In Search of Slow
Simon is an Aussie; he was hanging around Cabot for a couple of summers, in between wintering in Kazakhstan, where he runs a backcountry ski guiding service. When he was in the area, he lived in a cabin, made wine and beer and cheese and raised a few ducks, and picked up the odd carpentry gig to make a little cash. He didn’t have a car, but he did have an old 10-speed.
He had to leave last June; his tourist visa ran out and there seemed little change of getting it extended or finding a young lass to marry him. And maybe part of him just wanted to go; after all, he’d been itinerant for so many of his years. A while back, he walked across Spain with a donkey.
He’s in Europe now, and Italy specifically. He just got a job tending a small vineyard and delivering the grapes via donkey. He lives in another cabin; he surely is making beer and wine and cheese, for he is known to consume lots of each and is also known to have little money. He is, according to his blog, in search of slow.
It is so compelling, and not merely for the alliteration (though it can’t hurt). In Search of Slow. It’s soothing just to say it.
I didn’t get to know Simon all that well while he was here, though we had the common interests of simple living and powder skiing (or, in his case, snowboarding). On a few occasions, we drank his homebrew and talked at length about our lives and the lives of those around us, and I came to be affected by his commitment to slow, peaceful living. I envy his willingness and ability to pursue it even in a world that holds little esteem for such pursuits. And every time I think of him, I resolve to find some of that willingness and ability in myself.