Being Weird
Wild Plants, Outhouses, and Silence.
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My ‘normal’ has changed, and it’s made me a bit … weird. It’s not something at the forefront of my mind; however, spending summer days among people and friends reminds me that I live differently. I’ve become accustomed to some odd things. Things you wouldn’t typically think about. Some are glaring while others are quite subtle.
Picking the Weeds
While at a gathering last weekend, I found myself getting overwhelmed. Lots of people and noise aren’t my usual, and though outwardly I’m fine, inwardly I’m having a bit of a freak-out. As I stood talking with new friends, one of their kids asked me if I wanted to see the sandbox where they play with their monster trucks. Naturally, since I love monster trucks, I was happy to check it out.
The youngster led me to their backyard. As we went, we trod past a familiar ally, Wild Chamomile. I picked a few flowers, gave them a sniff (they smell like pineapple), and relaxed a little as he explained his sandbox mine site to me. He went on to talk about a trip he’d been on with his parents when I noticed my favourite plant pal growing in the sandbox. Lambsquarters.
Everywhere I go, I find myself picking through my friends’ yards, drawn to the wild plants growing around them. I can’t help but notice the “weeds”. Most people see them as nuisances, but to me, they’re hidden treasures. I get excited to point out what each one is and share what they’re good for, whether it’s lambsquarters as a tasty edible or wild chamomile for soothing sleep.
No Mirrors
Not having mirrors wasn’t a conscious choice at first. It was a result of living minimally, in a more camping-style way. For the first year, my only mirror was pocket-sized. Over time, it became a decision not to have mirrors hanging in clear view in my home, but I do have a big one in the barn now.
Living without my own reflection for quite a while, I found that I preferred it. There’s a quiet freedom in moving through life without a constant visual reminder of your appearance. It shifts the focus away from how you look and toward how you feel. Now, when I encounter mirrors out in the world - especially full-length ones - they feel like a novelty and remind me that outside of my world, reflections matter.
Driving
I used to be a confident driver, zipping around in my little sports car without a second thought. Though I still love driving, navigating the city and dealing with crowds has become challenging. These days, I avoid busy areas whenever I can. I thought it was just me until I talked to a few friends who also live off-grid and realized they feel the same. It frustrates me, but there’s not much I can do about it.
I’ve gotten accustomed to backroads and slow speeds. I’m more comfortable getting stuck in mud or snow than being tailgated. Out here, there’s no pressure, and honking horns are usually a friendly thing. It’s a totally different pace, and jumping back into city traffic feels jarring.
Sound
At night, the power inverter gets turned off, and my world becomes deathly quiet. When I leave the mountain and stay in hotel rooms, something as minute as the fridge wakes me up; it’s not really the sound, but the whirring of a motor is something I can feel in my chest. A few months ago, I was in the freezer section at the gas station choosing a drink when I realized the fridges were giving me a panic attack. I had to step outside, take a deep breath and collect myself.
It makes me wonder what it’s like for people who were born and raised in tribes. When they decide to leave for a while, do they experience the same thing?
They must.
The Outhouse
This is too much info, but I’m accustomed to the outhouse. No flush. When I use the facilities in town, I have to stop and check that I used that little lever. I’ve never actually forgotten (that I know of) - but what a mortifying scenario that would be. At the aforementioned gathering, there was an outhouse, which made me feel right at home.
Perfume and Chlorine
I used to look forward to going to town, staying in a hotel, and enjoying a long, hot shower. But now, my skin and hair have grown so used to chlorine-free water, washing in town throws everything off. My skin dries out, my scalp gets flaky, and it takes days to recover. These days, I still look forward to staying in a hotel, but I avoid washing if I don’t need to. It's just not worth the chaos.
I suspect that the ever-present harsh chemicals in Fort McMurray are what broke my sense of smell. Testing what I could and could not smell became a game between Curt and I. He’d hold something up, like a vegetable or candy and ask if I could smell it, and usually I couldn’t. When I moved to B.C., my sense of smell gradually returned, and with it, the harshness of perfumes became apparent.
Back when my sniffer was broken, I wore perfume, used scented lotion and all of the usual things, but now strong scents put me off. Now that I can smell again, being able to tell if someone just walked by using my nose is a really strange experience for me. The harshness of the carriers used in perfumes tingles my sinuses. I’d honestly rather smell B.O. than fake stink and toluene.
My Weird World
My version of “normal” has changed, and I’ve grown to love it. I’ve become more attuned to the rhythms of nature, finding joy in wild plants, stillness, and the simple routines that shape my days. Things like driving in traffic, using indoor plumbing, or glancing in a mirror now feel foreign, sometimes even overwhelming.
I’m soothed by the scent of wild chamomile and put off by perfume. While these changes may seem strange to others, they’ve brought me a sense of presence and connectedness. If you’ve ever felt the pull to slow down, simplify, or reconnect with the natural world, I recommend it. I might smell like a stinky hippie and eat the weeds, but for me, it feels real and true.
🦝
There is no place like home.