After sleeping under the stars in the back of a giant Chevy truck (above), my sister and I moved into a semi-abandoned camper.
We didn't have electricity and lived by the light of fire, headlamps, starlight. We cooked on a propane stove in an outdoor kitchen, ran power tools off a generator and charged our cellphones in the car.
Izumi and I had the awesome experience of building an outhouse. We dug a giant hole amidst the chemisa, built a frame, walls with a big window, a burly roof, and enough room for toilet, sink, storage, and peace. To celebrate the near-completion of the new outhouse, we burnt the previous latrine.
I was reminded of a few things written by artists involved with the communes of the 1960s. For instance, Bill Voyd wrote in Shelter & Society (Praeger Publishers, 1969):
The greatest impact on communal life upon the artist is the realization that all community activity is equal, that digging a ditch carries no less status than erecting a sculpture; in fact the individual often discovers he is happier digging a ditch, sculpting a ditch. Life forms and art forms begin to interact.
I have been honestly, truly happy digging ditches these days.