Shevik is a friend of mine from New York City. About thirty-five years ago, he came here to the Wisconsin wilds to join with a group of us latter-day Natives in a hunter-gatherer inspired community I founded that was called Coldfoot Creek. After a few months, the excitement of the new lifestyle wore off and Shevik expressed a desire to go home. “When I left to come here,” Shevik told me, “my aunt said that you can take Shevik out of New York, but you can’t take the New York out of Shevik. Now I know what she meant.”
Since then, I’ve seen many people come and go, all essentially with the same story. They did the research and found the locations that they thought were best suited for rewilding. Whether it was Hawaii, Puerto Rico, Montana, Alaska, Wisconsin, Maine, or Colorado, the story was nearly always the same: they wanted an expanse of wild land with clean air, clean water, and abundance of animals to hunt and fish to catch. They were sure that once they got settled into utopia, people would come flocking to join them.
However, in virtually every case, either no-one came or those who did must have had aunts like Shevik’s. The few pioneers who survived did so by at least partially merging with the local backwoods culture and settling for nuclear family existence. A few became seasonal residents, gaining their primary sustenance outside the area.
Why do such beautiful dreams bring such dismal results? It’s simply because it takes more than dreams to change who we’ve come to be. We can become proficient at a broad range of primitive survival skills—enough to theoretically sustain ourselves—and still we fail. We can find physical comfort, yet we cannot feel at home. We might be able to nourish our bodies, but we fall short of nourishing our hearts. Dreams can only carry us so long, with the average time being three to four months. Those few who stick it out longer run on sheer determination. Some people stick it out longer out of sheer determination, yet they too succumb.
The answer? That’s easy. It’s putting it to practice that scares the heck out of everybody. The bottom line is that it’s not what we do, but what we become. Forget the primitive skills workshops, the field guides, and the equipment. Instead, listen. The birds, the waters, and the trees will tell you how to be.
Hi there,
I visited Coldfoot Creek in the summer of 1983, when I was 21. At the time there was only one resident, who bred messenger pigeons. I am curious what happened there subsequently…I am assuming that resident was not you, under a different name? Is the land the same land that became Teaching Drum Outdoor School? You can respond directly to my email address if you’d like with further details. It would be great to hear from you!
Thanks,
Chris
Tamarack,
I offer my gratitude to you for sharing these insights and I thank spirits for once again allowing them to find me at such a point in journey. I have returned to my home state for good I feel to be closer to my daughter who I see much more regularly though a part of my intrinsic self still yearns for my primitive camp and life in vermont. Though it was just a few hours ago that while I watched a lone beaver pull his breakfast to his lodge and a group of wrens quite displeased with a pileated who came to find a morning treat in their territory and sat by the pond listening to the song of the wind that I came to a vey similar conclusion, at least for myself. I can ideal, fantasize even live the lifestyle I desire for a time being but the true nature of oneself will always shine back through. Haha. Thanks tamarack, hoping to see you and all at the teaching drum hopefully in the near future.
Nate (bluejay winds)
Greetings Nate,
Thanks for the kind words. And for the news—it’s good to hear how you come to clarity about where you need to be. And I always enjoy your nature stories. I’m sure you had many other beautiful experiences in your camp.
Please remember that you’re always welcome here, whenever it works for you.
A hug to you,
Tamarack