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Most of us fantasize about leaving the worries and cares of civilization one day and escaping to a cabin in the wilderness. Sounds so sexy doesn’t it?

The tiny Appalachian town of 1,199 people that is closest to us— about 20 minutes away—does not have a grocery store, a coffee shop, pizza place, or a laundromat. When we take a rare venture to “town”—everytime—the locals look at our little green Fiat 500 like it’s a spaceship from Mars, listen to our accent and “fancy” words, and they remark, “You all are not from around here, are ya?” When we tell them where we live, they shake their heads and drawl, “Well, land’s sake, I reckon you do live here—and in the ‘sticks’ to boot!”

It’s hard to believe places still exist like this. Think Mayberry meets Duck Dynasty. Now don’t get me wrong, there is a lot to be said about Appalachian Americana. And believe me, I will be doing so in the days and years to come.

But today, I thought it might be entertaining to recount a few of the things we have taken for granted as we live out here in the wild.

1. Water. Or as they say out here in the sticks “running water”. We have none at the one-room cabin we just built and only a water hose to the thirty foot RV that has been our home since April 1st.

We don’t really take enough time to consider the gift of running water. It’s one of those things like breathing. You just always have it. Simple luxuries like washing your face in the morning, grabbing a drink when you’re thirsty, brushing your teeth, having a cup of coffee, and taking a shower are highly underrated. Speaking of showers…

2) Showers. For the first months, not only was our only water from a garden hose, there was no way to heat the water. The water heater in the RV did not work. Therefore, no showers. We would heat water up in our pasta pot on the tiny propane stove and use a washcloth to bathe. I finally found a shower that worked with a propane tank and water hose. But you can only use it outside. Sounds romantic, doesn’t it? An outdoor shower in the wild.

Think all sorts of biting insects attacking previously virgin territory, cold weather, snakes, and poison ivy. Did I mention snakes?

3.) Laundry. Add it up people. No laundromats, no water neither hot nor cold, no clothes washer or dryer, nor room for them. We finally borrowed a trailer from a neighbor down the road a mile or so, and purchased a used washer for $189 at a dubious establishment. We situated it behind the RV, unhooked our only water hose from said RV and hooked it to the clothes washer, electrified it by a crocheted tangle of extension cords of various sizes and colors, hung the drain hose over the back fender of the RV, and covered it when not in use with a big royal blue tarp. And we strung a clothes line between two trees.

Whereupon the clothes washer promptly quit working.

We finally found a greasy “repairman” in town at an even more dubious establishment that was willing to make house calls to the sticks. “You live where?” He replaced a one-inch metal part with a plastic one in three minutes and handed us a slime covered bill for $217. Needless to say this elicited a few choice words from deep within my soul. He was the first person I ordered to get off my property. He did.

The washer still does not work properly. But it gets the job done.

The clothes line works fine, except of course when it rains, which usually happens just as the clothes are dry. And did I mention the ticks?

4.) Bathroom facilities. Through a creation worthy of the Apollo 13 Nasa team, we finally arranged a mishmash of duct tape, an old dryer hose found in the barn, and pvc pipe. We ran it to an open hole in the ground that someone said was an old septic tank (it lies uncovered to this day). We won’t talk about what we did B.T. (before toilet).

But alas, because of the mishmash pathway downhill to the septic tank, we dare not deposit toilet paper in the micro-mini RV toilet. You really haven’t really lived until you delicately place used toilet paper into a ziplock bag, trying not to look.

Now that we live in the cabin, a sudden urge necessitates a frantic trip down a mountain trail to the RV via our open air Honda side-by-side. This is especially exciting in the mud during a downpour—what they call gullywashers in these parts.

Fortunately a simple #1 call of nature can be alleviated off the side of the eight foot high deck at any time. Well, by me at least. We purchased a chamberpot for Gina to utilize should nature call at night. Yep, a chamberpot. Ever used one?

Sound sexy to you? It’s definitely not for the faint of heart, and if there really is a heaven, Gina deserves a mansion worthy of Donald Trump.

Come see us sometime!