Times are tough these days, and getting tougher. Gone are the days of plenty, even here in the United States. More and more folks are becoming poor these days. We are living in an age of the rich getting richer and the poor (the rest of us) getting poorer

Aspen and I have always done poor well. We have lived on very little money for a long while. Perhaps, with our wealth of experience, we can help all you folks out there who are new to the being poor game.
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I’ve been poor several times in my life. The first time I was poor, I was a student at UCLA, living on the G. I. Bill. I didn’t mind it much then because students were supposed to be poor. I saw it as somewhat romantic and as only temporary.

I was poor again in the late sixties and seventies, when I was a wandering acid hippie. That time, I was poor on purpose, wanting to separate myself from the system that was based upon violence and greed. In those days, I made everything I could for myself, grew food whenever and wherever I could, traded often, and lived very simply.

I remember leaving Berkeley once to go across country and back with five hundred dollars for gasoline and van repairs, forty dollars for spending money, some good smoke, and a decent food stash. On the road, I traded when I could and worked when I had to. I worked as a waiter in a natural foods restaurant in Columbia, Missouri, and as a carpenter in Nashville, Tennessee. I picked apples in Iowa and Idaho and Oregon.

I kept my needs simple in those days. I could put all my belongings into two small wooden boxes and my backpack, all of which then would fit, along with myself, in my van. When I wanted to read, I borrowed books from the library. I didn’t go to movies or watch television for years. I didn’t go out to dinner either except for community potlucks, which I liked better anyway. I always ate simply and off the land as much as I could.

This was a spiritual trip for me. I came to find great beauty and wisdom in simplicity. Once a year, I would buy a pair of Levi’s and wear them until the knees wore out. Then I’d make them into cutoffs and buy myself a new pair. I wore the same blue work shirt all year, washing it whenever it became dirty, and then putting it back on. I wanted to see how little I could use, when there were so many in the world with nothing.
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I remember reading a book once called Travel Light by Naomi Mitchison, in which the heroine’s whole life was a letting go of attachments to people and things, until one day she finally stood naked and alone. It was only then, when she had let go of everything, that her life truly began.