Tipi Living

The original home budget was tight, for my entire savings was spent on the down payment to purchase partially logged strip of forestland. Economics and weather forced the decision to save money through the winter and start building a cabin in spring. I rented a house in town with four other people, and when spring came, I moved onto the land.
After a few weeks of sleeping on the ground under a tarp, with the only heat from a smoldering fire, taking baths in the cold lake and using my car as a closet, it was obvious to those with whom I worked that I was “roughing it”. A close friend noticing my problem offered me his canvas tipi. On a sunny Saturday afternoon that spring, several friends gathered to erect the tipi. One friend, who was Indian, had brought drums and rattles and sage and decorations. He blessed the shelter with burning sage and chants in the Salish language. He told of how a to set the tipi so the opening was away from the prevailing winds, how to adjust the flaps for ventilation, where to place the sleeping area, of what size the fire-pit should be. We had a fine time drinking and talking and playing a stick game he showed us. The friends left as the day cooled and the sun began to set.
I welcomed the spaciousness of the new dwelling and felt enveloped, warm and secure. The top opening provided an oval frame to watch the sunset colors fade and stars emerge. Late that night, I awoke to movement on the top poles; silhouetted in the faint milky light, a flying squirrel pulled at the decorative cloth ribbons we’d put up earlier that day.
That summer of sleeping close to the earth far from the lights of town, within the realm of the wild animals, made me feel natural, as we all are, truly part of the earth.