Things I Learned The Hard Way Part Two: Making Things Work

I've often been heard to say, "You don't know what you can do until you don't have a choice."

This applies to many, many different things ... changing a baby, changing a fuse, changing a tire; unclogging a drain or a toilet or a sump pump; putting up curtain rods, light fixtures, wallpaper, shelves; patching a pair of jeans or a sofa or a roof ...  the list is almost endless.

Today, you can find how-to videos on-line on pretty much any subject.  Stores like Home Depot give free lessons in household maintenance and repair.  There are television shows devoted entirely to home maintenance, remodeling, gardening and landscaping, and interior design.  Many public libraries and community centres have free or almost-free classes in numerous subjects from vegetable gardening to fancy lacework to self-publishing.

But it wasn't always so effortless, finding out what you needed to know.

Yes, I learned a lot of skills as a child.  My mother taught me to sew, my father taught me how to use basic hand tools, my great-aunt taught me to knit.  The most important skill they taught me, though, was how to read.  Because that meant that I could read patterns, instructions, how-to manuals, recipes, maps, yellow pages ... which meant that I could figure out how to find out how to do what I needed to do.

After I left home, there weren't many choices when something needed doing; figure it out on my own, get a library book about it, ask someone to show me how to do it, or pay someone else to do it.  And it didn't take long to realize that paying someone else to do it was, in most cases, not an option for me.  I didn't have much money  -  hardly any a lot of the time  -  so either I managed to do whatever it was for myself, or it didn't happen.

There were things nobody ever taught me that I wish they had.  For example, though Mom taught me how to use the sewing machine, I had to figure out for myself how to keep it operating properly.  And while Dad taught me how to use a plunger to unclog a toilet, he never showed me how to replace the float or the flapper valve.  And oddly enough, I was never encouraged to improvise, to use what was available instead of just heading to the hardware store.  So while people might laugh at my early attempts at DIY home repairs, some of them worked pretty well, thank you ...

I have replaced a broken flapper assembly in a toilet with a canning jar lid and a paper clip chain, and replaced a dead float ball and arm with a bent coat hanger, a plastic peanut butter jar, and a bit of modeling clay.  I've built bookcases out of discarded pallets and carefully straightened salvaged nails.  A hairpin is a quick stand-in for a broken cotter pin, and broken cabinet hinges can be replaced with a piece of a worn-out leather belt and some carpet tacks.  I've used two coat hooks to put up a curtain rod cut down from a broken broom handle, and I've used duct tape and cut-up kitchen sponges to replace a fridge gasket.

I've also learned to take advantage of the unexpected ... when a friend presented me with twenty pounds of fresh peaches that wouldn't even fit in my fridge, never mind my teeny-tiny shoebox freezer, I got a library book and some boxes of yard-sale canning jars, borrowed a stockpot, and taught myself to can fruit.  When I was given a wringer washer and a fifty-foot extension cord, I strung the cord back and forth across my little back porch and used it for a clothesline.  The washer lived on the porch, too  -  I filled it with buckets of water hauled from the kitchen sink, and led the drain hose into the storm drain at the bottom of the stairs.  My neighbours thought I was more than a little odd, but I was happy not to be feeding money into the laundromat machines any more.

My mother still doesn't understand why, even though I can now afford to pay to have things done, I still prefer to do them myself.  Maybe it's because she's never had to worry about money the way I have; she never had to choose between feeding the kids and taking the bus instead of walking, she never had to use the washroom at the corner gas station for a week until payday because there was no money for toilet paper.  I don't think she's ever set foot inside a thrift store in her life, or gone to a yard sale or a swap meet, or bought anything from the "day-old" bakery rack.

As strange as it might sound, I don't envy her that financial security.  Yes, being poor can be hard, and yes, it can mean not having a lot of the things other people take for granted.  But it's given me skills and self-awareness and pride in what I've managed to accomplish.  It's given me self-sufficiency, and survival skills, and a deep appreciation for what I do have.

Most of all, it's given me the peace of mind that comes from knowing that no matter what the future may hold, I can deal with it. 

What's In A Name?

People often comment on the way we choose to live, and some of them apparently feel compelled to label us.  I don't know, maybe the labels they use make them think they understand us.  But I got to thinking today about all those labels and whether or not they really fit us ...

My family sometimes laughingly call me "Farmer Kate".  That's okay with me.  We do plant a new fruit or nut tree every year, we do try to put in a fairly good vegetable and herb garden every spring, and I do freeze, can, or dry everything I can save from the squirrels, raccoons, and assorted birds  -  who all seem to think we're growing the stuff just for them.  I like knowing where my food came from and what's in it, and I believe in "eating locally" whenever possible  -  and it doesn't get any more local than my own back yard!  I'm not quite ready for chickens or goats yet, though.

Big Guy and the girls call me the "Recycling Police".  True, most of the time.  I confess I have been known to pluck an empty toilet roll or shampoo bottle back out of the wastebasket and shake it at the offender while yelling "Blue box, dammit!"  I will also make Big Guy put something back when we're shopping if I think it's over-packaged, or if the packaging is not completely recyclable.  I make sure everyone's lunches are in reusuable containers, in insulated cloth bags, and include our own non-disposable cutlery and stainless steel water bottles or thermoses.  I even bring home my banana peels (for the compost) and apple cores (for the guinea pigs).  I'm proud of the fact that between our buying habits, the compost, the recycling bin (our city recycling program is very good), the plastic-bag-recycling bin at the local Safeway, and the wood stoves, we produce less trash for the landfill than anyone else we know.

We've been called cheap, miserly, penny-pinchers, and tightwads.  Possibly true  -  but words that all have negative connotations.  I prefer to be known as frugal, thrifty, or economical.  Our financial resources are our own business, as are our financial decisions and practices.  Those decisions, those practices, are what got us through a very difficult year; I was unemployed from September 1st 2009 to October 4th 2010, and Big Guy from December 15th 2009 through to two weeks ago. And in all that time we did not go hungry, we paid all the bills on time, we paid the mortgage and property taxes on time, we didn't go without anything we needed, we replaced the entire roof, and we continued paying down our line of credit.

We've been called "survivalists".  Not true.  Yes, we have guns  -  because he hunts  -  not for sport, but to fill the freezer with meat that's cleaner (we butcher and wrap it ourselves), leaner, additive-free, and healthier.  What we don't have, and never will, is any kind of hand gun.  Yes, we have kerosene lamps  -  most are antiques collected over the decades, all are kept clean and filled, and do they ever come in handy during power outages!  Yes, we heat the main floor and workshop with wood stoves  -  why not, when the fuel is free?  And we stay warm during winter power outages, and can also cook on them if necessary.  Yes, I have a treadle sewing machine that I keep in good working order.  For years it was the only sewing machine I had, and I clothed two small daughters and innumerable dolls with it.

We've been called "odd" because there are some things we refuse to have in the house, and some things we have but very rarely use.  We will never have a dishwasher, electric can opener, electric pasta maker, electric frypan or griddle, air conditioning, carpet shampooer, or plug-in air fresheners.  The juicer, rice cooker, electric kettle, electric waffle iron, and electric carving knife are J's and will go with her when she moves out (she's a practical little cookie and has been gradually collecting everything she'll want in her own place).  And I'll probably give her the vacuum cleaner since our floors here are all hardwood.

Don't get me wrong (as some have done)  -  I'm not anti-appliance.  I love my fancy sewing machine and my serger, I really wouldn't want to go back to living without the computer or the washing machine or the coffeemaker, and I seriously crave a tabletop steam presser for my sewing room.  I do my floors with a steam mop (yes, bought on sale with a discount coupon!) and I have a toaster oven just for baking my polymer clay projects.  What I am against is people becoming so dependent on powered machinery to do things that they forget there was ever any other way.  It saddens me to realize that I know people who literally don't know how to sweep a floor, wash a sink full of dishes, darn a sock, or use a hand-crank can opener or eggbeater.

We know we'll probably never be one hundred percent self-sufficient.  But we're going to get as close as we can  -  not because we're survivalists, but because we're survivors.  We've both been poor, we've both been hungry, we've both been homeless.  And we both believe that the more we can do for ourselves, the less dependent we are on the good will or expensive skills of others.  We know that the less money we have to shell out to the power company or mechanic or plumber or dry cleaner, the more we can keep in our pockets or use for other things.  Things that are more important to use than the momentary convenience of, say, an electric can opener.