Two years ago, I decided to move to Oregon in search of adventure and solitude. I got a good dose of adventure, but the excitement of a new town, new people, and craft beer distracted me from the latter--and left me feeling rather unfulfilled (often quite unhappy) at times.

Here's to taking a step in the right direction. Yesterday I moved to a mixed use organic farm on ten acres, 15 miles outside of town. My space is tiny and spread out through multiple buildings. I will spend the next 6 months cooking on a hot plate, with water drawn 70 yards away. I will pull weeds and shovel horse shit in exchange for rent, and commute over unplowed, winding roads to my pre-dawn work in town. It's a far cry from luxurious.

But it's romantic in the purest literary sense. Quiet solace; connection to the earth; dirty, physical labor; minimalism in belongings; uncompromising natural beauty; and a chance to really get to know myself on a deeper level.

Chop wood, carry water.