A house without gas and electricity
By Gregory Hartzler-Miller
In the spring of 2008, my wife and I were hashing over strategies to cut our living expenses, and I made a proposal that was admittedly extreme by middle class neighborhood standards. Though it was an enthusiastic proposal, likely influenced by the sight of yellow daffodil blossoms, I offered it with serious intent: "Let's turn off the gas and electric." Without guile, sarcasm or discernible desire for a divorce, she replied, "Go ahead, but do it in a house of your own." That shocked me at first, but a seed had been sown.
By summer, I had purchased and taken up residence in an $18,000 East Baltimore row-house that came with a new roof, and a dry basement. It was a great deal! The typical house in that price range had a caved-in roof. The price of this house was so low due mainly to neighborhood conditions. Half the houses on the block were boarded-up, and there was maybe one other owner occupant. And then, the scary part: Teen aged boys in the street betting on quarter tosses, and talking tough, and wrestling, and shouting out, "Sheryl, Bad Ass," their brand names for the crack and heroine stashed (along with guns) in the alleys, in vacant houses and on rooftops.
An older neighbor gave me a word of advice that served me well: "Mind your own business, and you'll be OK. Don't call the police unless you personally are harmed." He explained that "the boys" will not mess with an older white guy who lives there because they don't want police attention. Thankfully, the police passed through regularly and made their presence known. I kept my distance from the boys on the street, acknowledging them when we crossed paths with a curt, respectful nod and moving on. My business was to experiment in living without gas and electricity, and as it turned out, I had chosen a fine neighborhood for that.
An older neighbor gave me a word of advice that served me well: "Mind your own business, and you'll be OK. Don't call the police unless you personally are harmed." He explained that "the boys" will not mess with an older white guy who lives there because they don't want police attention. Thankfully, the police passed through regularly and made their presence known. I kept my distance from the boys on the street, acknowledging them when we crossed paths with a curt, respectful nod and moving on. My business was to experiment in living without gas and electricity, and as it turned out, I had chosen a fine neighborhood for that.
Two doors down a bantam rooster crowed in the morning, and whenever it felt like crowing. That always made me chuckle inside. It reminded me of my freedom from middle class neighborhood constraints. No need to replace the front door with a bullet hole shot through it. I was free to patch it with a glued-on odd-shaped piece of stained glass. "The houses don't all have to look alike," said a neighbor whose house was wildly decorated with odd tiles and beads and a mural she had painted.
My back yard was my paradise. I covered it in Dutch White Clover which grows only four to eight inches tall, chokes out crab grass and most importantly, needs no mowing. I left little hills and valleys in the terrain to improve retention of the rain water that flowed freely off the roof (the house had no gutter). Two of the main "weeds" that came up along with the clover were edible: Amaranth, and Lamb's Ear, food blown in by the wind, manna! I ate them straight from the ground, much to the friendly amusement of my neighbors. When an elephant ear plant popped up, another so called weed that grows at a prodigious rate and sprouts heart shaped leaves one to two feet wide, I let it grow, as many of my neighbors had done. Morning glories climbed in angles along the boundary fences, and when the reached the top of the fence, they bloomed with light blue petals like kisses from the divine. When I planted vegetable starts, the kids with the pet rooster gladly shared some rooster droppings for my use as fertilizer.
Several of the neighbors air-dried their laundry, so there was no need to feel embarrassed about having my cotton underwear out for all to see (although I still feel a bit embarrassed). I bet some of the neighbors washed their clothes by hand too. Hand-washing laundry was easier than I expected. I would toss them in the bathtub with some liquid detergent to soak in cold water, then walk around on them to agitate, then give each item a couple of lift and crunches by hand, then rinse. And to my surprise, the clothes came out smelling fresh and looking clean.
Without electric lights and fans, I naturally situated my chair right up against the open window where, perched cat-like, there was plenty of sunlight for reading, a view of the back yard, and almost always at least a hint of breeze. I worried that the neighbor next door might think I was sitting near the window to spy on her business. When I apologetically explained to her why I sat there, she laughed, "That's no problem," she said, "A lot of us like to sit near our windows." Of course, what was I thinking?
I found that a damp wash cloth draped across around the neck helped with keeping cool. A lot of the men were doing the same. Once, in a public bathroom at the Northeastern Market, three men at sinks were each dampening their wash clothes before going back out into the heat. Why would anyone do without?
The best way to cool off when I came home from a bike ride or a walk all drenched in sweat, was to take a slow cold-water sponge bath. With proper attention to technique, I got clean. And after such a chilly wash, I felt cool from the inside out.
Without electric lights and fans, I naturally situated my chair right up against the open window where, perched cat-like, there was plenty of sunlight for reading, a view of the back yard, and almost always at least a hint of breeze. I worried that the neighbor next door might think I was sitting near the window to spy on her business. When I apologetically explained to her why I sat there, she laughed, "That's no problem," she said, "A lot of us like to sit near our windows." Of course, what was I thinking?
I found that a damp wash cloth draped across around the neck helped with keeping cool. A lot of the men were doing the same. Once, in a public bathroom at the Northeastern Market, three men at sinks were each dampening their wash clothes before going back out into the heat. Why would anyone do without?
The best way to cool off when I came home from a bike ride or a walk all drenched in sweat, was to take a slow cold-water sponge bath. With proper attention to technique, I got clean. And after such a chilly wash, I felt cool from the inside out.
Appreciative of the limits of living without gas and electric service, a neighbor offered to let me use her stove for cooking. It was a kind offer, one that she had extended to other neighbors during involuntary stints of such deprivation I'm sure, but I had another plan. With a little research on raw food diets, it had come to my attention that if grains are soaked for a day, they are ready to eat. No high-heat necessary! So, for my basic diet, I concocted a mix that included whole groat grain, flax seed, sunflower seeds in the shell, dried alfalfa, Cayenne pepper, and a clove of garlic. I ate it with a fresh tomato or a carrot, especially wonderful when they came from a nearby community garden that welcomed me into their fold. The grain mix was not delicious, but it was nutritious, my intestines loved it, and if I waited till I was hungry enough, and ate it slowly, meditatively, it was palatable.
I was elated much of the time with a invigorating sense of "beating the system." I visited my wife on weekends, and during the week I was living BG&E free. Earnings from a mere eight hour a week bakery job, enable me to balance my budget (except for health insurance). The budget included my interest-only house payment of $90, such incidentals as window screens, and clothes pins, my basic diet, occasional trips to the tea and pastry shop, and even new work shoes. I also paid for a new back door, which brings me to how I sold the place.
The door was practically unusable. A year prior, police had knocked it down in a drug raid, which led to the imprisonment of the prior owner, which led to the foreclosure of the property. Neighbors came in and took what they needed from the place until the owner of a house next door who wanted to limit the damage took it upon himself to tack the door back up.
One day, I spotted a carpenter across the back alley replacing a similar door, and I asked if he could do mine too. He not only fixed the door, he also invited an investor he knew to walk through the place. Impressed by features I had not needed, such features as new central heat and an updated electrical system, the investor made an offer I couldn't refuse: $40,000, the bank's initial asking price before they had marked it down for quick sale. (For those calculating profits, after closing costs, first as a seller and then as a buyer, and after %15 capital gains taxes, the net came to about $16,000.) It felt like winning a high stakes gamble, or how I would imagine it.
Now I'm trying to play it cool, and resist the impulse -- the strong, visceral impulse I feel -- to quickly risk the winnings on another extreme lifestyle adventure. I am enjoying being back with my wife in our middle class house with a wireless internet connection and a gas stove. She is proud of me for following my vision for a time on my own without expecting her to do the same. Supposing that investor had not made me that offer, I wonder how long into the winter would I have camped out in my urban cabin? It seems so distant now.
As to the question of cutting living expenses together, my wife and I have more modest plan. We are putting up a clothes line in the back yard.
The door was practically unusable. A year prior, police had knocked it down in a drug raid, which led to the imprisonment of the prior owner, which led to the foreclosure of the property. Neighbors came in and took what they needed from the place until the owner of a house next door who wanted to limit the damage took it upon himself to tack the door back up.
One day, I spotted a carpenter across the back alley replacing a similar door, and I asked if he could do mine too. He not only fixed the door, he also invited an investor he knew to walk through the place. Impressed by features I had not needed, such features as new central heat and an updated electrical system, the investor made an offer I couldn't refuse: $40,000, the bank's initial asking price before they had marked it down for quick sale. (For those calculating profits, after closing costs, first as a seller and then as a buyer, and after %15 capital gains taxes, the net came to about $16,000.) It felt like winning a high stakes gamble, or how I would imagine it.
Now I'm trying to play it cool, and resist the impulse -- the strong, visceral impulse I feel -- to quickly risk the winnings on another extreme lifestyle adventure. I am enjoying being back with my wife in our middle class house with a wireless internet connection and a gas stove. She is proud of me for following my vision for a time on my own without expecting her to do the same. Supposing that investor had not made me that offer, I wonder how long into the winter would I have camped out in my urban cabin? It seems so distant now.
As to the question of cutting living expenses together, my wife and I have more modest plan. We are putting up a clothes line in the back yard.
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