My first encounter with the broad concept of "people who want to live in the woods" came in the form of seeing people, online and in media, actually living in the woods, in one capacity or another.
As a teenager I watched Ray Mears' Bushcraft. It's a really good show that I would strongly recommend to just about anyone. Ray Mears (who in fact popularized the term "bushcraft") is a British wilderness survival/outdoorsmanship expert, and in Bushcraft he travels around the world, meeting with people who still practice some form of traditional subsistence-off-the-land, and documenting their knowledge and techniques. He shows traditional bushcraft in the Amazon, among aboriginal Australians, etc., and talks to the people who practice it about their way of life.
This show had a pretty big impact on me as a young person. I was already avidly interested in nature and the outdoors, and I had been intrigued by the concept of "wilderness survival" since watching Survivorman as a kid. There was something very appealing about the idea of placing oneself in nature with as few barriers as possible; getting to experience the natural world not just in a removed, "sightseeing" way, but in a real, engaged and "tactile" way. But what Mears presented added an additional layer of appeal: "wilderness survival" not as a chaotic fray to stay alive, but as a body of skills, refined over the centuries, which can be taught and learned. A mature art, something sophisticated and deep, in which one can become a practitioner. Something, in other words, a lot like mathematics, which I already knew that I liked, and a lot like language, which I had just recently become aware I was fascinated by. This inspired in me a much more lasting and serious interest in bushcraft. I began reading about it more seriously, and practicing as much of it as I could (not very much) in my parents' back yard.
I still count "becoming truly proficient in bushcraft" as one of my life goals, although I am not anywhere near that point yet.
A further point stressed by Ray Mears was that these traditional bushcraft techniques are a dying art. As people's lifestyles change, they are not getting passed on, and soon they may be lost. I want to stress here (because I'm on tumblr, where Big Ideas and Grand Narratives rule) that I have no desire to chastise people for living a different lifestyle than their grandparents! That's fine! I do not believe that, I don't know, the children of bushcraft experts should be forced by government decree to live in the woods or whatever. I have to make this clear, because "what should we force people to do by government decree?" seems often to be the only level at which tumblr discoursers are willing to think. What I am claiming is that this loss of knowledge is sad, it is unfortunate, and being that I and others (including most principally many of the practitioners) would not like to see these arts die out, it would be nice if they continued to be taught and learned and thereby passed on into posterity.
There need not be some kind of Decree! Maybe people just do some kind of outreach, as Mears himself did, and get more people interested in these things. Maybe, if you're an Amazonian guy or an aboriginal Australian guy, you do that outreach in a community-internal way, because your desire is principally to increase interest community-internally. I don't know; my whole point here is that I'm not really trying to get into the political dimension of this. That's not where my interests lie. Other than expressing a general sentiment that "bushcraft is cool and readers of my blog should think it's cool", I don't have any particular agenda here.
Anyway, this is the sum total of the context in which "people going out and doing shit in the woods" existed for me until just a few years ago. Then I came into the internet discoursosphere, around 2020, and I realized two things very quickly:
everyone was debating the relative merits of living in the woods
no one seemed to have any interest in or experience with anything even passingly related to living in the woods on a practical level, either first- or second-hand.
It was all, all this purely abstract, "theory"-based, grand narrativizing politico-philosophical debate. Nobody gave a shit about friction fire-lighting or shelter construction at an object level. Nobody gave a fucking shit!
This is a microcosm, and in fact not just a microcosm but perhaps the type case, of why I hate the discourse. The discourse is insistent on taking everything real in the world, everything that is (permit me to get a bit philosophical myself) vibrant and living and actual, and turning it into this dreary, sterile, empty word game. Are the Marxists the True Leftists or are the Anprims the True Leftists? Which one is it? I don't know and I don't care. Why is our interest in being in nature mediated by meaningless word game abstractions? Why must our interest in science or history be reduced to meaningless word game abstractions (shape rotator/wordcel discourse)? Why must our interest in, say, video games be reduced to meaningless word game abstractions (any of the thousand video game discourses)? Etc. etc.
It's actively, fucking, toxic to the idea of just being a person in the world. Everything you do has to be some symbol in a bullshit fucking symbol game. Worse, everything everybody else does becomes to you a symbol in a symbol game, even if they aren't playing.
I am dedicated to an alternate project. I want to be in the world and I want to be in it with others. In fact, I am so dedicated to this, that I can appreciate the reality of others' lived experience and actions even in spite of the symbol games they might be playing, even if I think these symbol games might be a little bit bullshit. This is a plainly virtuous way to be. This is the way I was raised to interact with people; it is parablized in various different ways, we're told (among other things) "everyone has a story", and "everyone is valuable in their own way", and so on. And these things may seem trite but they are true, they are obviously fucking true and many people in "discourse" have forgotten.
There are some anarchists who are really into urban community gardening. They're into it for various reasons. Some feel that it gives them autonomy over and knowledge of their own food in a way that buying things at the grocery store does not. That's fair, and kinda cool. If you're into that I support you. Some of them think that the whole economy could be replaced with urban community gardens. That's a bit silly. But I will come to these "silly" anarchists' defense every single time without question, because, fuck, they're doing something. I mean they're fucking doing something, ya know? They see meaning in this thing, and they're doing it, and that's cool! I would rather go to the overly idealistic anarchist community garden than the just-the-right-tendency Marxist reading group or whatever the fuck every single time.
Buncha "got lost in the world of symbols and forgot what they signify" mfers on this world wide web of ours istg.
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Thinking about Odysseus' epithet 'master mariner'. How his father was on the ship Argos (and how he probably named his dog after the ship). How he was always surrounded by the sea, perhaps raised by the tides. He must have been sailing since he was young. He knows the mast, he knows the rope and the deck. He knows saltwater and sea spray. His father probably told him what to do when a storm threatens to crash on him and the waves open to swallow him. But it did not prepare him for the divine. Did he ever think of his father's voice, standing by his shoulder and guiding his hand? And did Laertes ever think of his son whom he taught to sail, now wandering and at its mercy? Just thinking about how, even when he thought he knew the sea, it still broke him. How it still turned on him. Once it was so familiar, and now it's a stranger to him, one he cannot understand no matter his efforts. It was one of his greatest threats in the end. Something something shipwrecked master mariner something something
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Meet Your New Owners
CWs: pet whump, “sold to One Direction”-esque scenario
The band—Singer, Guitarist, Drummer, and Bassist—walked into their tour bus and froze at the sight of Manager standing in the center of the aisle. “Um,” said Guitarist, his eyes trailing from Manager to the patent-leather leash she held to the figure the leash was attached to. “What is this?”
“This,” Manager announced, “is your new pet.”
“No.” Singer pushed to the front indignantly, staring down Manager. “Absolutely not.”
“Aww, but they’re so cute.” Drummer hung off Singer’s shoulder, making puppy-dog eyes. “Can we keep them? Pleeease?”
Singer opened their mouth, but Manager cut in. “You are keeping them. Your popularity ratings are down after your latest fuckup, and pets are popular right now. So” —she gestured to the timid little thing fidgeting next to her— “meet your newest publicity stunt.”
“Isn’t this kind of irresponsible?” Bassist, hanging back by the door, muttered under their breath. “‘Pets are a lifelong commitment,’ and all that.”
“Yeah,” Guitarist chimed in, “why couldn’t you have gotten us a dog instead?”
“That’s even more irresponsible, dipshit,” Bassist shot back.
The pet’s eyes darted around nervously, and they shuffled behind Manager a little. Manager patted Pet’s shoulder, but she kept addressing the band members. “I’ll take care of them from day-to-day. All you guys have to do is pose for pictures and be nice to them in public. It shouldn’t be hard. They’re a rescue, but according to the shelter, they’re very well-behaved.” She scratched Pet’s head. “Aren’t you, sweetie?”
Pet’s uncertain eyes brightened a little. They stood up tall, leaning into Manager’s hand. “Yes, ma’am. I’m very happy to be here. It’s nice to meet you all.”
Drummer, still clutching Singer’s shoulder, practically swooned. “They’re so polite!”
“This is weird,” Singer cut in flatly, shaking Drummer off. They gestured to Pet. “I mean, come on, that’s a whole human person. And pets are a new thing—how are there already rescues?”
“I don’t care.” Drummer shoved to the front, eyes shining. “We’re keeping them.” Pet smiled timidly at them.
“Yes, you are.” Manager passed off the leash to Drummer and breezed past her more disgruntled clients to the front of the bus. “Now, we’ve got a press conference to get to—and you’d all better adjust your attitudes by the time we get there, because this little stunt is going to do numbers with your younger fans. Let’s go!”
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Cubito plot idea I had the other day I do not have the energy to write any time soon: Husband swap. Due to Minecraft multiverse shenanigans, Mumza, goddess of death, and Tango’s wife, deity of Decked Out 2, accidentally grab the wrong blond-haired white boy and plop them unceremoniously in the wrong worlds. Cue Tango exploring Phil’s hardcore world and refining the redstone while Mumza has to stop Tango from dying constantly because he doesn’t quite grasp the finality of hardcore, versus Phil who has a hell of a time trying to get through Decked Out 2 and about has a mental breakdown when he dies only for him to be told by Mrs. Tango that Hermitcraft distinctly isn’t a hardcore server and that he’ll be fine
Oh holy smokes. Dude.
Hermitcraft is like, the very opposite of hardcore. Things have to be made Scar-safe but any time you die, either folks are entirely willing to help you out or you've got spares of everything on-hand, so death means almost nothing. And because they're all friends, there is a LOT of buddy behavior going on; it's not terribly uncommon for folks to start living in each other's walls, a stark contrast from the peace and solitude of singleplayer.
What might that mean for someone used to it being deprived, and- conversely- someone not used to it at all being thrown into the mix?
Neither of them are prepared.
(Mrs. T and Mumza will do their best, though.)
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