I was watching a recent video, and it mentioned the term “Back To Landers” to describe millennials living in the Appalachian Mountains who hadn’t grown up there.
It really got me thinking about my own childhood.
I was born in the 1970s. My parents were members of the Silent Generation, born in 1939 and 1944. They were married in 1969, having met through their very conservative church/faith. At that time, their faith fostered a self-reliant model. Be self-employed. Only work enough to pay the bills. After all, the Earth was heading to Armageddon, so no need to save for retirement. The faith was very prominent in rural areas. Living in rural areas kept you closer to God and farther away from temptation. I mean…they were not wrong with that. If you work hard, you are so tired that you go to bed, instead of to the bar.
My parents really embraced the back-to-the-land movement, which began in the late 1960s and continued into the 1970s. My parents kept us in the country once we were school-aged. My Mom had friends who lived up in the foothills, so far out that they didn’t have electricity, running water, or even a telephone. And it was like 1979. We would drive up there, and I was so fascinated because it was so remote to me. I loved it, though. It felt free. It played into my love of hiking and backpacking, where once the last power line disappears and the cell towers go silent, you feel wild once again.
When I was 18, it was 1991. I moved off the island to the mainland, and, as all good college kids did, my hangout was the local co-op grocery store and deli. I met some old hippies (who still lived that way) who, given a chance, with a gullible 18-year-old in front of them, would wax on about the good old days. Probably like I do now. I can laugh at that. The Skagit Valley in Washington State has far more in common with the Appalachian Mountains than not. During the back-to-the-land movement, communes sprang up. They all failed, as communes are wont to do. Because it’s easy living in summer, but winter hits hard when you don’t have a warm house to live in. And they find out that growing food is hard work. And back to the city they go. But oh, did I get to hear the tales from those old hippies. Enough, I never shook it off.
And that’s the thing – it stayed with me.
I moved back to the island, started a tiny garden, and sold herbs and soap at the farmers’ market when my oldest child was small. I couldn’t move off-grid then, but it stayed with me. I never quit growing after that. I always had something growing. Even when I lived in a city at 30, in a tiny apartment, my small deck was covered in plants. When we moved to a town and lived there for 14 years, I always grew plants. We had two homes during that time, both with backyards transformed into oases. I could not stop growing – it is part of my DNA.
It would take me many years to go rural again; I’d be 45 before it happened. Maybe not always a true back-to-lander, but it was close enough.
Doing it for 7 years was eye-opening. It is hard work, never-ending, and a lonely life in many ways. I realized I was fortunate to have children at home that were old enough – and strong enough – to help us. It is definitely much easier to do when you are younger.
Starting over at 52, in our new place, I realized I did not want to do it all again. It was too much. It’s been honestly good not having farm animals for a while. Not being responsible for them, not breaking deep, thick ice in 25* temps daily, multiple times a week. I enjoy having land that is ours to walk on. A garden I have built. But also time for hiking. Not being tied down constantly.
And yet…there is a deep part of me that wants 2 acres in the deep mountains in a holler (valley), raw land to carve. Once last hurrah before we are too old. But maybe I know that one might be just a garden for us, and a huge medicinal herb garden. And 6 hens that have a cute home.
And that will be as close to back to land as I want to be. And it might just be perfect.
~Sarah