Of course, it’s a good idea to have enough social moxie to get dressed and be civil when you make that run for groceries, collect the mail, or transact whatever business is necessary to maintain yourself and your independence.  A standard presentation of conformity at the right times keeps the SHOULD ADDICTS from getting curious or feeling obliged to come take a look – to rescue you or your soul.

It is hazardous to get so comfortable in your solitude that you forget about the should addicts. Difference is quite scary to should addicts. Mostly, they’ll think you should be more social;  because if you’re more social, they’ll know what you’re up to. And it’s their fear of the unknown that will send them after you – for whatever reason. So take a shower, wear clean clothes and a pair of shoes when you go to town. Don’t growl at the clerks and bureaucrats (too much). Small prices to pay to maintain the illusion that you understand what you should be doing – whether you’re doing it routinely or not.

If you’re lucky, your friends and relatives (especially adult children) will come to accept your hermitic idiosyncrasy. Maintaining at least some level of ongoing dialog nurtures this acceptance.  Presume when they voice their concerns about your situation (alone off in the woods or wherever) it is an expression of love not just curiosity about how you’re using their inheritance. Check in now and then so they know you’re okay and that you still care about them. Eventually they’ll accept you as that rarely-seen character of family lore.

But there is one SHOULD of solitude which I consider a rather important courtesy. Do some emergency back-up planning. Let some trusted other know where to find the keys, passwords, important personal paperwork and mechanical instructions for the property. Avoid burdening your kids or friends with an unexpected, long-distance rescue if something happens. At least try to grease the skids a little in case you exit the scene unexpectedly – whether temporarily or permanently.

It helps to strive for simplicity around the hermitage; but even if you can’t do that, at least finish up that “estate planning” paperwork you’ve been putting off and make sure whoever needs to find it, can find it.

Live the way you want, but try not to leave a big mess. It’s just rude.

Then I woke up.

But I know what prompted the dream: yet another hermit researcher found this blog and hoped for an interview with a “contemporary hermit” including a visit to “the hermitage.” I suppose that’s what I get for being a peculiar being.

After the first request, I expanded my About page in hopes of disqualifying me from any further research. But it turns out one big attraction to many current researchers is how the internet has improved the lot of us hermit-types, allowing us access to the world with only a minimal amount of live interaction required. (Which is true for everyone, not just hermits – so, duh?)  But apparently the new About page (which includes a reference to our online business) only exacerbated the researchers’ curiosity, even though I was trying to clarify the fact that although I value solitude, I’M MORE OF A HERMIT WANNABE than a real hermit.

So, theoretically, the internet is creating more hermits per capita. Therefore, my participation shouldn’t be necessary for the research, anyway. Right? But, according to one student, many [smart] hermits who are active online use pseudonyms, and are thus more difficult to track down. I thought about using a pseudonym before I started this blog and probably would have were it not for the admonitions of my blogging coach, Steve Mays. And I’m not really trying to hide – I just prefer not to be found. There is a difference and it’s a difference which I felt (at least initially) justified using my real name.

Generally, these student requests do give Griz and me a good chuckle though. After all, successful hermit research has got to be a bit difficult (if not downright risky) for obvious reasons: notoriety and company are anathema to the motivation and lifestyle of most hermits.  But even though I appreciate the humor of these contacts, my gut reaction still leans toward using the queries as an excuse to delete this blog and retreat from blogging all together.  Anyone who follows this blog  knows I often hang in by a fragile thread.

Actually, I am not opposed to answering students’ questions via e-mail, provided the researcher volunteers some verifiable references about who they are. But requests for a live interview and visit feel a bit presumptive and invasive given any hermit’s preference for privacy and solitude. To quote myself from an earlier post:

“Hermits (like sasquatches) are also unlikely to aggregate in quantifiable numbers near universities, so valid hermit research becomes even more problematic. I have no doubt one could recruit a few rugged grad students to scour the hills for rumors of hermitages. But even if the grad students find the hermits – how happy do you think the hermits will be about it? (See my post on curmudgeonly misanthropes here). I assure you even the happiest hermit can put on an unhappy face in defense of his privacy.)”

Fortunately, Griz and I have a locking gate, a good security system and (WARNING, WARNING) are well-armed and firearm proficient. We aren’t hunters and we’re actually more pacifists than big gun advocates, but we are practical. Calling 911 is one thing, expecting a timely response out here is something else entirely. The fire power is a solitude and self-sufficiency thing.

Maybe I’ll create a FAQs page here to help out the students. I am a big fan of higher education, though admittedly some avenues of “research” (and research grants) leave me metagrobolized.

And until we find a trap baited with a good bottle of riesling, chocolate and a cheese plate – or we notice someone constructing a blind with telephoto lens along the property line, I guess we don’t have too much to worry about.

…the hermit needs a break – again.

In reality I’ll probably only get about a week of solitude out of the deal. Summer typically brings a more active social schedule to our household – living, breathing interaction, not just the virtual kind. This year, August’s comings and goings will stretch our hermitic limits.  What quiet time I find, I’ll be savoring without report.

I hope my loyal friends will take no offense.  Just in case you hadn’t noticed yet – it’s the nature of the beast.

See you in September.

We’re having what passes for a heat wave here in Western Washington – temperatures in the nineties and low 100′s, plus high humidity – a combo as rare here as home air conditioning.  We don’t need AC often enough here for most people to justify the expense and installation.  Of course, portable air conditioners are flying off the shelves this week. Weather – a sure-fire economic stimulator.

The oppressive heat is predicted to continue for a full week before that pleasant Pacific marine air finds its way back home. I know what I’m describing as “oppressive” is no biggee for you tropics and desert dwellers, and those of you where summer equals humidity – but we’re not used to it.

Griz and I adapt to heat the way humans have always adapted in their natural state: less or no clothing, get the chores done in the cool morning, cancel most movement in the afternoon, and rev up again in the evening after the sun goes down. We also have lots of water. The streams are dry, but the well isn’t. We can stay as wet as we like. Wet hair cools the brain.

This hot weather stategy has reminded me how lucky we are to live in seclusion with a schedule of our own devising. Solitude has many perks – spontaneous nakedness and freedom from clocks are this week’s stars.

Dr. Peterson’s specialty, positive psychology, sounds great to me. It’s geared toward promoting what’s right with us rather than just trying to fix what’s wrong with us. I also realize Dr. Peterson’s “no happy hermits” statement is addressing the psychological dangers of social isolation – a valid point. But isolating and choosing solitude (temporarily or for longer periods) are two different behaviors and I think Psychologist Beth Waddell does a fair job of addressing those differences in her responsive post here.

Now, on to the happy hermit’s take:

First off, saying “There are no happy hermits” is about as scientifically valid as saying “There are no happy sasquatches.”  Those illusive sasquatches (if they exist) are not making themselves available for research – but neither are us happy hermits. Not many hermits (happy or otherwise) seek psychological counseling – the happy ones are even less likely to do so.

Hermits (like sasquatches) are also unlikely to aggregate in quantifiable numbers near universities, so valid hermit research becomes even more problematic. I have no doubt one could recruit a few rugged grad students to scour the hills for rumors of hermitages. But even if the grad students find the hermits – how happy do you think the hermits will be about it? (See my post on curmudgeonly misanthropes here). I assure you even the happiest hermit can put on an unhappy face in defense of his privacy.

But perhaps my greatest caution to Dr. Peterson is this:

When I say “There are no happy psychologists,” it doesn’t really matter. I am neither a psychologist nor a scholar. I’m just some north woods blogger with not much of a following.

But Dr. Peterson is by definition an expert.  Though it appears he is not an expert on hermits, he is considered somewhat of an expert on happiness. People are listening to Dr. Peterson and his words are contributing mightily to this ongoing bad hermit press.

C’mon, Dr. Peterson, at least temper the statement to: ”There aren’t many happy hermits.” It rolls off the lips with only one extra syllable and its statistical validity is guaranteed by the fact that there really aren’t that many hermits period.

Some hermits are happy, some probably are not. Most of us hermits find solitude more revitalizing than socializing. In solitude, we find clarity. Clarity is a good thing. For hermits, so is solitude.

Disclaimers: In the dim past of my youth, I seriously considered a counseling career and directed my education accordingly, though I ultimately chose sailing over grad school. I have personally used the services of two very good psychologists to help me through a couple of life’s inevitable rough patches – once while I was living in relative solitude, once while I was not living in solitude at all. I would not hesitate to seek psychological assistance again should I feel the need.

But even in those years when I do no other Christmas decorating, I like to make a wreath for our gate.

It’s my way of honoring  the beauty and sentiment of the Christmas season. I don’t define myself as a Christian, but I consider Jesus Christ a great spiritual teacher. Any religious tradition that celebrates peace, love and compassion is a positive thing; and humankind needs all the positivity it can muster.

Ironically, when we first moved here in 1995, we had no gate. But as the population increased, transitioning the area from from rural to suburban; our long, gravel driveway (with no buildings visible from the road) became more and more inviting to random “explorers.”

At first we didn’t close the gate all the time, let alone lock it. Now it’s locked all the time - when we’re home and when we’re not - a sad symbol of changing times.

The circular shape and evergreen component of wreaths symbolize the eternal cycle of life.  Perhaps the reason I like to put up a wreath each year is to sustain my fragile hope that eventually we’ll change direction – cycle back  to a time of fewer gates and fewer locks - a time of peace, love and easy trust – the legacy I believe Jesus Christ had in mind.

May the hope and loving peace of this holiday season sustain you through the coming year.

Our evergreens, many of them 50 and 60-year olds, are great for the year-round privacy we value; but they do deprive us of those unobstructed sunsets so everpresent in our sailing days. When you live aboard on the West Coast, you are often a part of the sunset. I do miss that.

Such is the nature of life – there are always trade-offs to be made.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Proenneke lived in his cabin at Twin Lakes until he was 82 years old. He donated his cabin to the U.S. Park Service and it is now maintained as part of the Lake Clark National Park.

Proenneke retired to the Alaskan wilderness at age 51 in 1968.  He documented the building of his cabin and his life alone through written journals and 3000 ft. of 8 mm film. The first-person narration on  the DVDs is based on  Preonneke’s journals, but there seems to be some confusion (credit-wise) as to whose voice we are actually hearing - either one of the Swerers or Dick Proenneke’s nephew, Ray Proenneke, Jr. Whoever is speaking, the voice quality and simple narration are so perfect to the task that once engaged, the voice easily becomes Dick Proenneke’s to the viewer.

Proenneke spent the last several years of his life with his brother in California and lived long enough to view the edited film.

Even if you don’t consider yourself an outdoor person, don’t miss the opportunity to view “Alone in the Wilderness” at least once in its entirety. Footage of the Alaskan landscape and wildlife are great, but Proenneke’s reflections and explanations of his projects have a peaceful, spiritual quality that ups the fascination factor. If you have kids, watch it with them. Very few films so startlingly remind us of the difference between needs and wants.

He lived near my parents’ rural property. When a friend and I were exploring the forest one day (maybe 12 years old at the time) – we accidentally came upon his cabin. Smoke was billowing from the chimney, several goats were grazing near the front porch. We never saw Old-Joe-Ross – but he may have known we were there.  We watched for awhile, but were afraid to go close. The goats made me wonder if Heidi’s grandfather lived there, not Old-Joe-Ross. We ran away when my friend realized the strange furry presence near her feet was a dead goat.

I don’t know if Old Joe Ross owned the land he lived on, or if he just squatted on the Weyerhaueser Timber that predominated the area. That particular patch of forest wasn’t logged until long after he died, so it didn’t really matter. I don’t know what happened to his goats, or how old I was when he died.  I don’t actually know that he died at all – I just presume he did. He was after all very “Old.”  Perhaps he was eaten by his goats. No one would have missed him. No one seemed to care. After awhile, no one mentioned him anymore. He was just gone.

I have no actual photo of Old Joe Ross. I used a photo from the family archives (an unidentified Swedish relative taken in the early 1900′s). Since Old Joe Ross preferred the company of goats to the company of humans, this photo seemed like a fitting tribute.  We’ll pretend this is what Old Joe Ross looked like when he first moved to the woods. He looked a bit rougher when I saw him – more like a bearded, homeless man.  My parents gave him a ride one day when I was very young. I remember Mom was not happy when Dad pulled off the road to give Old Joe a lift. Dad assured her everything would be fine. Mom insisted that Old Joe ride in the front seat, not in the back with her young daughters.  By the time Old Joe got in the car, my sister and I were wide-eyed and terrified.  I remember he smelled funny – not necessarily unclean, but probably a lot like goats (an odor unfamiliar to me at the time).

There’s a very steep hill on the Harts Lake Loop Road – the closest paved road to the Old Joe Ross’ place. The hill is called “Cuckoo Hill.”  I always thought it was named after Old Joe Ross – hermits are after all a little cuckoo, right? (I’ve since learned that Cuckoo Hill was named after a German man who owned the homestead at the bottom of the hill – Mr. Cuckoo. Mr. Cuckoo died long before I was born and his land was purchased by Weyehauser.)

Old-Joe-Ross. He’d probably be shocked to discover himself immortalized in this blog. I tried a little research – Google, Pierce County Records, Census reports, but Joe Ross is a common name. I could find nothing definitive – only my own dim memory. If anyone knows more, I’d love to hear.