A story of mid-life mischief catalyzed by the two greatest American hurricanes of our age, Evacuation Vacation is a voyage into dysfunction, both cultural and personal. After the first hurricane Missy tries to do everything right, but it turns out all wrong. After the second she knows better, or so she thinks. In truth, she's forced to abandon her illusion of control and purpose to navigate the unfamiliar territory of nihilism.

Convinced she's not depressed, just reasonably disillusioned, she self-medicates and creates a fantasy world around her for the three months of her second evacuation. She visits each of her sisters, one in Arkansas, one in Manhattan and one in burbs outside Boston, all three suffering crises of their own. Together they indulge their inner-children each in her unique way, reluctant victims enjoying denial, for as long as the evacuation vacation goes on . . . (Read More).

Soon to be Released! Evacuation Vacation Book will be available at: Amazon and other Retailers.

Links to published clips and an overview of my teaching are linked on left.
Or, if you came for the fun stuff, click on the skewered Thai
for photos from around the world!

24 Hours in Civilization

Posted by Mishelle Shepard on Thursday, November 1, 2012

It's much more often now I spend weeks without leaving the homestead and months without visiting a real city. Just a year or so ago I would pine for a day or two away, in the clutches of traffic and chaos feeling called to the wine bars and ballet, the shopping and spoiling myself in all the ways I'd become accustomed.

This time within hours I was pining for home-the pups and peace, the green foliage instead of gray cement. In Houston I could admire the skyline, the high rises against a bright blue sky, but that was all. I stopped at only one store, but marveled at block after block, mile after mile, of store after store, from inner-city to every ring, in every direction, extending for hours. By marveled I mean flabbergasted, and as in-how is it that so many people choose this?

I Repeat, Its Never Really About the Money, Mrs. Mitt!

Posted by Mishelle Shepard on Friday, October 19th 2012

The quote hit me like punch in the stomach and I bounded from the couch to write it down. Why! Why do I still force myself to watch this mainstream horse drivel? It's like watching Pro-wrestling-I know it's all a show, but I feel I must stay in-tune with the folks who actually find this entertaining, or believable.

"I would say, 95% of what I hear from women, is, 'Help. Please, help'." So claims Ann Romney with exaggerated confidence and lack of either humility or grace-painfully reminding me of a titan's wife in a bad 50s film.

If I Were a Rich Girl

Posted by Mishelle Shepard on Friday, October 12th 2012

While working in the garden I think, talk, recite, dance-and recently I found myself singing the classic "If I were a rich man," from Fiddler on the Roof. Truthfully, that one comes up pretty often.

"All day long I'd dibby, dibby, dum . . . if I were a wealthy man!"

I got a great question last post that's had me a bit stumped. It seemed easy enough, "How did you come to buy your land and the resources to become independent?"

Homesteading: The Where

Posted by Mishelle Shepard on Monday, April 27th 2009

Welcome wanna-be and expert homesteaders and those just curious. I start today with the where, will next time approach the what, and follow with the why. I will then begin to explore the meaty how-to’s and those controversial topics like humanure, appropriate power supplies, the real meanings of organic and sustainable, and anything else that happens to come up.

We bought this place in East Texas three years ago, but until 2 months ago it was our “camp” as they say here in the South, where we would come, schedules permitting, to enjoy the nature and begin building our cabin. We bought it as raw land, no water, electric, or sewage. Our first order of business was to build an outhouse and long-drop, our “poop with a view” I named it, and we hauled in drinking and shower water and used a generator for the occasional necessary power tool. During that time we slept in a tent, including all through winter, which even though it’s Texas the temperature regular hovers around 30 degrees. I experimented with two garden spots during those first years, but as work, weddings, and evacuations kept us from coming all summer long we were never able to enjoy the proverbial fruits of my labor. But it’s pretty doubtful there were many anyway.

Modern addictions

Posted by Mishelle Shepard on Saturday, May 23rd 2009

My most troublesome addiction, the one I find most counter intuitive to homesteading, I blame on my grandfather. I was able to give it up for several years of overseas living relatively unscathed, but for the life of me I can’t recall how I did it. I believe that by announcing this shameful weakness and admitting to my dependency there may still be some hope for me. Maybe an informed reader knows of a twelve step program that might break me of my addiction to paper products.

Gramps, whose poor upbringing meant intense rationing, would travel for hours once informed of a sale on toilet paper. He would purchase as much as he could stuff into the linen closet, and when a space would open up again, he would search the ads for another sale. His only advice to me before leaving for Eastern Europe was, “Pack plenty of toilet paper.” I laughed then, but soon learned he had been right. I was sore and disappointed by the squares of brown paper lunch sack that passed for toilet paper and regular annoyed by the rarity of actually finding some in any public facilities.Read More

Why?

Posted by Mishelle Shepard on Monday, May 18th 2009

Why leave the security of a “real” job? Why leave the drunken thrill of parties, the sexy allure of shoe stores, the creative genius of fine dining? Why choose ticks, mice, fire ants, and other country beasts over happy hour, gourmet groceries, and evenings simultaneously connected to the tube and WiFi?

It’s not all singing the Good Ship Lollipop out here. I dig out two ticks a day, minimum, from various unmentionable parts of my body. The ancient librarian has no idea what WiFi means. The local Farm and Ranch shop owner smirks when I say “organic.” Poison ivy so far appears to be the only thing I can grow effortlessly.

One of my blogs:

PeaceCorpsWorldwide.org

and also at

Thanks for visiting!