Off the Grid

Dear You,

My brother, the middle one of the three of us, has what I call an Unlisted Life. If you were to look for him in northern Michigan, where he most often lives, you'd have to find the little lane that leads into the woods, at the end of which is an old trailer -- once used as a hunting cabin. There is a wire that provides electricity, but no running water. A barrel near the door collects the rain, and stacks of wood from the surrounding forest provides heat in the winter.

Inside are two stuffed chairs, one for the rare guest, and some bookshelves near the wood stove. Beyond that the little kitchen, then what is left of a bathroom, before the back end that holds a bed and little dresser.

My brother has studied the art of wanting almost nothing, so his possessions can probably all fit into the old car which he drives . . . slowly down the interstate to Ohio in order to boost the mpg to nearly 50! If you didn't know him, you'd probably dismiss him as a hermit or worse. In fact, I've always said that he lives where fun lives -- passing time with him is a great pleasure of life.

Before our father died, he often worried aloud about this son. In some measure I've taken up that worry . . . but it is all for nothing. Life takes care of all of us however it will.