One of the primary differences betweenbeing a recluse at home versus a recluse in someone else’s home is that (holdyour breath) you have to cease being a recluse.
Currently, my partner E and I are living as part of a six-person family: twoparents, two children, aged eight and four apiece, and two dogs. Under thesecircumstances, I keep my anti-sociality tucked out of sight, until I’mout walking on my own, alone under the wide, blue sky (stay tuned. More aboutthis in a moment).
Our friends (yes, we have not yet taken to living with complete strangers)manage their own organic farm in Vermont, a small, green, mountainous state inthe northeastern corner of the US. We have been here a little over a week, andplan to remain for maybe a couple of months. Aside from the dogs, there are alsogoats (five), one cow and one ox. There used to be chickens, but last month amink (one of the few to escape becoming a fashion-accessory) slaughtered allnine of them.
Previously, a fox caught and killed the rooster called Big Daddy who usedto be the paterfamilias.And what with avian flu waiting to swoop in... yep,it’s been a foul fowl year.
During the day, I try to be industrious. Our friends maintain an office spaceand I’ve been walking over to use it. The three-mile hike from the house takesme an hour and I arrive here feeling like I’ve scaled Everest! Sure, it’sall downhill and I don’t need sherpas to carry my hand-embroidered backpackfor me or bottled oxygen to breathe. But the sense of purpose?
Whoa.
Outstanding.
Now if only I could find away to end this column... ahh. There we go. All done.
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This article originally appeared in Outlook Delhi City Limits, May 15 2006.
