine, if they have enough time. Often they don't.

In such a situation clear thinking and a razor sharp perspective hits. All of a sudden the 60" wide screen plasma television and the DVD collection aren't as important as they seemed before. And that spoon collection is definitely not coming.

When Linda and I moved across Canada last summer we were in a similar situation, although we had plenty of time to consider what to bring with us. We made the move in a van and had limited space for stuff.

We took everything we needed for camping while we travelled throughout the summer. We didn't really need much more than that. We also brought a small box of books, a few small carpets (including one we bought in Istanbul over glasses of sweet tea), a small wardrobe, guitars, art supplies, computer and our blender. What can I say? I like smoothies.

All we owned in the world was with us in our little traveling tiny home, and even some of that we could have left behind. Since arriving in our new home we have found that we don't really need much more than what we brought with us. We even took the bed setup that we used in the van and moved it into our new place. We are using it to this day.

Say you had to escape a climate change wildfire, or relocate a great distance, perhaps as an environmental refugee. What would be most important for you take with you? 

Trying To Keep It Simple

Minimalism in action. Our landlords took pity on us and brought over a table and a chair for
us to use until we get things of our own… if we get things of our own.

After living in the efficient simplicity of our van for a while, we are loath to start collecting things again while in our new home.  However, some things are quite nice to have.

Like a table and somewhere comfortable to sit. Or a cheese grater, or bed big enough that my feet don't hang over the end (we moved the bed from our van into our bedroom).

The van had just enough room for us and a limited number of things and no more. In comparison our new home feels downright huge. And empty.

We are in a situation we have not been in for many, many years. We need more stuff.

Having said that, we are enjoying some parts of going majorly minimal. When a place is not crammed full of things it has a beautiful open and airy feel. There aren't so many things to run in to, or get in the way when stumbling to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Doing dishes is a snap when you only own three plates, two cups and a handful of cutlery. Our kitchen seems huge with drawers and cupboards looking sparse and clean. Counter tops are clear and usable.

Minimalism now seems like the way to go since more than likely there will be another move in our future, perhaps as soon as next fall. Considering that, it would be nice to not have a bunch of junk to move, or otherwise get rid of. We have just been through that exercise when we left the west coast and I don't want to do it again for a while.

But how do you make cookies without a cookie sheet? And can you ask guests to sit on the floor and share a plate and cup between them? How do you clean a floor without a vacuum or broom?

I don't like needing to acquire more stuff, but when it comes down to it, a few functional things are what make our lives more enjoyable. People need stuff. Not much stuff, but at least some.

The challenge during this acquisition phase will be to keep it simple and not catch Consumeritis. As you know, this disease is as widespread and virulent as the common cold, and about as welcome.

Keep it simple, keep it simple, keep it simple...

Bivouacking

Another beautiful out of the way bivouac in the center of
a small New Brunswick town.

I have always loved the quick, no-frills, independent nature of bivouacking. It makes me feel light and free.

I am familiar with bivouacking from my experiences backpacking in the Rocky Mountains. The term describes a light, temporary (overnight) shelter or resting site, usually on the way to a distant destination.

The requirements were minimal, and sites were chosen for convenience and ease of use. Most often they were beautiful as well. Being unofficial and random, they were always free of charge.

Sometimes while in the wilderness we would string a tarp as a minimal shelter under the trees. At other times we slept open on the ground, laying our sleeping bags right on the trail. The next morning all we had to do was get up, have a bite to eat, shoulder the back pack and keep on hiking.

More recently, since leaving the west coast June 1st Linda and I have spent 20 days and 20 nights traveling. Each of the nights has been bivouacking. Each day we drive until a couple hours before sunset, then start looking for a temporary site to park for the night.

Requirements? It must be not far off our route, and it must be free. And if it is naturally gorgeous near a lake, ocean, or river, so much the better. But it could also be a Walmart parking lot.

Over the past 20 days we have bivouacked at truck stops, museum parking lots, gravel side roads, roadside pullouts, visitor information buildings, rest areas, and yes, even Walmart parking lots (we did NOT go inside the store).

We have had a different temporary stop every night creating a memory-taxing, lengthening list of  locations. But each of those changes is followed by the comfortable familiarity of the highway in the morning.

While it is generally true that some may wish to limit the possibilities for bivouacking, preferring that you pay to sleep, with a little imagination and patience one can always find a quick, no charge temporary site to rest from a day of constant motion.

This is true for the mountain wilderness as well as the wilderness found on the road from coast to coast.

It is good to know that commerce hasn't taken over absolutely 100% of our land and our lives. I love that we can still bivouac and be free.

Questing

Sir Hunchalot and Lady Gimpavere questing their way to the east.

Quests appear in the folklore of many cultures. These adventures require great exertion on the part of the participants, and the overcoming of many obstacles. They teach us important lessons about letting go, mostly of fear, because if you can overcome fear you can overcome anything.

From Gilgamesh to Lord of The Rings, stories of epic quests have relieved our minds of the trivialities of everyday life and led us into a land of adventures, tests, and magic.

When we started this crazy 6000 kilometre cross-country one way trip we were looking for a quest. We found one, and we even named it - "Sir Hunchalot and Lady Gimpavere Go On A Quest". The name reflects the fact that Linda is in a wheelchair, and I am still disabled by my herniated disk. 

Yes, two crippled questers are the heroes of this story, and it has been a continental crossing of epic proportions befitting a proper adventure. There has been fear (driving is a very dangerous activity), but there has also been rewards.

Over almost two weeks of travel we have spent every night in our van, often in beautiful locations. Because it is set up for total accessibility, the van is more suitable for our needs than most motels, or homes, or businesses. Good thing we are 100% self-sufficient because it is currently saving our butts, not to mention a ton of cash. Every night has been free so far.

The distances we need to traverse are measured in the thousands of kilometres, seemingly insurmountable. Our van has carried us through record flooding on the plains and severe thunderstorms in central Canada. It was almost hit by lightning in the northern Ontario bush. Day after day after day of eight hour, six hundred kilometre passages.

And we drive on toward our goal.

Thankfully our mobile tiny home has been performing flawlessly. It doesn't matter if we are passing over cambered, soft gravel construction zones that want to pull you into the ditch (where you would surely be eaten by monsters, or at least massive mosquitoes), or blasting along Highway 20 east through the city of Montreal, the blue bus has proved itself to be quest-worthy. 

Now we near the end of our voyage, a trip we have done together twice before. The last time we quested this way in 2001, we were younger, and Linda was still walking. This time we are still smiling, but we are road-weary.

These fearless handicapped heroes are ready for a rest. Then we are off to new horizons once again.

"What I think is that a good life is one hero journey after another. Over and over again, you are called to the realm of adventure, you are called to new horizons. Each time, there is the same problem: do I dare? 

And then if you do dare, the dangers are there, and the help also, and the fulfillment or the fiasco. There's always the possibility of a fiasco. But there's also the possibility of bliss."

- Joseph Campbell

The Karma Brokers Camping In Walmart Parking Lots

"The nomadic life is an opportunity to do what I want to do and not have to worry about all the bills and worry about what's happening next." - Sophia

While Linda and I haven't stayed in any Walmart parking lots so far on our trip, I recently saw an interesting article about camping (or living) at Walmart. The piece was about a photographer that visited two separate lots in Flagstaff, Arizona to document the diversity of people staying there, and the community that they have built on the yellow-lined pavement.

The photo above is of a nomadic group of youthful musicians on a temporary stay in one of the Flagstaff lots. They were traveling from Prescott, AZ, to Montana. Each of them plays at least one instrument, and they fund their travels by €œperforming on street corners.

I can relate to Sophie who had this to say about her experience living on the road with her band mates and Kerouac the dog:

"The nomadic life is an opportunity to do what I want to do and not have to worry about all the bills and worry about what's happening next."

Another older parking lot resident sold his house to live full time in an RV. He considers his mobile lifestyle to be responsible for what he calls "the best years of my life".

The photographer that initiated this interesting project concluded that there was a feeling of community among the lot's residents. Reflecting this community, Liz, a woman living in a van with her boyfriend says,

"You meet a lot of good people who like to help out, so when people do that €œit'€™s like you're a karma broker. You give people an opportunity to give good karma back."

See Meet the American Nomads of Walmart’s Plentiful Parking Lots here. 

Angels In A Blue Bus

Our new accessible blue bus, and Linda's haiku below.

55 cubics

Not for us this summer time

The blue bus will do.

For the past few years I have been helping Linda into our truck. First by assisting her legs, and later by lifting her onto a small step. For the amount we were driving this worked for us and allowed us to do what we could with what we had.

Then, about 10 days ago we hit a roadblock. A major roadblock.

I injured my back moving things in the house, and could not lift Linda onto the step any longer. Mere days before we were to hit the road our truck became useless to us. In order to proceed we needed to sell our truck and buy a wheelchair accessible vehicle.

And we had less than two weeks to do get it all done. We launched into action with nary a moment of panic. Ok, maybe a bit of panic.

Our ideal scenario was that someone with a wheelchair accessible vehicle would deliver their vehicle to us, and take our truck and drive it away at the end of the transaction.

Then, we actually got our ideal scenario.

An 82 year old gentleman whose wife had MS (and passed away last year) had the perfect blue bus for us to drive to the east coast. And he was willing to drive an hour from his home for us to see it. 

When he arrived we could see that his van was perfect with a lift and raised roof. He took a peek at our truck, but made no commitment to buy it. Then he and his daughter told us to think about it, and drove an hour back home.

A couple of days later these angels drove the van back to our parking lot. We bought it, they bought our truck, and an hour later we were the owners of our first accessible vehicle, and the angels were flying back to heaven in our truck. When it was all over Linda and I could hardly believe our good fortune.

We still only have 55 cubic feet of stuff, but it should be much easier getting it into the van. And the lift will definitely be easier and safer for my spine.

We're back on track.

My Favourite Tiny Home Is A Tent

In the wilderness this tiny home is luxury accommodation.

I have never owned a house. But I have a great tent. It is like a tiny, tiny, tiny home that can be carried great distances on my back to scenic locations. It is perfect for the nomad in me.

According to the specs, my current tent provides an "exceptionally roomy" 3.34 sq. m (36 sq. ft.) of space that sleeps two comfortably. It has two doors and a skylight for stargazing, but no indoor plumbing.

It is a four season tent, meaning it can be used in most any Canadian wilderness situation imaginable. Indeed, I have had the pleasure of sleeping in it in all four seasons and in a variety of locations and conditions.

The tent has been luxury accommodation while sea kayaking in a raging summer deluge as dusk raced us to the campsite. After pulling up on shore among long shadows and setting up in the dripping trees, the dependable shelter kept us warm, dry, and happy until morning.

What more can one expect in the wild, several kilometres out and a few hours of paddling from the nearest road? At the time it felt like a secure fort in the middle of nowhere. More like a safety pod actually.

This 3 sq. m of safety has been set up on lonely beaches of sand where any hope of rescue comes in the form of a helicopter or boat. It has also temporarily resided on several meters of snow at backcountry sites in the Rocky Mountains.

Some of the best sleeps of my life have been in the tent in nature. On good nights, in the right location, say a mountain meadow, before falling asleep one can see starlight shining through the fabric. But I swear that very same flimsy barrier makes me feel better about being in bear country.

This tiny structure has made the difference on several occasions between extreme discomfort or death and a scary but otherwise secure trip. It is my backcountry security blanket, which to a large degree, is what we are talking about from McMansions to pup tents.

It is possible to live without shelter at all, at least for a while.

I have also spent nights crashed out on the hard ground, sometimes in a sleeping bag, and on hot nights, simply laying in the grass or on the sand. Of course, I have also woken up to mice jumping repeatedly on my sleeping bag and sliding to the sand, so some sort of shelter is nice.

And when it is time to move on my tiny, tiny, tiny home fits into a small packable bag measuring 51 cm x 25 cm (20" x 10") .

Stainless steel appliances optional.

No More Walls

“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. 

I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. 

Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.”

- Anais Nin

I Could Live In A Tent

I could live in a tent.

I am not expecting much in the way of a place to live. I could make it quite nicely in a basic canvas cabin tent.

I imagine a small piece of land - a place where I can grow a garden, keep some chickens and a goat, and sing, dance, learn and play with uninterrupted abandon.

Somewhere with fresh air, clean water, and surrounded by nature. A place with positive, cooperative neighbours.

Given these conditions, I swear, I could live in a tent. Yes, a tent, and not for a night, or a week, or the summer, or until my 'dream home' is built.

Right now, the tent IS my dream home.

Tiny home, big garden would suit me fine

Perhaps at some point I would want to separate myself from the bears with solid walls. It might be fun to build my own tiny home.

A tiny home (or tent) and a big garden would suit me fine.

Living Simply - Nomads

The Bedouin are stateless nomadic desert dwelling herders.

If modern life is all it's cracked up to be, how come there are still millions of people choosing to live nomadic lifestyles? There are up to 80 million nomads in India alone, and tens of millions more in the rest of the world.

Up until 10,000 years ago, all humans were nomads, roaming the wilderness and living off its abundance. Many people around the world are still living a nomadic existence, whether it is the millions of current traditionalists, or more modern versions of life on the road.

When Linda and I met it was a chance encounter of two wandering souls, and we recognized that fact at first glance. Our first 5 dates all involved traveling and camping, and our wanderlust continues unabated to this day.

Whether it is a voyage around the neighbourhood, or a walk around the world, we are perpetually curious about what is up ahead, and around the corner.

30% of Mongolia's 30 million people are nomadic

10 years ago we went nomadic for a full year. We had sublet our coop unit for the year, so had essentially made ourselves homeless. There is something about not knowing where you are going to sleep at night that adds a whole new urgency and excitement to life.

In the course of the next year we logged some 10,000 km (6,000 miles) driving and commando camping in the back of our small pick up as we travelled from the Pacific to the Atlantic in Canada.

We travelled a further 30,000 km (18,000 miles) by plane, bus, horse drawn cart, train, boat, scooter, foot and ferry as we zigzagged our way to the other side of the planet, then back again.

While overseas we each carried a mid-sized backpack, and over the course of 7 months their meagre contents were all we needed. We washed our clothes in sinks, and bathed out of buckets of steamy hot water. We lived on bread, cheese, cheap wine and whatever the locals were eating. Fortifying stuff for people on the move.

Gokarna, India

We usually spent one or two nights in a location, then moved on. It was all pretty organic - when it felt like time to move, we would go, and when it felt good to stay, we would linger.

The longest we stayed in one place (4 weeks) was in India where we temporarily settled in Gokarna, a small temple town on the Arabian Sea.

While nomadic we were as disconnected as we could get, and the lightness and freedom of movement was exhilarating. It was a constant source of satisfaction that we lived as well as we did with the minimal possessions we carried with us.

I remember thinking, "If I can live for months on end with the things I have in my pack, do I really need all that stuff in storage back home?" We came to realizations during our year on the road that would forever change the way we viewed our lives.

We could see that there is a good reason that so many people spurn modern life and voluntarily choose to live traditionally simple lives on the road. It is a light and unfettered existence, and it is more sustainable than sedentary, high-consumption lifestyles.

40% of ethnic Tibetans are nomadic

You can get a taste of the nomadic lifestyle wherever you are by jettisoning the unnecessary baggage and keeping things light.

It is not so much about being on the move as it is knowing that your life is so unburdened that you could be on the move in a moments notice if the mood struck. To me, that feels like freedom.

Nomadic Rules For Living Simply

• keep possessions to a minimum
• walking is the best way to get around
• relationships are important, things are not
• what your shelter looks like is not as important as whether it is light enough to carry, and keeps you warm and dry
• self-reliance is more secure than dependence
• enjoy the view, and go with the flow
• be creative, use your hands
• be finely tuned to the cycles of nature
• be in charge of your food supply
• use music to bring people together - dance, sing!
• always offer assistance to fellow travelers

Living Without A Microwave

A microwave is not the only way to be energy efficient -
hot soup below, leftovers warming above

In an interesting turn of events, our faithful 22 year old microwave oven broke days after I wrote about it in a Make It Last post. Linda and I took it to the local appliance recycling depot, then talked about (shudder) going shopping for a new one.

"We didn't always have a microwave", Linda pointed out. We wondered if we needed one now. It is true that microwave ovens are a more energy efficient method of cooking, but then so is a crock pot, and we still have one of those.

"But what will I do without a microwave?", I thought in a moment of semi-hysterical kitchen nightmare panic. It passed quickly and I got down to some more rational thinking. Was it time to banish 'Mike" from my kitchen?

What microwaves are really for is speed and convenience. A microwave takes 15 minutes to do the same job as an hour of cooking in an electric oven. But at this point in our lives, we are more into a slower pace, and don't want to sacrifice quality for convenience. I enjoy cooking, and there is no need for me to rush.

I gathered my courage and suggested to my sous chef that we try living without this 'essential' appliance and see how things go. It was my Chef Ramsay moment, and Linda was fully supportive of our move toward slow cookery.

We didn't really cook in our microwave anyway. Reheating/thawing - yes. Cooking - no. But it is taking a while to adjust from the instant, on-demand heating of the old magnetron exciting the molecules in our food. It feels like camping, and for me that is a good thing.

I have to think differently now, and adopt a more purposeful approach to heating food. My local electricity utility estimated that, "using a microwave instead of your oven four times a week could save you more than $20 per year on your electricity bill."

What about the energy required to mine minerals, process the raw materials, manufacture the different components, assemble the product, ship it to me from overseas manufacturers, then dispose of it at the end of its life?

For a hundred dollar microwave it would take five years just to break even on the energy savings. For us it doesn't make a lot of sense.

Shopping trip averted - balance restored. We are living without a microwave. What's next - living without a fridge?

Sleeping Under The Stars vs. A Messy Garage

Sleeping under the stars is as basic as it gets

Frost & Hartl's ('96) definition of clinical hoarding:

(1) the acquisition of, and failure to discard, a large number of possessions that appear to be of useless or of limited value; (2) living spaces sufficiently cluttered so as to preclude activities for which those spaces were designed; and (3) significant distress or impairment in functioning caused by the hoarding.

I watched my first episode of Hoarders recently when I had access to a TV with more than one fuzzy channel. After two episodes I didn't need to see any more. It made me think about these individuals that make up less than 1% of the population, but represent a situation most of us are familiar with in some way in our own lives.

Hoarders represent the far end of the spectrum - hyperstuffism. At the other end we have hypostuffism, or asceticism - living without stuff. The majority of us fall somewhere in between the two, but we may show signs of both.

For example, I enjoy simple surroundings, and have always enjoyed camping. Of all the places I have slept, the best were nights spent in a tent in the wilderness. I have always loved how primal it feels, with nothing separating you from the life surrounding you.

For the full effect, when nights are nice enough, I like to sleep under the stars. I have been woken up by mice repeatedly jumping off of drift logs onto my sleeping bag while I camped out on the beach. I find that kind of simplicity exhilarating.

Then I turn attention to my inner hoarder, because despite my enjoyment of living the pared down life, I also exhibit some traits from the other end of the spectrum. When I look around my living space I can see my own brushes with acquisition, clutter, and impairment of function.

How about the paper plate that a gift of Christmas cookies came on? I can't seem to get rid of it - I found a (questionable) use for it as I absorbed it into my loot lair. Then there is my stash of paper bags of all sizes. Those are useful. Aren't they? Boxes of old bills. Things I haven't used for years taking up room both in my space and my head.

Funny thing is, the definition at the top describes most of us, although in a less clinical way. The owners of most of the garages I have peered into could be seen as exhibiting all of the criteria of hoarding. And there is little doubt that our collections of stuff are causing "significant distress or impairment" both personally and globally.

One solution is to not involve oneself in "the acquisition of, and failure to discard, a large number of possessions that appear to be of useless or of limited value". But that is darn hard to achieve, and doesn't this describe most of our stuff?

Am I free of the burden of stuff?

If you have ever seen an episode of Hoarders you will know how hard it is for the patients to relieve themselves of their things. But in order to relieve the distress and impairment, possessions that are of limited value or are causing dysfunction, must be eliminated.  

It will be easier for those of us that have not been diagnosed as clinical hoarders, but we may still feel some discomfort as we transform our lives toward increased sustainability and freedom.

But it will be worth it, and it will be a wonderful thing. Like mice using you for a trampoline in the middle of the night as you fall sleep under the stars listening to waves breaking on the beach. A tad unnerving, but when all is said and done, more free and joyful than a messy garage.

Simple Living Lessons Out Of The Backpack

Red Eagle Lake: 13 km multi-day hike into the mountains of
Glacier National Park, Montana

A large part of my youth was spent exploring the wilderness while carrying a backpack. Most trips were conducted on weekends, and a few were a week long, or longer. When you have to carry everything you need to survive in the back country for days on end, you learn how to cut out the unnecessary and superfluous.

Just about everything I know about low impact, simple living I learned while backpacking:

• if it is not useful, don't pack it along with you
• you can live indefinitely with a minimum of possessions
• nothing makes food taste better than being hungry
• Nature is free, and there is nothing better or more important
• friends can help you out of a jam, or save your life, but they will not carry your pack very far - you are ultimately responsible for your own load
• things that you want, but don't need weigh you down, slow you down, and are rarely worth carrying great distances
• the best load is a light load
• bears DO shit in the woods, and have a great view while doing so
• a thin tent feels like a palace in the middle of a raging storm
• if you have to carry your garbage on your back you reduce the amount of garbage you produce
• clean, safe water is priceless
• it takes very little to create wonderful lifelong memories
• bears can run faster than race horses, and cougars are even faster - you can't run, or hide, so practice prevention by making  noise, and be creative (climb a tree, get tall, confront your problems face on and hit the predator with a stick...)
• do no harm, leave no trace of your passing through
• at the end of a long hike, driving in a motor vehicle feels like the experience it actually is: a completely dreamy global privilege, regardless of the distance traveled
• once home after days in the wilderness everything feels luxurious - your bed feels bigger and softer, food is prepared easier, and hot water is simply magic

Feeling deprived? Thinking of acquiring more STUFF? Go backpack camping in the wilderness for a few days. When you get home your hovel will feel like a castle, and you will wonder what all that stuff not in your backpack is for.