Bill Coperthwaite was killed in a car accident at the age of 83 on his way to a Thanksgiving celebration last week (2013,
report). So shocking and sad.
Bill Coperthwaite dove into indigenous crafts and brought the yurt to America. He lived sustainably on land in Maine and wrote the beautiful book, A Handmade Life: In Search of Simplicity.
I read the book looking for a how-to of sustainable living. What I received, instead, was an extended poem of simplicity that imparted the flavor of the pace of his life, the wind in the trees, the grace of his yurts, his thoughts on educating children. I was also invited into a new concept for me, the thought of “democratic technology”, by which he meant technology that anyone could use to build what they need. For example, the book contains a diagram that illustrates how to build a “democratic axe” and a “democratic chair”. Though the chair and the axe are a little ugly from my perspective, their beauty comes from the fact that anyone could build them with limited expertise and equipment — that is, they are democratic objects.
He also got me thinking about a new field, the field of life design: the intentional design of a whole life. In my mind, Bill joins others who have come before us who lead the way and inspired by example. They include Thoreau, Scott and Helen Nearing, Eliot Coleman, and so many others. Bill and these other life design faculty have taught us much about what we’ll need to thrive on one planet. Thank you Bill.
Fuente: http://oneplanetthriving.com/2013/12/rest-in-yurt-bill-coperthwaite/
Dead Time
Bill Coperthwaite
Why not get some horses?”
Comes over the water,
From a 30-foot lobster boat
With 300 horses,
To my 20-foot canoe with
A one-man cedar engine
It’s a two-mile paddle to haul supplies
By rock-bound shore and gnarled spruce.
Osprey “float” above with sharp cries.
A startled heron croaks displeasure
Waiting for the tide to drop.
If lucky – there may be otter kits
Playing in the shallows
At the tide rips.
An eagle perches on a snag,
Loon laughter lilts over the bay,
A seal looks me over.
A motor would take half the time –
But, what with mounting it,
Feeding it, and keeping it in tune,
Would there really be a gain in time?
True – I could go when the wind is
Too strong to paddle
But that is a non-problem.
The racket, the stench, the poisons –
There is the problem.
Oh – I could still see (most of) the birds
But not hear them
And the otters – they’d be gone.
The paddle – lovely yellow cedar –
Carved on a beach in the San Juans,
Has served me well these thirty years.
While paddling the brain does delightful things,
Each moment a surprise – a treasure.
Motoring puts all that on hold,
Thieving those precious minutes –
My brain turned off:
Dead time.
http://cabinporn.com/page/8
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Coperthwaite
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XW2xwfKzU6g
http://pfollansbee.wordpress.com/tag/bill-coperthwaite/
.jpg)
.jpg)
