Poverty Row got its name as the historic location of the town’s poorhouse. But now it is a rather nice section with a number of private vacation homes.

In the mid 1980s we lived in a cabin without utilities, wore used clothing, and spend money freely only on wholesome, organic food. Before our son was born, I took whatever low-paying job I could get.

Sometimes a low-paying job brings you in contact with wealthy people.

I don’t know what possessed me. But I can tell you it wasn’t just one thing. Recent events that led to the epiphany, if you can call it that, were set in motion by the massive Nor’Easter this past winter. We had a lot of trees come down on the property, big ones too. When spring came around I saw the damage done to the trampoline- wrecked- as well the old wooden wheel-barrow my partner inherited from her grandfather. Amazingly, the little pram that sat by the edge of the lawn was untouched, yet fallen timber was splayed all around it. That boxy boat hadn’t sailed in ages, I figured it’d make a good sandbox for the grandkids someday. “Shoebox is more like it,” partner posited. I offered no rejoinder.

Maybe it was all the screens. Or the news. Or the rampant selfishness, greed, stupidity, privilege… that seemed on the rise everywhere. Maybe I was tired of carrying the burden of disappointment on top of so much hyper-mediated inundation. In any case, the idea to time-travel a bit on my own terms was hatched, eccentric and odd yes, yet strangely edifying too. My partner knew it was better to let a notion like this run its course rather than trying to talk sense into me. And in fact the idea of restoring the wooden boat with salvaged natural elements from the storm, making spars and oars from tree limbs, using the intact canvas as a sail, and fashioning wheelbarrow handles and its smashed sides into a rudder- Yeah it was kooky I’ll admit- but I had the tools and time, and it’s a fact, a bit of ingenuity and effort mixed with fun can keep the wolf from the door- psychologically speaking.