So Yeah. I may as well admit it.
My wife and I are Hippies.
I remember a few years back when a friend of ours told us we were hippies, I was quite surprised. Not surprised that we were hippies, but surprised that our friend had figured it out.
Looking back though, I'd have to say the signs were always there. I had back issues of "Mother Earth News" squirrled away in a box somewhere, and we did home school all four of our kids. We've made cheese, sprouted beans, milked goats (And luuurved the milk!),made yogurt and tofu, and canned jams, jellies, and Tomatoes. The thing is though, we haven't done any of it consistently.
It was the sort of thing I thought everyone did. You know; experimenting. Trying new stuff. Learning how to do things instead of always needing someone to do them for us. Once we learned how to do something well, we usually stopped doing it. I mean, the point was learning how. That way, we knew if we ever absolutely had to, we could.
And so, came the shock that these things labeled me a pot smoking, (never touched the stuff, although hemp sounds like a pretty cool plant) peace and love, back to the land, ponytail down to middle of my tie dyed shirt, anti-everything, greasy haired hippy.
I'll admit, there was a time that I wanted nothing better than to own a few acres, grow some food, and be surrounded by nature (back when I bought all those magazines...) But the reality was that I needed to work, and then take care of a wife, and then take care of children/car/mortgage/friendly neighborhood banker etc. Then one day, the kids were grown, and suddenly we didn't need as much stuff. The house was too big, we only needed one car, and for the first time I noticed that the friendly banker was getting way too much of my money.
I was actually a bit excited at the prospect of selling the house, paying some debts, and perhaps being a bit more fiscally responsible.
Of course, my banker was ready for me...
"WHAT? But Bob, you don't have a plan. Most people your age are well on their way to a secure retirement. You have no RRSPs, no investments. You don't even have critical illness insurance. If you die, or even worse, if you LIVE through something like cancer, who will take care of you and your wife..."
The conversation went on a lot longer, and by the end, I felt like an irresponsible
heel. Why oh why had we spent all our money making sure our children had a happy if somewhat materially deprived childhood. If I had only worked sixty hours a week instead of the thirty which allowed me the freedom to teach my own children how to read. If only I had spent long nights in the office instead of playing with my kids. If only I had studied on the weekends, to get a better degree, I would have enjoyed a higher paying job all those years.
But no. Stupid old me spent all those weekends volunteering with my wife and children
and at the beach, and camping, and fixing stuff, and growing a garden.
I had to face the facts. I had been a selfish bastard all those years. A selfish bastard who didn't think of the future. A selfish bastard, doomed in old age to eat cat food on dry toast until his desiccated body is discovered shriveled up in a dank hovel after spring thaw...
Then I got suspicious.
At a time in my life when I could finally wind down my dependence on loans and credit, I was being told that I better use even MORE financial products. What they didn't mention was that as my retirement fund grew, so would the banks profit-and here's the kicker-they would continue to profit until I died, and maybe even after.
Suddenly, my banker didn't seem so friendly anymore.
He did have a point though.
"Who will take care of you..."
I guess I'll have to.
The first step will be to buy some land and grow some vegetables...
This blog is about our journey to a zero carbon, sustainable, low income retirement. One achieved without RRSPs, mortgages, and as little debt as possible.
As far as retirement plans go, this Hippy Dippy one appeals to me much more.
And so, enter the Hippy.
A little older. A little wiser. A little more independent.
Now...Where did I put that box of magazines?...
