IN IT FOR THE TEA
OUR FIRST WINTER on the San Juan Ridge was bleak.
My husband and I had moved to California for the sunshine, but our off-grid homestead was shrouded in fog, and torrential rain carved deep ruts out of the long dirt road to town. The sky was dark for weeks at a time, starving our solar array, and in the evenings we went about like monks at a particularly austere monastery, living by the light of a single light bulb, even turning off the internet to save power. The river we could see from our kitchen window, emerald green in the summer, turned into a milky white demon sucking entire trees into its churning jaws.
It wasn’t long before my husband slid into a deep depression. I was determined not to follow him.
“We need friends,” I said. I’d stumbled across the website for Ring of Bone, a Zen meditation center located in the forest a few miles from our house. I had no interest in Zen Buddhism, but their schedule showed potlucks and work parties in addition to a twice-weekly sitting schedule. Showing up to a randomly selected meditation group just to get
