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Middle of Nowhere

November 19, 2000 - Spokesman Review Street Level column:

Middle of Nowhere, Hang a Left and There We Are

You might say we live just to the left of the middle of nowhere. We live in the forest off a private dirt road. Emphasis on private. No one "just drops by" our house.

Like many places in North Idaho, you have to really want to get here. At certain times of the year, you also have to have the right vehicle to even consider getting here. In fact, we are far enough out of town that a lot of people in Sandpoint have no idea where we are.

Or if they do know, in tones of concern and dismay, they will say things like, "oh you live out there?!"

In fact, not too long ago a friend came by to bring me something I needed to meet a deadline and the first words out of her mouth were: "you don't have any problems with privacy do you?"

(Well no, not really.)

One delivery company also has no idea where we are. They shall be nameless, but you'd probably recognize their red and white packaging. In any case, this particular delivery company actually doesn't believe we exist. I've had many surly conversations with the folks there trying to convince them that the road we live on really is a road and we really are here. It all gets quite existential.

A lot of folks find this company to be the be-all and end-all of delivery companies because they're cheap. But frankly I'm a little more impressed with those who actually deliver the goods--literally and figuratively. Other companies, such as UPS, know we exist. And of course, the U.S. Postal Service also knows about us, even though our mailbox is a half mile from our house and on a different road. But, this delivery company just sends packages back where they came from. I guess it's easier for them.

But I often write reviews of computer software for magazines and it's difficult to meet deadlines when the software I'm supposed to write about is winging its way all over the country instead of going to my house. I've filled out lots of forms and talked to many people at various delivery offices in Spokane in my efforts to explain our location, so now sometimes if the delivery folk are having an especially good day, they'll repackage the item and send it UPS ground. (Needless to say, our UPS driver finds this tactic rather amusing.)

But maybe they aren't so dumb. Let's face it, although our private road is better than some, it isn't exactly relaxing to drive. Right now the road is in its summertime dusty dodge-the-washboards phase. After a brief foray into squishiness this fall, the road will segue into its wintertime snow tunnel bounce-off-the-berms phase. Which will be replaced by the late winter, ice shelf phase, and then finally, by the springtime sucking mud swamp phase.

But don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I like it here. A lot.

You don't move just to the left of the middle of nowhere if you have big plans to go to the ballet and the symphony every night. People move out here to "get away from it all." And what "it all" really is are people--we moved here to the trees to get away from people. That's right, all those vast crushing masses of humanity smashed together on freeways, in elevators, subways, and offices are not here. And that's the way I want it.

Never again do I intend to willingly sit in an airless cubicle under buzzing florescent lights using earplugs to drown out the incessant done of my coworkers. My office view now is of mountains and wildflowers. My office chair is generally surrounded by four snoozing dogs. And instead of an uptight person coming over to complain or gossip about the latest office catastrophe, my only interruptions now are the occasional hound coming over to rest a big snout on my keyboard in a quiet request for affection.

Sure living out here has its downsides. But as I sit outside on our deck at lunch time listening to nothing but the wind in the trees and the occasional chatter of an outraged squirrel, I don't particularly care a delivery company doesn't believe we exist. I know where we are, and I think that being just to the left of the middle of nowhere is a great place to be.

Susan Daffron, editor of Computor Companion magazine in Sandpoint is a member of the Spokesman-Review's Board of Contributors