Clear water

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

I grew up in the heart of the city. There was not even any space between the houses. Our front yard was a cement sidewalk, and our backyard was made of flagstones lined with board fencing, but there were many places to explore. 

Our parents often led us out into the city, usually on early weekend mornings when traffic was at a minimum. We would head off on our bicycles, sometimes pedaling uptown, other times down, and almost always along the rivers that flowed on either side of the city.

I remember pedaling past the fish market at the lower end of the island. The fishiest of fish smells still bring me smiles. In the business district, where we pedaled along narrow streets between tall buildings with not a person was sight, I imagined that we inhabited a city where all the people had curiously moved away. 

Then we would turn a corner, and I would once again see someone hurrying down a sidewalk. And when we reached the southernmost end of the city, where the rivers flowed into the sound that led out to the ocean, we would get off of our bikes, lean on the metal railing, breathe in the salt air, and stand still, watching the birds, the ships, and the water. I felt as though I could have stood at that railing forever. 

The water seemed magic, and as we stood there and watched, our father would tell us stories about everything we could see, as well as everyone who had stood there before us, explorers, native peoples, settlers, and revolutionaries. I remember his words ebbing and flowing with the currents and tide.

So, I suppose that I have always loved the water.  When Greg and I were looking for land after our own children had grown, we saw many beautiful properties, but most had no water, and those that did had no more that a than a small stream that looked as though it would often run dry. We continued our search for several years, until one late winter day we set foot in the creek valley. We walked the length of the creek, and up and down the hillsides. 

At the end of the day, we sat down beside a beautiful, deep water hole, the woods at our backs. We were quiet. We dared not talk of the certain feeling that this valley would become our home, but we did, and what a perfect home the valley has become.

We now live off-grid, not because it was part of our dream, but because the nearest grid tied electric lines are over a mile away. “You have no air conditioning?” friends and family often ask. We do not, though we recently added a solar-powered mini-split to the cabin. I can turn it on for an hour and it wonderfully cools down or heats up the inside of our small home. We  used it maybe four times this past summer on particularly hot evenings, and this fall, when I wake up to make our coffee on a chilly morning, it warms up the cabin lickity-split. We always put off lighting that first fire for as long as we can.

During the summer, we enjoy the wonder of the valley’s natural air conditioning. Hot air rises and cold air sinks, and every summer evening cool air flows between the trees and down the valley hillsides to cool our world. And if we are particularly hot, we simply stop whatever we are doing and head down to the creek water’s edge. We have learned that cool feet quickly lead to a cool self. All we need to do is sit on a rock beside the water, take off our shoes and socks, and stretch our legs out into the water. 

And on a chilly fall day, not yet having lit that first fire in the wood stove, all we need to do to get warm, is head out to a recently fallen tree and cut it into firewood. In no time our stack of firewood had grown taller and we have taken off our jackets. Then, quite warm, we’ll head down to the creek simply for the joy of strolling through a late fall day.

The creek is so beautiful. The water sparkles in the sunshine and runs clear over the rocks. Its clear water carries me back to standing at the railing beside my father.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.