I only have a few hours left here. I spent the entire day preparing for my departure. The change resembles going from heaven to earth, without the actual dying, which we believe is done in reverse order. This transition does, however, include some grieving and cultural shock.

Leaving my “cabin life” to return to my “real life” involves a paradigm shift. After weeks of rising with the songs of the phoebe and mourning dove, taking a walk up the hill for my lake vista and weather check, then preparing blueberry pancakes for one will change, literally overnight.  My self-designed hermitage will be catapulted out of the woods into a world of human busyness.

I’ve been alone on this end of the lake all day. Not a peep nor sighting of one single human. Where are all those beings that usually cast a line or hold an afternoon pontoon party? I took a break from closing down to put on my swim flippers and pull the large inner tube over my body for my afternoon float. I shoved off into the cool, very refreshing waves, arms draped over the tube, head resting on the hot, black rubber. I slowly sank into the depths, feeling the temperature layers of the lake, warm on top to the cold at my feet. An hour later, I had finished my circle from shore, to crossing the lake, to the grass island and back. A hermit? For a moment. [Jan’s mom Phyllis demonstrating tube floating –>]

Along my floats, I pass purple pickerel weeds, white and yellow lilies, underwater seaweeds and make ripples through the reflections of clouds and forest. I personally reflect on the past weeks, living on my own, but not alone. I intentionally invited those that like this sort of living, at least for a few days. They came with their menus, their swim suits and their desire to “leave the real world” for a respite.  There it is again – the word, real.

One departing cousin wanted to know how I did it? Stay “way out here” all alone.  

Perhaps it is the long, uneven lane that gives the impression that I am at the end of the world. Late last night, when I returned from having supper with my newest amigos, Ana and Roberto, I could understand the concept. The roads change from highway, to a curvaceous passage constructed during the Civil War, to ever narrowing woods roads, then gravel to my two-track lane. Not one other car in the black of night, birches bowing overhead creating a dark tunnel and Siri long since having disappeared off the map. Ok. It did feel remote.

This occasionally occurs to me, but I learned to treasure the alone time, perhaps taught to me by my father. He and I used to sit on the shoreline in the evening, like this one, when shadows drew down across the lake, sending golden sunlight up to the tops of the trees on the opposite bank. Like now, the lake would lose the incoming waves and flatten out into a mirror image of sky and forests. We quietly sat, soaking in the sound of our own breathing.

Perhaps enjoying solitude is a learned trait. Alone, I pay attention. I pump water, watch my pail fill and take a dipper sip of this cold drink directly from the well. In the kitchen, I pour a portion into my grandmother’s tea kettle and heat the dish water. Bubbles rise from the first basin and then steam from the rinse basin before the plates are placed in the drying rack by the open window. Job done. 

I equally yearn for people to join me. The sounds of kids jumping off the dock, laughter when someone beats you at Five Crowns, and the dinner bell calling the hungry to try some naan and humus with a side of crockpot pork is welcome between woodland chattering. I enjoy a jaunt to the thrift store or Tuesday evening concert in the park. There is a balance. It is good to be sought out for the unique moments of serenity yet, camaraderie.

Therefore, I present the term: Gregarious Hermit. It infers two sides of the proverbial coin. It encompasses both genders and does not infer a specific age, unlike Crone. Crone has updated its definition since my cabin’s 1967 Webster’s 7^th edition dictionary of a “withered old woman” or “hag” of meanings past. Today’s updated explanation gives us:  “Crone comes from crown, indicating wisdom emanating from the head; hag comes from hagio meaning holy; and witch comes from wit meaning wise.” I can live with that.

My location in the woods was “heaven on earth” for my father. Others find the quiet and perceived remoteness unnerving. And yet others do not have access to these places and moments, never connecting to nature. Remember my new friend, Ana? She is actively involved in offering programs to students for “out-of-doors” experiences otherwise unavailable to them. (Click on short video below)

I was raised with the juxta-position of protecting the flora, fauna while gently sharing the beauty with folks in a world of vanishing tranquility. “God isn’t making any more shoreline” means one thing to developers and another to environmentalists. As a Gregarious Hermit, I endeavor to be a respectful inhabitant among the critters and plants dependent on nature. We are, after all, connected in the web that makes up our “real” life. 

Today is a good day to take a walk where you can hear yourself breathe. Or, find a Gregarious Hermit and share a piece of peace..