The Simple Lonely Quiet Country Life

The simple lonely quiet country life.

By Emily

August 15-16, 2014

On this Saturday, one year ago, we embarked on an incredible journey to Nicaragua. We like to say that we MOVED to Nicaragua, because it wasn’t just a journey or a trip, it was a change in our way of life, a new beginning, and new way of being in this world. Now we are back.

We are blessed to have lots of friends and relatives here in Decorah and it has been really great to reconnect and see them all. Some I haven’t even seen yet on a real basis….those are the lunches and walks and breakfast dates still to be made. I try not to rush it all, but take my time renewing those friendships, and valuing each one, one at a time.

And yet, as I spend my days in this old farm house, on this beautiful land we call Oneota Slopes, I find myself lonely. And I remember how we were lonely those first days in Nicaragua! How can this be? I am not lonely for my family…yet. J The girls haven’t started school yet, so Leila and Elsa are underfoot, still discovering old books and games and activities and places on the farm that we had left behind, helping with the garden, painting a bookcase, doing the chicken chores, etc. Helen is busy as a bee, renovating her little corner of the world, and going to choir and cross country practices. Andy and I are back to work, both part time, both excited to get back into our passions here in Decorah, but also happy to be on this land, with all the challenges of a farm, gardening, raising trees and animals, putting up food, etc. that come with it.

But I still feel lonely in another sense, feeling the stark change from our life in Camoapa. And I knew to expect this feeling ahead of time; I had figured that I might feel this way. In the beginning of our time in Camoapa, one of the hardest things to get used to for us was living in town, right on the street, with the constant noises of motos, buses, children, dogs and vendors passing by, and especially the random, frequent visitors that we would have. With time, we got used to it and were able to tolerate the interruptions. And of course, towards the end, we welcomed it and even made many of our own random, spontaneous visits, especially to Yessenia’s house down the street.   Boy, how I miss that home, with its smells, its noises, its food, neighborhood kids studying at the table, Padre Martin passing through for a meal, Clarita at the table or in her room, often a skype going on with Denzel and Daysha’s parents in Spain, Chila bringing out some food to someone, Daysha practicing a new dance or singing a song and perpetually giving me notes that said. “Te quiero, Doña Emeli.” (I love you Ms. Emily), and Yessenia, always with a smile and a teasing joke for us and updates on her parents’ status at the family finca.

When we first arrived back to our Decorah home, I told my friend Sara that if anyone came by to visit unannounced, I would hide in the chicken coop. And I was only half kidding. I just wasn’t ready to socialize with many people. I’m not even sure why. I was anxious I guess, scared to come back and worried that Nicaragua and my friends there would feel like a dream that I had woken up from, and just scared of slipping back into my old consuming way of life. Nordic Fest and Helen’s street performance there actually helped me break the ice in that department.   We saw many friends there and it was a great way to say a quick hi and feel a part of the community again. But also overwhelming. So after that was over, I took another deep breath and conjured up the nerve to shop at the Coop, walk down Water Street, visit the Whippy Dip, etc.

But I needn’t have worried about unexpected visitors like we had in Camoapa on a daily basis: no one has stopped by our farm house unannounced since we’ve been back. We just don’t do that in our culture anymore so I didn’t really expect it. The girls and I have joked about what it would be like if we started just randomly dropping in and hanging out our friends’ houses, with no plans or reason to be there…what would their reaction be? (We have even tried it twice so far, but our friends weren’t home). Even Pat and Paul have had the courtesy to call before they come down from their house just up the hill. Paul has often told me about his farming days when other farmers would often come over for a cup of coffee and a chat. Have those days come and gone? And why are they still present in Camoapa?

People say that we are too busy here in the States. And I agree that we are too busy and need to take more time to enjoy each day and “smell the roses”. So our family has chosen to “do less” before, but this comes with its own set of complications: working less means less money, but more time. But less money means making harder choices about car efficiency for example, or for musical lessons for the girls, or taking that long ago planned trip to Sweden to see relatives. It may also mean doing more on our own, which in the end means less time to spend with the kids, or less time to make that homemade gift or bake homemade bread. In other words less of one thing, leads to less of another, so “doing less” is not really “doing less”, it is just doing differently.

So many times we idealize the “simple life” of folks in other countries, especially poorer developing countries where life is more “tranquil”, slow and where people seem to take time to visit and help one another. One might think that we wanted to go to Nicaragua to experience this, to escape our busy life here, to have a year-long vacation where we could luxuriously immerse ourselves in another culture where we could enjoy life in a way that would never be possible here. And that is sort of true….in a way…to an extent.

First of all, we did take a lot of mini-trips/vacations to sight see in Nicaragua, but we never considered our year abroad as a vacation, or a “year off”. Andy worked full time and hard for the Hogar, often on his computer late into the night and on weekends. I was so busy with homeschooling and helping the girls with Spanish homework, that my own volunteering was only once or twice a week. Our life in Camoapa was just as busy as it was here, but in different ways. Camoapa is a busy life for others too, of every income level. There are folks always coming and going in the street, the market is always buzzing, schools are loud and rambunctious, kids always doing homework or school projects together, and the adult norm for working is a 6 day week. Towards the end, we were so busy that there were many volunteer ideas, homeschool projects, neighborhood activities, and visits to friends that we never got to do or finish. Yessenia and I never did find the time to go together to give her a tour of the Hogar. So we were busy.

Second, of all, life in Camoapa is not simple. Not for us, or anyone else there. Folks are always trying to make another buck, there is always a load of laundry to do (by hand in a pila), food is made daily from scractch with lunch as the biggest meal, there are no dish washers (unless you count the hands of the mother of the household (ama de casa). Some folks have asked us if the tradition of a “siesta” holds true in Camoapa. And the answer is no-no one we knew took a siesta during the day, not even Don Calendario, who wakes up at 430 every morning to go milk the cows on the finca. He just prefers to go to bed at night at about 600 pm instead. So times flies there just as it does here.

So if life was not quiet, tranquil or simple in Camoapa, one might think that since now we are back, we can get back to the simple, quiet country life. The sounds of the motos and horns and street vendors are replaced by the occasional rooster crow and as I sit here at the table….the ticking of the clock. It is so much quieter here (except when one of the girls is playing the piano😊). It’s even been too cold at night here for us to have many windows open so we don’t hear the coyotes very much. So yes, I agree it is quieter here.

But more simple? Not exactly. Living in the country is often idealized as “getting back to the simple life”, right? away from all the pressures of the city. But we chose to do a many time consuming things, such as heating with firewood to save energy, hanging clothes on the line, putting up food from the garden, going for walks or skis outside, star gazing at night, tending your own chickens for meat and eggs, teaching our children how to appreciate nature, keeping the house clean, getting to those long needed projects such as painting the house, pruning the orchard, fixing the water drainage in the barn, etc. etc……..Wait, what? What does all that really mean? Who has time after all that for a cup of coffee in the morning with a neighbor?

Let me tell you, life in the country here in Decorah is NOT simple. It’s time consuming, exhausting and wasteful in many ways. Of course we choose to spend our time doing all these wonderful things, and I believe that is time well spent, but I cannot call it simple or easy. And living in the country means driving a lot more. I have filled by care with gas three times already and Elsa has noticed most how much more we are in the car here…she hates riding into town because she feels carsick every trip and she misses how we could walk everywhere in Camoapa.

In the end, I’ve decided that any life just is not simple. We might think that of another culture or place or time, but I bet if we actually lived that culture or time or place, we would feel just as busy, worried or exhausted. There would be things that we would want to do, but just can’t do, because of time or money or resource restraints. And I just feel privileged that for me those choices are between things that are extras, instead of the basics, like choosing between medical and dental care.

So life is more quiet here, but not less busy or less simple. Back to my original point….life sure can be lonely. I have learned this lesson in my life before and now I see it staring me in my face once again. Even the most outgoing, busy, social person can be lonely on the inside. In the beginning of our time in Camoapa, we were not alone (ever it seemed!), and yet we felt very isolated and lonely. And then slowly, we got to know people, made friends, built connections, learned the language, and tied some pretty solid knots. And we weren’t lonely anymore! We knew that living in community is so important and our faith in humankind came through for us. And it will here too, I am sure. Our Decorah community is incredible. But out on our beautiful farm, it feels far away and I miss the closeness of our Camoapa neighborhood.

I will get used to it again I’m sure. But if you are ever of the mind to just randomly stop by someday, I promise not to hide in the chicken coop. I will greet you with a smile and maybe even a cup of coffee. And I will keep trying to stop by to make my own unexpected visits as well.