Isolation and the Internet - a Year at the River

My view out the car window as I leave for a meeting this morning.

If I were keeping a scorecard of how I've been doing compared to what I thought I'd have been doing, then I might not be doing so well as I come to the final week of my first month at the river.   I envisioned this year as a Waldenesque exploration of myself in semi-hermitage married with a hyper-productive schedule of research and writing.

From the moment I started thinking about moving to the river for a year I've had in mind that this is my year to write a book. I have the topic narrowed to two possibilities: fashion designer, Norman Norell, or, or maybe and, journalist ex-pat Janet Flanner.  What better opportunity will I ever have to devote long hours to writing interrupted only by a couple of days a week when I have to go to Indianapolis for work.

So far, things haven't worked out quite as expected. My pipes have frozen twice since I've been here. New insulation in the basement on the to-do list.  Oh, and my car's alternator has given up the ghost twice in two weeks. At least it was still under warranty the second time.  Frustrating and time-consuming.

But the real story behind my so-far lack of Thoreauvian zen is that until very recently I had neither a reliable internet connection nor a TV connection. The latter I could do without, but not unless I have the former. With neither I have been feeling isolated and lonely. Two feelings I don't experience often and don't know how to embrace as the life lessons they undoubtedly offer.

Instead I spent my time in Indianapolis searching ways to get connected in rural Shelby County.  TV is out. No place to put a dish and my electric-powered antenna, so far, only receives channels starting at 63. Those seem to be an all-Rocky channel, and three shopping channels.  I did order a nice eyebrow liner pencil. But I can spend less than 20 minutes watching and hearing about the fabulous pet shampoo that smells like the beach invented by a Prince, or maybe he was a Count?

Ok. I can easily give up broadcast TV. I do get enough radio reception for NPR thankfully.  But what I really wanted, what I desperately needed to enjoy my rural life, was the internets.  Verizon's 4G network. Nope, not in the river valley. So it's a DSL line for me. 5Mbps. I learned that means megabits not megabytes per second. And I learned that's nothing to get excited about.  But I was. I am. I am connected again.  And my TDS installer, who's also on the volunteer fire department in case I ever need them, promised me they are ready to drop a gigabyte into the service so I'll soon be humming along at 12 Mbps.  Whoop!

So now I can get on the worldwide web. I can stream TV.  I'm caught up on Downton Abbey. Starting House of Cards.

It's so reassuring. Like a big bear hug of technology. 

For the times when I'm not watching the river ice dam break, sending the ice roaring up the banks and over the dam. Or watching how that one stripy sparrow hogs all the birdseed, chasing off the titmice and the black-capped chickadees. Ruling her little seedy roost. Until the Bue Jays show up.

It's ok. I think I'll be fine. Facebook is at my beckon call now.  I'm finding it far less interesting than before, but sure am glad I can hop on once in a while to see what the rest of you are up to. 

Maybe I can make time for some research soon. After all, I have a book to write.

My Year at the River. The beginning.

That's the river bank just outside my kitchen window.

It may take a while to explain how I got here. So I won't do that right now. The thing is, I'm here now and I'm going to see what a year here feels like.

"Here" is a much-added-on-to former fisherman's cabin along the Flatrock River in Shelby County.  I've been working on this place, with the help of friends and family and a plumber, for almost a year.  My original intention was to have it as a weekend place to swim and entertain.  Then, at the end of December, I sold my house in the city where I'd lived for almost 8 of the 14 years I spent in downtown Indianapolis, and last Wednesday I moved into the cabin full-time.

Now I'm trying to call it a "cottage" instead of a cabin. I guess that really more fully expresses what it seems like.  It's not particularly rustic. I have heat, a washer and dryer (thanks to my plumber) and a flush toilet. What I don't have yet is working tv or much access to the internet. Thanks for that alleged 4g network, Verizon, guess it doesn't reach into the river valley. But anyway, here I am at the river "cottage." Planning to spend a year and see what happens. If I can't deal with rural life after so fully embracing urbanness, I'll rent an apartment in the city again after 6 months. If I'm here 6 months then I consider it a good experiment. A year, even better. Maybe longer. Time will tell. And I'll tell you how it's going.

Thanks to my plumber, today I once again have water. This morning after giving the cats their usual bathtub faucet drink and before getting my teeth brushed, the water froze. Since plumber Dave and I have become quite friendly following the installation of washer lines and a new well pump, I called his cell and he showed up at lunch to melt me out.

Word. Basement crawl space walls need new insulation. I've been pretty impressed with the amount of insulation in this place but the stuff that's down there has become crispy. Crispy insulation doesn't insulate that well. But he got it going and put a utility light into the crawl space for heat.

Speaking of heat, the baseboard heaters in the kitchen started tripping the breaker yesterday. After pushing it back on several times I asked for some advice from my son, Zack, who said I shouldn't do that. So right now there isn't heat coming out of the baseboard heaters. I've done a bit of baking and thanks to big south-facing windows have gained a lot of solar warmth, so it's tolerable, but hardly toasty.  I was feeling pretty sorry for myself about the heat situation until the water situation seemed worse. Getting water back has made me a little more tolerant of a cool kitchen. Zack will hopefully sort out the breaker box on Sunday and I'll be back to only needing to worry about where all the stuff that's still in boxes is going to go.

Turns out the real estate figures that said this house was 1300 sq. ft. must have been counting the unheated walkout basement, cause I have not been able to figure out how to fit the stuff from my small 1065 sq. ft. former house into the livable space of the clearly not 1300 sq. feet of cottage yet. I did a lot of purging before I came. But then I'd purchased some furniture for the cabin before I realized I'd be calling it a cottage -- and Home. And I am minus two book shelves here.

Hm. It's hard to give up on a book or any of my good chairs. I'll make it fit.