It was September 1980 and Linda had just made the most fearsome commitment of her young life. She had been dating me for about 7 months when I asked her to marry me. She hadn’t said yes right away, but after 3 weeks of consideration (the longest of my life), fasting, and prayer, she finally received Heaven’s witness that she could condescend to marry me.
That decision was a leap into the unknown. She had just taken the terrible risk of committing herself for the rest of her existence to an unproven neophyte. As we transitioned from our courtship to the beginning of our betrothal we made a pact to stop spending money on dates and reroute our finite funds to buy second-hand canning jars, fresh fruit (which was more abundant and less expensive in those days) to preserve in them, and staples such as wheat, powdered milk, rice, flour, and beans. During much of that autumn our “dates” became evening canning sessions, after homework was done, where we'd sit together in a steamy kitchen with peach juice dripping off our elbows as we peeled the blanched fruit and slipped the glistening golden hemispheres into bright bottles.
As we worked together we talked of deep things; we laughed and planned, we dreamed and hoped, we grew close and got to know each other, and we “laid-up” far more than simply peaches, tomato salsa, and applesauce. We cemented a partnership and a bond that has continued for nearly 33 years. In addition, the food we acquired and stored during our engagement became a key to successfully navigating the penury of that first challenging year of our marriage when our pay was irregular, uncertain, and sadly small.
We made wheat bread with hand-ground flour from the wheat we bought. We ate cracked wheat cereal for breakfast with reconstituted powdered milk poured over it. We took sandwiches made with homemade bread to school for lunch, and had beans and rice for dinner. We spent a bare minimum at the grocery store and yet lived abundantly though our income put us far below the poverty line of the time.
That prosaic pact to be provident began a pattern that has persisted throughout our marriage. We've planted gardens and learned to make our own clothing, cheese, yogurt, all manner of baked goods, and home-made meals. We’ve learned to paint walls, fix plumbing, make electrical repairs, and dozens of other skills required to maintain a household. As children came along we taught them these skills (just as we were taught by our own parents) and now our adult children are carrying on the provident living in their own families.
Provident living is one of the keys to living lightly, responsibly, and joyfully for the few years given to us on this spinning orb we share with 7 billion of our brothers and sisters. It may seem inefficient or unproductive --someone told me it sounded un-American--to make things ourselves. After all, the labor of just a few people lacks the economy of scale that big operations can achieve, but working together as a family to raise, store, and eat our own food has drawn us closer together and created unity, and yes even pleasure, that neither diversion nor hedonism could ever create.
We went on to get education and training which enabled us to make a fine living, but we have never lost sight of our frugal roots, and now that we have come full-cycle and returned to penury (though this time by design since I expect we'll live another 40 years together in "retirement") we are finding increased fulfillment in living below our means.
That decision was a leap into the unknown. She had just taken the terrible risk of committing herself for the rest of her existence to an unproven neophyte. As we transitioned from our courtship to the beginning of our betrothal we made a pact to stop spending money on dates and reroute our finite funds to buy second-hand canning jars, fresh fruit (which was more abundant and less expensive in those days) to preserve in them, and staples such as wheat, powdered milk, rice, flour, and beans. During much of that autumn our “dates” became evening canning sessions, after homework was done, where we'd sit together in a steamy kitchen with peach juice dripping off our elbows as we peeled the blanched fruit and slipped the glistening golden hemispheres into bright bottles.
As we worked together we talked of deep things; we laughed and planned, we dreamed and hoped, we grew close and got to know each other, and we “laid-up” far more than simply peaches, tomato salsa, and applesauce. We cemented a partnership and a bond that has continued for nearly 33 years. In addition, the food we acquired and stored during our engagement became a key to successfully navigating the penury of that first challenging year of our marriage when our pay was irregular, uncertain, and sadly small.
We made wheat bread with hand-ground flour from the wheat we bought. We ate cracked wheat cereal for breakfast with reconstituted powdered milk poured over it. We took sandwiches made with homemade bread to school for lunch, and had beans and rice for dinner. We spent a bare minimum at the grocery store and yet lived abundantly though our income put us far below the poverty line of the time.
That prosaic pact to be provident began a pattern that has persisted throughout our marriage. We've planted gardens and learned to make our own clothing, cheese, yogurt, all manner of baked goods, and home-made meals. We’ve learned to paint walls, fix plumbing, make electrical repairs, and dozens of other skills required to maintain a household. As children came along we taught them these skills (just as we were taught by our own parents) and now our adult children are carrying on the provident living in their own families.
Provident living is one of the keys to living lightly, responsibly, and joyfully for the few years given to us on this spinning orb we share with 7 billion of our brothers and sisters. It may seem inefficient or unproductive --someone told me it sounded un-American--to make things ourselves. After all, the labor of just a few people lacks the economy of scale that big operations can achieve, but working together as a family to raise, store, and eat our own food has drawn us closer together and created unity, and yes even pleasure, that neither diversion nor hedonism could ever create.
We went on to get education and training which enabled us to make a fine living, but we have never lost sight of our frugal roots, and now that we have come full-cycle and returned to penury (though this time by design since I expect we'll live another 40 years together in "retirement") we are finding increased fulfillment in living below our means.
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