Richard
Zimmerman, known to all as Dugout Dick, succumbs at 94.
Known
as the "Salmon River Caveman," Richard Zimmerman lived an essentially
19th century lifestyle, a digital-age anachronism who never owned a
telephone or a television and lived almost entirely off the land.
"He
was in his home at the caves at the end, and it was his wish to die
there," said Connie Fitte, who lived across the river. "He was the
epitome of the free spirit."
Richard Zimmerman had been in
declining health when he died Wednesday.
Few knew him by his
given name. To friends and visitors to his jumble of cave-like homes
scrabbled from a rocky shoulder of the Salmon River, he was Dugout Dick.
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I
had never heard of this man prior to reading this article. I intend to
do some more reading about him and those who lived similar lives. I find
it humorous that I will use technology to research such a man, but that
is the very thought that made me take pause, and....think.
I
thought about my life, and what a stark contrast it is to his. I am
somewhat resistant to technology,or at least I thought I was. I refused
to use computers for many years. I refused to allow my children to use
the internet for what seemed, to them, to be an eternity. I resisted
texting and cell phones, to the point of teasing from
friends...well...that is...until recently. I have "caved" to all of the
pressures of "necessary technology".
When I try to imagine a life
lived entirely dependent upon one's own resources and personal resolve,
I cannot fathom the loneliness. I wonder if he felt profound
loneliness, or a peace that is immeasurable by the technologically savvy
world that he left behind. There is a part of me that envies him
tremendously. I cannot imagine the beauty that he experienced. I have
seen starry nights and beautiful sunsets. I imagine a man quietly
strumming his guitar with nothing to interfere with the pure sound of
music created from an uninterrupted emotion. If I combine those
beautiful nights with a sound so pure, my mind wanders into what feels
like a dream. One of the most beautiful sounds on this earth is the
sound of rain falling in harmony with nature. I wonder how many nights
he fell asleep to the rhythm of raindrops and the sounds of animals that
live as freely as he did. Is that what his music sounded like? I wish I
could have heard it, just once. Where did his mind go when he felt
peace? I would love to visit that place.
The Earth yielded
everything that he required to stay alive. He worked hand in hand with
what we disposed of, discarded, and what we take for granted, just to
sustain his life...for over 90 years. I find myself in a very strange
emotional place while I think of what it must have been like to be him.
What was it like to fall asleep in pure silence without the touch of
human companionship? It saddens me to think that he lacked one of the
greatest feelings on this incredible planet, while experiencing things
that most of us will never know. His life could not have been an easy
one. To have the soil yield what your body needs to live, or to have
animals provide necessary sustenance, you must nurture both...and then
destroy them. We, "civilized society", have the pleasure of not raising
and nurturing the animals that we eat. We find it a difficult task to
even find the time and energy to gather our food at a market where the
sweat and ugly part of killing our food has already been done for us.
Was he a callous man who could raise an animal from a baby, kill it, and
devour it with the idea that "that is just what we do to survive", or
did he truly realize the harsh reality of nature's food chain, and
accept his place within it?
We have gardens on our patios, or
little fenced in areas where we grow things as a hobby. I don't know
anyone who sustains their family off of what they grow on their own. We
go to out local large chain store, or if you are a more caring person,
you head to your local nursery and gather your seedlings, fertilizer,
soil, animal repellent, stakes and cages, pots, cute little plant
labels, and even ridiculous trinkets to decorate our gardens. What would
he say about that? I imagine him laughing at our inability to keep out
tomatoes from falling off the vine before they ripen, and then running
inside to Google "tomato falls off vine before ripe". Did he use the
eggshells from his chickens to prevent the blossom end rot that we would
take an hour to determine after asking three different "professionals"?
Well, I know he didn't buy a fungicide sold to him by a teenager
wearing an orange apron. I have heard so many people say, "I would love
to grow my own fruits and vegetables, but it is just too much of a
hassle, and I don't have time for that." These are the same people who
complain relentlessly about the sub standard quality of those same items
sold by their local grocer.
This man took, what we considered
"trash", and used it as if it were brand new. Then, incredibly, WE paid
him to live in it! He did not charge a fee that would ever make him
wealthy, but merely enough to help him to survive. How many times have
we all heard this, "My_____ broke this weekend, so I thought about
fixing it. I spent all weekend trying to find the parts, and then I
realized that I needed a new tool to fix it, so I said 'to hell with
it', and I just bought a new one. It only cost me___ more to buy a new
one than to fix it." Well, not only did he "fix it", but he may have
just used it...as is. He used it the way you left it...broken. Is a door
really "broken" or "outdated", or are we just spoiled over-indulged
brats?
As I sit here, I hear the pump running on my fishtank. I
hear the (riding) mower outside. I hear the noise from my son's room,
and the sound of the fan in my laptop, and I wonder to myself, is this
the music of MY life? My refrigerator is full of food purchased from
someone who paid someone else to kill or harvest it. My windows have
just enough...whatever...in them to keep out the damaging rays of the
sun that could fade the paint on my walls. I have a new "energy
efficient" furnace with a filtration system to keep out of of those
nasty things that the guy who sold it to me said were there. I have
three vehicles sitting in my driveway, one of which is one of my
favorite possessions. I pay $20 more for a bag of dog food because my
dog is allergic to...um...something....in the others. I complain
relentlessly about how my job barely allows me to make ends meet, but
the good news is, I can drive home in my truck.
I am actually a
"blue collar" worker. Yes, I get dirty and I sweat to earn my paycheck.
Until now, I thought I had a physically demanding job. What I realized
is that someone else provides me the opportunity to get dirty and sweat,
no one provided that to him. He did it on his own, and relied solely on
himself to provide even the soil that stained his clothes. I doubt that
he used Oxy Clean or Tide to remove that soil. I wonder if he even
cared that it was there.
His photograph is one of a man who has
been beaten by the sun, and soaked by the rain for 94 years. We hear the
lyrics to songs that talk about the callouses of an old man's hands. I
looked at my hands, just now, and I can see the callouses of my life,
and the age creeping into the crevices of my fingers. What did his hands
look like when he was my age? My hands have held my sons, and felt the
touch of the people that I love. Will they remember the feel of my
touch? I am a woman, and we have built an entire industry around our
skin and our appearance, but he never saw or felt you. I doubt that he
ever knew or cared what "alpha hydroxy" was or was supposed to do. Come
to think of it, neither do I, and I bet you don't either.
My
goodness, how we strive to have so much, and we don't even know what
it's purpose is. To us, music is what comes out of expensive speakers
mounted in just the right places to accomplish the perfect sound. What
was music to him? What inspired him to pick up that guitar and play it?
Would we have even considered it to be any good? I guess to understand
whether or not it was "good", we would have to feel what inspired it.
What a shame, we never will.
I do not envy the hard work that was
required to live the life that he chose, and I do not envy the loss of
human companionship. I do, however, envy the freedom that he
experienced. It came at a heavy price, and that was the life that I
lead. I wish that I could have heard his music and felt his hands. I
wish that I could have seen the sights that surrounded him and felt the
rhythm of the rain, in the ways that he did. But, I would then like to
awaken from my dream, and see the people that I love, and hold my sons
after a long day at work.
Life is full of choices, consequences,
and reward. I try to keep a balance in my life that allows me to
experience this world and yet remain a part of it. He chose to leave it
behind, and live by his own hand. It is an admirable and poetic
existence. I am not a poet, and I do not seek to be admired. My guess
is, neither was he, nor was that his desire.
So, I have decided
that I will be happy in my life, and hope that he was happy in his.
There are people in this world who strive for fame and notoriety, yet he
did everything to avoid it. In his attempts at closing out the rest of
the world, he invited us in. Thank you, Mr. Zimmerman, for giving us a
look at the world that we live in. Sometimes, it takes just stopping and
trying to see the world through someone else's eyes, just to see it
through your own.
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