The Art of Asking

Every day I walk my wife to her place of work. I carry her backpack, which is often pretty ponderous, and we just enjoy each other's company as we go. It's a good time to talk. And we really do talk about anything. Post-war German literature. The oil crash. Stellar evolution. The comparative advantages of the mountain- and the hammered dulcimer. There's nothing like stretching your legs, tromping through the crispy snow, and stretching your mind, all in in the presence of someone whose company you prize. 

Our route these days takes us across a street that's part of the Lincoln highway, then past the grounds of the old hospital, and a school for nursing, where the students come and go, looking young and idealistic. Just past the nursing school (only five minutes now from our destination), at the end of a street that's only one block long, stands a modest white house. Out back of this house is a substantial yard, populated with a number of young hardwoods—oaks, hickory, a few maples. And on the north side of the garage, very much in view of passers-by, stands a substantial pile of unsplit wood. Season after season, the logs have sat there aging to a dark shade of grey. When, I wondered would we ever see the woodpile shrink? Or anyone outside getting down to work with an ax, splitting the logs to usable firewood?

Well one morning, just a few days ago, standing in the driveway of that white house, was a rental van, and three or four younger men were carrying boxes and lamps out of the house and into the vehicle, so obviously someone was moving. Later that day, when I returned to pick my wife up again, the men were still working. For a moment I hesitated, out there on the sidewalk. "Should I?" I asked myself. "Yes you should," I answered. So I went into the garage, and I asked about the wood. If they weren't planning on taking the wood with them, I said, I'd sure be interested in taking it off their hands.

The young men seemed receptive to my request, but they referred me to the owner, who was just then coming out. He was a bearded gentleman in a brown knitted cap, and with a well-rounded but inwardly robust physique. A sort of lumberjack on vacation. A hard nut with softer caramel coating. His eyes were his most arresting feature. They were of a depth and a tangibility of soul that's difficult to come by these days. They sized me up without making me look down. They also recognized me.

“You used to live here on this street didn't you?” he asked.

I did a bit of a double take. “Wow, you have a memory,” I said. “That was something like ten years ago now. And only for a year or two.” Grateful for even this small connection between us, and hoping I could take advantage of it, I repeated my request, mentioning that I had a wood stove at home, and that I would be grateful for the extra fuel, that is, if he wasn't planning on taking it with him.

“Well, I was going to take the wood,” he said. “But you know, there's also some wood where I'm going to. So go ahead. Enjoy.”

I communicated my thanks, and then was off. Happy especially with his imperative: “Enjoy.” 

And in fact I already have acted on that task of enjoyment. Using two plastic sleds yesterday, I dragged the logs over the snow from the wood pile to the car. Back home, I unloaded each trunk-load and stacked it, then swung the ax for awhile, splitting several of the larger logs for the evening's fire: all hard work of course, but certainly enjoyable. And the warmth of the stove at the end of the day capped these enjoyments. A plentiful harvest of heat.

But what I want to say about this little incident is that it illustrates the employment of a useful skill, which has only recently become an exercised part of me, and which I want to commend to others. It's a skill that in my opinion is becoming more and more useful and necessary as we move into more and more uncertain times. And that's the art of asking. Asking for advice. Asking for help. For a favor, or, as in this case, for a free gift: 

“Say I'm just wondering if you folks were planning on taking that wood with you. Because if you're not, I could sure use it at my place.” 

Just a few words. But words that took some trouble to speak. You see, it's actually a pretty multifaceted skill, making requests. It involves seeing the opportunity in the first place, and judging the opportune time to seize it. It requires overpowering your pride and setting aside your supposed independence in favor of a different way of looking at the matter. Often too, it requires introducing yourself to people you don't know, and who you wouldn't otherwise mix with. It requires meeting someone's eye. It requires the articulation of humble-tasting words and phrases: “Could I..? Would you happen to..?  Is it possible...?"

But of course the art of asking, especially when practiced consistently over time, has its indisputable benefits. Yesterday it netted me nearly a half a cord of wood, absolutely free: which at Sunnyside, in the dead of winter, works out to a good three or four week's worth of fuel, and quite possibly $200 knocked off of the winter utility bill. 

As coda too, I want to say too just how pleasant it was to have the owner of that house recognize me, as having lived on his street at one time. I did not remember him, but his memory connected us, and left me just a little warmer on the inside the whole day. 

HB

(Next Post Monday, January 26)

Where We have Been, Where We are Going

I've been writing for this blog for about a quarter of a year now, and feel it's time to take a breather and to reflect on the work so far and on how it ought to proceed. First of all, a thank-you to all my readers, regular and irregular, nearby and far away. It humbles and inspires me (really) to think that people, and especially people who do not immediately know me, see enough in my work to give it the gift of their time, to read it and maybe discover some angle of insight that they otherwise would not have known existed, or find in it some inspiration to do something they might not otherwise have done. I trust that at least at times we have connected. That's the important thing here. As the novelist E.M Forster said, "Only connect. Only connect."

But there's still so much to do! So many ways in which the blog could be improved, particularly I think in terms of sharpness of focus and steadiness of mission. At times over the past few months, working on these posts--saying to myself "what's this blog really about, what am I trying to do?"--I've felt a bit like a man waking up out of a drugged sleep, and coming to consciousness in the bowels of a mysterious sailing ship. He looks at his shoulders and sees the gold epaulets and knows he is supposed to be the captain. But what sort of vessel is he on? What is it carrying? What are its ports of call and final destination? Only bit by bit does the evidence present itself, although eventually, painstakingly, his mission and his methods do make themselves known. 

And maybe that's where I am now. I've spent several months now feeling out the parameters of my mission, tallying up my resources, learning the ropes of the scheduled blogger's routine. I feel much more nimbly in command. I'm ready to proceed.

Coming up now are four brief points. Brief point one and brief point two concern themselves with 9-Volt Nomad's mission, brief point three with 9-Volt Nomad's methods, and brief point four with motivations for the project. So: mission, mission, methods, motivation.

Mission One: Defining the Sustainable Lifestyle

This is the most important work of the blog. I want to define and describe a lifestyle that, without wishful thinking and in all dimensions of experience--from the psychological to the ecological--can truly be called "sustainable." A lifestyle meaningful and rich, yet one that when multiplied by billions of other human lives lived much the same way, would not impossibly strain the planet's living systems.

Some caveats and provisos here, especially for those who believe that technology and public policy alone can usher in the age of sustainability: I don't agree. I believe that, when it comes to this great labor, garden-spades and cheesecloth will prove more important than this or that subsidy for solar panels or wind turbines, the actual flexing of the individual human hand more powerful than the fantasies and fortune of Elon Musk. We can't manufacture our way out of a manufactured mess. We can't consume our way out of the trap of consumption. 

Mission Two: Discovering Joy

Of course sometimes sacrifice is just sacrifice, and costs just honest costs. Still, let's never count out the possibility that, even as we strip the motto "more stuff, more power" from our lives, we gain a great deal. Giving up certain material expectations and setting aside fantasies of technological control can amount to a surprise investment in sanity, community, and inner humanity: real civilization, in other words. Simply put, living green doesn't have to mean living the melancholy blues.

But first we have to take up the challenge, or at least see someone who has done so, and hear their stories and reassurances! If you have not yet learned to cook, how can you know the pleasures of being self-reliant in that way? Or if you've never shared your tools with a neighbor, how can you really know how your sharing will cultivate a sense of community? So I intend as much as possible to use myself and my home Sunny-side as illustration; not because I have achieved the perfect lifestyle--not at all!--but because we at Sunny-side are trying to move that direction one do-able leap at a time, and because I want our work and the blessings we discover in it to serve as the reassurance that people need. Then readers might just decide such a venture is possible and make a leap or two themselves. 

Regarding Methods: Consulting my Past and my Life Abroad

As it happens I grew up in India and New Guinea, and I want to make use of that fact in my posts. Those were more elemental times and places. So much more was done by hand, and there was so much more of a sense of time spent slowly on the earth. And since I believe the human future belongs to the human hand and the earthly elements, well then my memories of those times and places may well speak to how it might feel to move that direction again; the how-to's involved in that project as well as the rewards. Also, if such memories are honest, they may serve to inoculate me and my readers against impractical idealism and foolish mis-estimation. Not everything was perfect back then and over there. Not hardly, as they say here in Indiana. 

And here I can't leave out my mother, and my memories of growing up under the influence of her strong character. She was a woman who wanted food for the hungry, justice for the poor, and competence in cooking and cleaning for everyone, including her sons. She hated waste of any kind and had a deep sense of the value of the domestic arts. It made her impatient to think that anyone would not know how to fry up an onion, or would think themselves too good for the job of brushing out a toilet. If you follow this blog, you will learn more of her, guaranteed.


So: 

• 9-Volt Nomad is about defining "sustainable." Honestly. Without wishful thinking. 
• 9-Volt Nomad is about discovering joy.
• 9-Volt Nomad seeks in past times and even foreign places a guide for us here in the difficult present.

Finally, Regarding Motivation:

Here I want to return to the metaphor of the sailing ship, and ask what propels this whole project forward? To be honest, it's the winds of worry and concern: the lowering of water tables and the erosion everywhere of ton after precious ton of topsoil, the logging off of rain- and old-growth forests, the rising of the seas and the measurable and ominous acidification of their waters (another cost of carbon pollution), the extinction of thousands of plant and animal species, the effects on the human body of air and water pollution, not to mention the spiritual emptiness that so many of us feel because of our urban separation from the voices of the earth: all of these compel and propel me in my work, both as a householder and a blogger.

It's my conviction that, for any thinking, feeling, informed citizen of the earth, the present path of industrial civilization is simply out of the question. How can we bear to see the life of the planet suffer this way and not change our behavior? How can we simply continue these habits of waste and consumption? How can we shy from change, especially if by changing, we could invite into our lives and homes so much that is so joyful, sociable, and true?

Until Tuesday the 1st!

HB