Better Off_ Flipping the Switch on Technology - Eric Brende [63]
But could we stomach another trip? Our first scouting expedition had produced the meagerest of results, but we had been rather picky about what we had wanted. Perhaps we were too particular. Maybe we needed to be more fluid, more open to the unexpected. Maybe we needed to think of Gelassenheit in a new way.
My mother was aware that we were scouting out sites, and in one of her letters she suggested a spot near Topeka. My first impulse was to snicker. Apart from the fact that I had no nostalgia for my home on the range, Mary and I weren’t considering moving any farther from her part of the world than we already were.
But I had to admit we had come up with little in the East; and by an odd chance, mutual dear friends from Boston had recently relocated near the place Mom mentioned. It seemed we could combine an exploration and a reunion and appease my mother all in one fell swoop.
We threw a few pieces of luggage in the car and took off. I must have driven by the highway marker many times, but I had never had a reason to turn in. When we left the interstate, we descended upon a lush and rolling river valley. From a distance we spied the town. It sat on the opposite bank of a wide, churning river, nestled between hills and bluffs. The beautiful red brick buildings were ornate and spired, and many appeared to predate the Civil War.
As we got closer, I saw homes and businesses and public buildings all intermingled in a six-block-square area near the river. We already knew, after doing a little research, that there was an Amtrak stop and a bicycle trail on the bed of an old railroad line that had linked the town to other population centers in the state.
Peering more intently, we noticed goats and horses grazing in some tidy backyards. In the shops the people were bustling and garrulous. Traces of a German accent floated through the air from the many descendants of the original colonists, who, a brochure told us, were transplanted from Philadelphia in the 1830s. They were Germans from Pennsylvania, it seemed. But they were not Amish.
The difference was twofold. First, the major crop they raised was not corn or hay, but grapes. Second, the religious constitution was mixed and supplemented by a strong legacy from founding German “Freethinkers.” Making wine was one of the chief occupations of the citizens, and enormous caches of it were stored in a catacomb under one of the hills in town. The long-standing heritage of this place, its sense of social cohesion, appeared fairly intact. The steep hills and the wine industry helped hedge it in and focus it.
The town had a Catholic church, a massive red brick monument with antique stained glass windows, set high on a hill in the center of everything.
A real estate agent showed us a charming house in our price range (about the cost of a medium-priced recreational vehicle) at the top of the hill near the church. It had a panoramic view, and the south-facing backyard offered a workable site for a year-round garden, using cold frames and plastic tunnels. The agent, who’d lived in the area his whole life, told me he economized by cutting firewood to heat his house. And he heated the water for the town car wash solely by wood. Wooded tracts of land were available outside the town limits, and he could sell me one, he said.
And yet this place was not so anachronistic as it seemed. It was modern in its utilization of everyday technologies. It lay just outside commuting distance from a major urban area. It had, in fact, nearly all the ingredients we were seeking. My mom’s tip had not been half-bad. It was possible to picture smuggling Minimite principles into Modernity via such a place.
But there was a problem. The town had no college. What would I do for a living if not teach? Could