There really are hermits in the United States. This photo shows the encampment of a guy named Erno. He was a real-life hermit who lived on the horse farm that I used as the setting for my novel, Xmas Carol. (Click on the image to enlarge.)
Erno died a year or so ago, but I saw him once when he was alive. He was walking through the woods that border the horse farm. A farm worker pointed him out to me. He said, "that's Erno, he's a hermit." He told me Erno just walked and walked. It was what he did. All day long and into the night, he walked through the woods.
After Erno died, my nephew searched for his camp and took this photo with his iPhone. Looks like a rough life. I'm told he had solar panels that provided a little electricity. But the sun doesn't shine at night, so I guess he relied on fire to push away the darkness.
I sometimes refer to myself as a hermit but I'm not at all like Erno. What I really am is anti-social. I've got a house and I stay warm and pampered. I even have occasional visitors, though not many. So maybe I'm a wanna-be hermit, or somewhere on the road to full hermit-hood. Who knows? Maybe I'll end up in the woods one day, too. But you'd better believe I'll have internet access, somehow, some way.
Hail Erno. We hardly knew ye.
2 comments:
You and I are alike in that way.
And in many other ways.
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