We spent the summer living in a tipi and I turned it into a beautiful home, of such that a friend's mom, upon visiting remarked, "this is the most beautiful tipi I've seen since Woodstock!"
We rose with the weather, ate our meals outside, and spent hours going up and down, up and down the 600 foot rows. In late Spring I sat awkwardly on my heels, willing my hips to open, my heels to drop flat to the ground- babies can squat easy as can be; then once humans start walking we forget to squat. By end of summer I could squat easily, resting on my haunches as I planted fall seedlings.
We lived without a phone, electricity or refrigeration.
At night a little mouse would scamper along the edges of the tipi's skirt picking up morsels we'd dropped.
On our one free afternoon off I sat on the wool rug and cut scraps from magazines to make a little zine- it was my life line to a world bigger than the one I was currently inhabiting.
It's the season of my arrival on the island. Spring.