Natural Livin'

It's been a week since we went to the Natural Living Fair, but it must not have rubbed off on me because I've spent every day since then being a lawyer. Which, for me, is not very natural. But it does help pay for our support of local, sustainable agriculture and green household cleaning products and the energy efficient (and, not coincidentally, vitally important to my well being) storm windows we are still looking for someone to install. Not only is it not easy being green, it's not cheap either.

It is, however, a nice way to spend our dedicated one weekend day per week exploring our new environs. On other weekends, we've driven to neighboring Weaverville to sit at a lovely bakery/cafe that was undoubtedly nicer than the Starbucks The Boy favored in Long Beach or kind of scuzzy but reputedly hip Insomnia in our our former haunts of West Hollywood. Still, sipping a decaf hazelnut latte and working my way through a chocolate chip macaroon so rich I wasn't hungry for three days doesn't exactly count as authentic hillbilly living.

Then there was our Sunday foray to Mars Hill, home of Mars Hill College. Established in 1858, Mars Hill College appears to uphold a fine tradition of closing everything on Sundays. Everything. College library? Check. Dining hall? Check. Dorms? Check. Quaint stores on Main Street not owned by the College? Check, check, and check. The single exception was a soccer match we watched for about fifteen minutes because there was a small square of shade in the stands and it was really hot out and, as I might have mentioned, everything in Mars Hill was closed. Aside from the players on the field, there wasn't a student to be seen anywhere in town. Where do they go? Do they work in the fields or carve their corncob pipes on Sundays? Or does the answer to this mystery lie somewhere in the website's mention of the school's Baptist tradition?

Last weekend our exploration led us to the Natural Living Fair in Mills River. Who could resist an event billed as "a celebration of sustainable living in the southern Appalachians"? Certainly not us. Hubby pulled on his Birkenstocks, I gulped down a breakfast of organic oats and almond milk, and we loaded The Boy into our reasonably gas-conscious Honda CRV.

Soon we were headed down the winding road toward Deefields retreat, lined up behind a Subaru Outback and a Honda Pilot. Plainly we fit the target demographic of the Natural Living Fair -- people who really want to save the environment but also really want that extra cargo space and so purchase a crossover while apologetically telling all their friends that it's not an SUV.

We parked in a dusty sort-of field and marveled at the clear, warm skies. September was drawing to a close and I could still wear open-toed shoes. This California girl was feeling good and open to a sustainable living adventure.

The adventurer in me wavered a bit at the sight of the meager array of activities set in a straggling line on the grounds that reminded me of the dusty faded-ness of my long-ago summers at Camp Kennolyn. A group of children galloped by bearing the unmistakable signs of homeschooling: longish hair, sturdy shoes, and clothing that their mothers only hoped they would wear unself-consciously for the rest of their lives. No, that boy in the tie-died tee-shirt and shiny black stretch pants tucked into white socks will one day rebel with all the fury of a fourteen-year-old boy. Puberty, as we all know, happens whether you are home schooled or not.

We opted to pass up the lecture on building your own greenhouse, although the couple buying tickets in front of us seemed quite eager to ensure that the whole thing hadn't been built during the Saturday lecture. Instead, we headed for the vendors because what could be better than living sustainably but still getting to buy stuff?

The best stuff to buy, apparently, if you are live in the Asheville area and are into natural living but aren't really doing it, are drums. The drum vendor was, in fact, doing a cracking business. Excuse me, a thumping business. Everywhere we went, smallish men with shaggy hair and Birkenstocks were comparing their shiny new drums with shy, happy smiles. I tried to picture our neighbors setting up a drum circle in the middle of the street one Friday night and couldn't quite do it. While there are undoubtedly some happening drum circles in Asheville, we just don't live in that world. But I'm happy to know it exists.

What we are also unlikely to see on our block, even with its rich history of chicken farming, are goats. And, because The Boy is unlikely to see goats on our block, encountering them at the Natural Living Fair was worth the price of admission.

He perused them carefully with that fat-cheeked scowl of concentration he gets when pushing buttons on the Tivo remote and fast-forwarding the show I'm trying to watch or grabbing the pink Razr phone he covets from my hands as I call the West Coast. Four legs, fur, he seemed to be thinking. Yet somehow not dog. His mouth worked with the temptation to say his favorite word, but he resisted the urge. He didn't know what to call these things, but they sure were interesting. Until we pulled out a camera and the goats were forgotten in his eagerness to pose with that big, two-toothed grin we love so much. At least we have pictures of him with goats in the background.

The goats were definitely the high point. A lot better than the garbled, PC puppet show where a yellow space creature traveled to India to make fun of western notions of yoga and say a bunch of Hindi words that no one in the audience was likely to remember if they didn't already know them. (The term "preaching to the choir" comes to mind.) Definitely more interesting than the hopeful collection of food stands -- except that one from Greenlife, where Hubby got a decent brautwurst but, sadly, couldn't buy a beer. (Beer, it turns out, is perfectly natural but a big pain if you are getting permits for a natural living fair.) Of course, we didn't have to drive out to Mills River to buy food from Greenlife, since it's a 10-minute walk from our house. And while Hubby and I thought it was pretty fun to dance with The Boy to the bluegrass band, he didn't find it nearly as hilarious as we did and looked kind of dizzy and bored.

Still, we spent a lovely couple of hours outdoors, and I did learn a thing or two. I learned that I will never home school The Boy, not that it was ever a consideration to begin with. I learned that I'm not all that interested in owning my own drum or in socializing with people who do. And I learned that the Port-a-Potties at natural living fairs are pretty much the same as they are everywhere else, except maybe a little bit cleaner, which was nice.

So does this mean that I am destined to live unnaturally? Maybe. Or maybe we all do what we can and just strive to do better. Honestly, it feels pretty good to live someplace where people care about these things. Because I do care, and that must be worth something.