This Life Is in Your Hands: One Dream, Sixty Acres, and a Family Undone

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Set on a rugged coastal homestead during the 1970s, This Life Is in Your Hands introduces a superb young writer driven by the need to uncover the truth of a childhood tragedy and connect anew with the beauty and vitality of the back-to-the-land ideal that shaped her early years.

In the fall of 1968, Melissa Coleman's parents, Eliot and Sue—a handsome, idealistic young couple from well-to-do families—pack a few essentials into their VW truck and abandon the complications of ...

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This Life Is in Your Hands: One Dream, Sixty Acres, and a Family Undone

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Overview

Set on a rugged coastal homestead during the 1970s, This Life Is in Your Hands introduces a superb young writer driven by the need to uncover the truth of a childhood tragedy and connect anew with the beauty and vitality of the back-to-the-land ideal that shaped her early years.

In the fall of 1968, Melissa Coleman's parents, Eliot and Sue—a handsome, idealistic young couple from well-to-do families—pack a few essentials into their VW truck and abandon the complications of modern reality to carve a farm from the woods. They move to a remote peninsula on the coast of Maine and become disciples of Helen and Scott Nearing, authors of the homesteading bible Living the Good Life. On sixty acres of sandy, intractable land, Eliot and Sue begin to forge a new existence, subsisting on the crops they grow and building a home with their own hands.

While they establish a happy family and achieve their visionary goals, the pursuit of a purer, simpler life comes at a price. Winters are long and lean, summers frenetic with the work of the harvest, and the distraction of the many young farm apprentices threatens the Colemans' marriage. Then, one summer day when Melissa is seven, her three-year-old sister, Heidi, wanders off and drowns in the pond where she liked to play. In the wake of the accident, ideals give way to human frailty, divorce, and a mother's breakdown—and ultimately young Melissa is abandoned to the care of neighbors. What really happened, and who, if anyone, is to blame?

This Life Is in Your Hands is the search to understand a complicated past; a true story, both tragic and redemptive, it tells of the quest to make a good life, the role of fate, and the power of forgiveness.

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Editorial Reviews

Lead Review "People Pick" - People Magazine
"Coleman’s moving recounting never loses hope of redemption."
Wally Lamb
“Combine the sincerity of Walden with the poignancy of The Glass Castle, add dashes of the lush prose found in The Botany of Desire, and you get This Life Is in Your Hands…. I was engaged and deeply moved by this evocative tale of Paradise found then lost.”
Tom Perrotta
“Lyrical and down-to-earth, wry and heartbreaking, This Life Is In Your Hands is a fascinating and powerful memoir. Melissa Coleman doesn’t just tell the story of her family’s brave experiment and private tragedy; she brings to life an important and underappreciated chapter of our recent history.”
Ann Hood
“With beautiful lyrical prose, Coleman shows us what life in a 1970s back-to-nature farm was like, and the dear price her family paid pursuing their dream.”
Heidi Julavits
“Melissa Coleman’s enthralling account of ‘70s back-to-the-land living is an important cultural and emotional document: this is a story about surviving and, eventually, thriving amidst the shadows of loss.”
Peter Behrens
“A dream, a family, a heartbreaking tragedy—and a book I could not put down. Melissa Coleman’s memoir of a back-to-the-land childhood is fresh, organic, and gorgeously written.”
Washington Post
“A fascinating look at the roots of the organic movement as well as a cautionary tale about the limits of idealism and the importance of forgiveness.”
New York Times Book Review
“Rendered with sublimity…. [Coleman] fluently describes the power of the natural world, familial love and heartbreak, grace after loss.”
Los Angeles Times
“The Colemans and the Nearings . . . worked hard to create an alternative economy that is still growing in rural America. This memoir is evidence of their great sacrifices.
Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Her memoir is as wrenching as it is beautifully written.”
Grist Magazine
“An absorbing read that intelligently arrays the romanticism of living off the land against the emotional challenges of moving off the grid.”
Tuscon Citizen
“This uncompromising memoir is tender, nonjudgmental, and heartfelt.”
Star Tribune
“A beautifully rendered memoir about growing up in a unique environment fueled by experimental back-to-the-land living. . . . Coleman illuminates the beauty of growing up in a family culture that valued nature and freedom of expression, but also frankly exposes farming’s negative impact on her family.
Janet Maslin
“Intense readability.... haunting power.... as well as lush, vivid atmosphere that is alluring in its own right.... [A] story so nuanced that it would be a disservice to reveal what was in store. If you want to know what happened, read it for yourself.”
People "People Pick"
“Coleman’s moving recounting never loses hope of redemption.”
NPR.org
“[This] is a rare breed of book-a memoir that justifies its own existence; that feels like it needs to exist…. Coleman shows that without the essential ingredient of heart, any family-no matter how perfect and revolutionary it seems-is in danger of experiencing real loss.”
Lead Review "People Pick" People
“Coleman’s moving recounting never loses hope of redemption.”
Library Journal - BookSmack!
In 1968, Eliot and Sue Coleman moved to a parcel of 60 acres on the Maine coast and set up homesteading. Melissa was born into the house Eliot had just finished, and the young couple embarked upon their self-sustaining life, farming the land and selling fresh produce. As the enterprise burgeoned, tensions strained the family, but it adapted as best it could. When Melissa's three-year-old sister drowned in a pond, the family couldn't recover its already-tenuous bond.What I'm Telling My Friends Especially pertinent to those with an interest in self-sufficiency and the locavore movement, this book is packed with historical information beyond the family story. Ultimately, a complex tale of a noble pursuit with tragic consequences. — "Memoir Short Takes," Booksmack! 2/3/11
Kirkus Reviews

An earnest memoirist remembers her family and their hardscrabble organic-farm life in Maine

During the enthusiasm of the 1960s, Coleman's parents chose to live as self-sufficient a life as possible, becoming evangelists of healthy, all-natural living. The family's farm was coaxed into fecundity with the efforts of a number of virile acolytes, who, when they were not tending the vegetable stand, enjoyed the natural unclothed life. Coleman's mother had babies, baked bread, did chores and kept a journal while her father supervised, spread manure and pronounced wise and generally trite aphorisms. Figuring largely in the tale were their neighbors and spiritual guides, Helen and Scott Nearing, the redoubtable counterculture back-to-the-landers. Learning from the Nearings, Coleman's father taught others the correct, macrobiotic lifestyle. The family's tenuous subsistence amid the roots and rocks was nourishing and rewarding, until the shocking drowning death of the author's 3-year-old sister, a heartbreaking event that led to the slow disintegration of the family. In this elegiac memory piece, the author describes her bucolic girlhood in languid, deliberately measured prose, and investigates the downward spiral that followed her sister's death.

A verdant memory of a different American childhood and of an idyll that ended tragically.

Janet Maslin
…this is the rare memoir in which nobody is seriously addicted to anything and nobody gets abused. It is not another cookie-cutter coming-of-age book…there is haunting power here, as well as lush, vivid atmosphere that is alluring in its own right. And there is a cautionary tale about what can happen to even the best-laid plans.
—The New York Times
Megan Mayhew Bergman
Coleman's memoir is not one of trendy virtue, but of authenticity. There is no part-time artisanal cheesemaking here, no model trading Louboutins for Bean Boots. Her expressive prose and knowledge of farming techniques give vivid color to her family's alternative lifestyle and unusual milieu…In her reminiscence, readers will find a world rendered with sublimity, a fusion of beauty and domestic menace. She may fall short in her quest to articulate a prescriptive mode of living, but she fluently describes…the power of the natural world, familial love and heartbreak, grace after loss. Above all, she reminds us that the return to simplicity is often anything but simple.
—The New York Times Book Review
Nora Krug
…Coleman's story is a fascinating look at the roots of the organic movement as well as a cautionary tale about the limits of idealism and the importance of forgiveness.
—The Washington Post
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780061958328
  • Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
  • Publication date: 4/12/2011
  • Pages: 336
  • Product dimensions: 6.00 (w) x 8.90 (h) x 1.20 (d)

Meet the Author

As a freelance writer, Melissa Coleman has covered lifestyle, health, and travel. She lives in Freeport, Maine, with her husband and twin daughters.

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Read an Excerpt

This Life Is In Your Hands

One Dream, Sixty Acres, And A Family Undone
By Melissa Coleman

HarperCollins

Copyright © 2011 Melissa Coleman
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-06-195832-8


Chapter One

FOR THE FIRST nine years of my life, Greenwood Farm was my
little house in the big woods, located as long ago and far away
up the coast of Maine as it was from mainstream America. Five
hours from Boston, three from Portland, along winding roads
that became successively narrower from Belfast to Bucksport to
Penobscot, until they finally turned to dirt. If you were a bird,
you could shorten the trip at Camden by cutting over the scatterings
of fir- pointed islands on Penobscot Bay— North Haven,
Butter Island, Great Spruce Head, Deer Isle. Viewed from above,
the islands formed bright constellations in the dark sky of water,
a mirror of the universe leading you back in time.
Just past Pond Island, you'd see the forested head of Cape
Rosier reaching into the sea from the mainland and a sandy line
of beach, beyond which a narrow road wound up through a
berry field and disappeared into a dappled stretch of forest. A
mile in, our land was surrounded by the cape's uniform blanket of
fir, spruce, and the purple scrub of blueberry barrens.
On a morning in early April of 1969, as my future parents
were clearing brush under the bare crown of the ash tree next to
their new home, two sparrows circled once, twice, then alighted
on a branch to announce their arrival with a familiar melody of
clicks and tweets. Surprised by the song, Mama raised her head
to spot the diminutive brown birds with patches of white at the
throat. "The white-throat," she exclaimed, an armload of brush
resting on the pronounced swell of her belly. She'd always loved
sparrows best—so joyous in their simplicity. "They mate for life
and come back every year to the same place to build a nest," she
added, having checked it in her Peterson's before.
"A sure sign of spring," Papa replied, giving a low whistle
through his teeth before returning with renewed vigor to his
work. Easter would fall that Sunday, though they'd lost track of
such dates by then—spring was a resurrection with or without a
holiday.
It was not the spring of hyacinth, lily of the valley, and drunken
bumblebees, but the New England spring that comes just before
mud season. The last pockets of snow melted away as rain fell
from the sky in steady gray sheets, filling hollows and ruts with
dark puddles. Ice crystals released their hold on soil that sank
into a primordial muck.
"Son of a gun," Papa said. "The ruts in the driveway are up
to my knee." The white VW truck wallowed like a pig when he
revved up and tried to drive through. Sometimes he made it,
sometimes he didn't.
"Looks like we'd be having the baby at home even if we didn't
want to," he said after one unsuccessful attempt.
Mama's belly was the perfect half round of the wooden bread-
mixing bowl, a defined mound under her favorite anorak with
the fur- trimmed hood. It appeared before her when she exited
the outhouse and entered the door of the farmhouse. Her face
was round too, glowing like the moon. Standing at the kitchen
counter preparing lunch, she looked normal from behind, but
when Papa came and put his arms around her, they could rest
on the curve of her belly as his hands searched for the shape of
a foot or leg.
"There, Eliot, there again," Mama said. "Movement."
His larger hand pressed next to hers, waiting for another kick.
"Yes, I felt it," he said. "I really did that time."
"It could be any day now," Mama said. She felt something
changing inside, a slowing down and getting ready.
Scientists say my waiting self could already hear the chirp
of Mama's voice, the ha-has of Papa's laughter, the thump of
feet and the click of Normie's dog's paws on the wooden floor
of the farmhouse. There would have been the shush of sweeping,
the crack- shatter of Papa chopping kindling, an explosion
of firewood dropped into the bin, the crunch of gravel outside,
goats bleating as they waited to be milked, water splashing at
the spring. Most of all, I would have felt the constant sound of
Mama's heart beating, a steady drumbeat on a rawhide surface,
blood rushing through valves into arteries and capillaries, keeping
me alive. A new home awaited, one Mama and Papa had
worked hard to make safe from what they saw as the dangers of
the outside world.
SIX MONTHS EARLIER, on October 21, 1968, my parents had
moved from Franconia College in New Hampshire to a make-
shift camper on the sixty wooded acres Helen and Scott Nearing
sold them for $2,000. There was no mail service, no telephone
or electrical wires, no plumbing. All of that ended a mile down
the road at the Nearings'. Mail was picked up at the post office,
the one public building in Harborside, a tiny town located four
miles from the homestead along the western side of Cape Rosier's
coast. Calls were made fifteen minutes away on a pay phone at
a store off the cape in Bucks Harbor, also home to the famous
Condon's Garage, where Sal gets a spark plug as condolence for
her lost tooth in the children's book One Morning in Maine.
"Cape Rosier looks like the profile of a moose's head." Mama
pointed out to Papa on the map. Holbrook Island and its neighbors
to the north made the distinctive shape of horns above the dot for
the town of Harborside, a round unnamed pond in the middle
was the eye, the head of the cape was the nose, and the Breeze-
mere Peninsula hung below like a chin under an open mouth. This
moose head appeared to be almost an island, with only a thin
neck holding it to the mainland. They laughed when they learned
that the Indian name for the cape was Mose- ka- chick, which
actually meant "moose's rump."
Their sixty- some acres made a nostril in the moose's snout,
about a mile from the ocean and two hundred feet in elevation
above it. A dirt road wound up from Nearings' Cove to curve along
the southern edge of the property before heading back out to the
sea on the other side. Across the way were the undulating rock
and scrub of a blueberry barren, and beyond that stretched the
uninhabited head of the cape at the tip of the moose's nose.
The site of my future home was only a rise in the forest
surrounded by spruce and fir, a cluster of birch, and the large ash
with its healthy crown of branches. "This seems like a good place
to begin," Papa had said, standing beside the tree. "We'll have to
start building right away before winter."
"A home of our own, at last." Mama sighed, and that image
alone soothed her. She felt a twinge in her stomach, like a feather
stroking the inside, and hugged her expanding belly with her arms.
She hadn't realized how homeless she'd been up until that point.
While Mama's father was Harvard- educated and her mother
descended from a passenger on the Mayflower, they never aspired
to be part of wealthy Boston society or had the money to become
so. Papa's parents, Skates and Skipper, though not rich, were in
the Social Register and part of the beach, tennis, and country club
circles of Rumson, New Jersey. "Fonsy people," Mama liked to
joke with a blue- blood affectation. Young and in love, my parents
hoped to make their way without concern for the Social Register
and Harvard degrees and to leave behind their respective family
affairs— shuffling off the shell of the past to grow a future of their
own making.
During the last two weeks of October, Papa shoveled out a hole
eight feet deep, six feet wide, and ten feet long— where the root
cellar would sit beneath the house— and laid the foundation with
rot- resistant cedar posts. A self- taught carpenter and woodworker,
Papa learned from odd jobs and projects, including renovating
the interior of the hunting lodge where they lived in Franconia.
Though he'd never actually built a home before, he had a book,
Your Engineered House by Rex Roberts, that broke down the
process into an easy- to- follow plan.
He sketched a layout based on the blueprint in the book,
eighteen by twenty feet, slightly longer than wide, with south- facing
windows in the front. A shed roof rose from the back at an angle
and extended past the face to provide an overhang for the front
porch. Reverse board- and- batten construction would be used for
the exterior siding, as Roberts suggested— meaning the inner
wall studs made the seal beneath the exterior boards to save on
wood. After the $2,000 for the land and other expenses, their
$5,000 savings was dwindling quickly. Papa wished he could have
cut and used the trees from the property, but there wasn't time to
let the wood cure, so the lumber came from the local sawmill—
cedar posts, planed pine boards, and two- by- fours. Regardless,
they were able to keep the cost down to $680 to build the house
we called home for the next ten years, at a time when the national
average for a home in town was closer to $20,000.
Papa's tools consisted of a handsaw, hammer, level,
measuring tape and carpenter's square. On top of the foundation he
laid the beams that supported the floor, then the corner and roof
supports and wall studs. He nailed on the floorboards, roof, and
walls, leaving breaks for windows. Rock wool insulation was un-
rolled between the studs, and black tar paper served for exterior
roofing. The easy part was that there were no electrical wires or
plumbing to worry about, no refrigerator, washer, dryer, toilet,
bath, or other appliances to buy. Food would be stored in the root
cellar, accessed by a trapdoor from the kitchen, and the bath-
room was an A- frame outhouse located in the woods at the edge
of the clearing.
As Papa worked on the house, Mama returned to Franconia
with a trailer attached to the VW truck for the rest of their things.
Noticeably pregnant, she managed to move the cast-iron cook-
stove onto the trailer with the help of friends. Next she herded
the goats and chickens into the back of the VW and drove the
seven hours to the farm. The chickens lived in a coop next to the
camper, and the goats ran free. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and
the Monkees drifted in from the outside world on the battery-
powered transistor radio as Mama and Papa cooked over a
portable Coleman stove and showered with a plastic bag of water
hung from a nail to warm in the sun. The camper was cramped
and cluttered, but they kept up the illusion that they were on an
expedition and it was base camp.
The first snow fell while Papa worked beneath the protection
of the new roof. "We can't move in until it's done, otherwise
we'll get used to it like this and never finish," he told Mama. The
interior walls took shape, with planed pine boards nailed
vertically from floor to ceiling over the insulation. To the front of the
side door sat the wood cook stove, surrounded by an L- shaped
counter with an embedded stainless steel sink, a ship's nautical
water pump, and a water container below. A dining table made
of varnished pine boards and crossed- log legs, with tree stumps
for chairs, sat beneath the tall south- facing windows looking
out under the overhanging roof. The far back corner walls were
covered with bookshelves above built- in L- shaped benches that
Mama would cover with maroon padded mats for a "sofa." In the
corner behind the kitchen, a raised sleeping loft over closet
storage formed the bedroom space. The only appliances were a
galvanized grain mill clamped to the kitchen counter, the radio, and
kerosene lanterns.
On a walk along the coast with the goats, Mama found a piece
of driftwood that she carved and painted with their names, "Eliot
and Sue Coleman," and nailed to a post where the rutted path to
the house left the public dirt road. By December 1, a little over a
month after they started, Papa declared the house complete. As
anticipated, the four- hundred- square- foot space felt like a
mansion after the cramped camper, and the accumulating snow made
its comforts all the more welcome.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from This Life Is In Your Hands by Melissa Coleman Copyright © 2011 by Melissa Coleman. Excerpted by permission of HarperCollins. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 3.5
( 28 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(10)

4 Star

(8)

3 Star

(3)

2 Star

(4)

1 Star

(3)

Your Rating:

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 28 Customer Reviews
  • Posted April 21, 2011

    Interesting but Flawed

    While I found this memoir quite readable, there is something missing here. The author recounts her first nine years of life with her parents who rejected modern life and chose to live off the land in rural Maine during the height of the counter-culture 60's and early 70's. I had great sympathy for the child she was, but that's about as far as we get. Ms. Coleman provides absolutely no insight into either the times or her parents' own choices and relationships. Her brief comments on the "back-to-the-land" movement, which are scattered throughout the book, are so simplistic as to seem directed at middle-schoolers. Moreover, she provides absolutely no analysis of what was going on in her parents' relationship when tragedy struck. Because there is no insight and no analysis one reacts a bit like the locals in the surrounding community: they seem like a bunch of "hippies" with no direction. Because the author fails to provide any "adult" or intellectual/psychological insight, the reader is left to objectively assess what looks like real negligence regarding the care and oversight of young children. I feel sad for the author, and particularly her mother, but that is about it. Unfortunately, there's really nothing else here.

    5 out of 6 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 24, 2011

    Great book

    There's a lot in this story: the back-to-the-land movement, the life of a family, and the impact of a tragedy. Just like the subject matter, there's a wide emotional range: funny, thought-provoking, and sometimes achingly sad. For all these reasons - for what I learned and what I felt, I loved this beautifully written book.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 26, 2011

    Wonderful & Human

    This Life is in Your Hands is a beautifully told story that highlights what it is to strive for our ideals and suffer the fallibilities of being human. Melissa Coleman has captured the alluring magic of her childhood growing up as part of the "back to the land" movement while also describing the eventual disintegration of life and family as she knew it. The prevailing culture is described in striking contrast to the ideals her parents and others like them embraced at the time. There are many learning opportunities here as more people look to simplify their lives but it also serves as a reminder that no choices can guarantee safety or security. It is a truly wonderful story.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted August 9, 2012

    The homesteading life this family chose is a complete departure

    The homesteading life this family chose is a complete departure from what I think of as "normal" that I found it fascinating. Why anyone would choose to live in "poverty" is not something I can begin to understand. I respect those that do and it does make for an intereresting story, but why would anyone give up modern amenities?

    Since becoming a mom I have become more aware of the sources of our food and the issue of corn in this country. I didn't realize that since the 1960s and 70s people have been fighting unsafe practices and such. I loved that the author was able to weave political and social cultural issues into the backdrop of her story. This adds to the relevancy, especially now that we're looking back over the course of 40 years and can see where history has led us.

    I cannot imagine trying to nurture a marriage and raise two children all the while working a farm and needing it to be successful so that I could eat, have some money under my couch cushions, and plain old survive. I would crumble under that pressure. I admired thet author's mother especially. Not an easy life.

    I disagree with JackieBNYs review (Interesting but flawed). There are hints at the author's parents' deteriorating marriage after the birth of Heidi or that this is written for a middle-school audience. Absolutely not. I would have been more interested in the reactions of family members (both came from upper-middle class families) about their children rejecting modern life, but what child is going to be privy to that information?

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 15, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Forgiveness

    To say this book is a beautifully written memoir does not do it justice. Melissa Coleman tells the story of her parents and what moved them not to be hippies, but to be true back-to-nature farmers. They were not interested in the drug culture, altering their minds, or a commune way of life. They wanted only to provide a natural, simple, down to earth life for themselves and their family.

    Following the example, of Helen and Scott Nearing, authors of Living the Good Life, Eliot and Sue Coleman forged out a sixty acre farm on coastal Maine. It is there they built their home, and then had first Melissa and later her sister, Heidi.

    Melissa tells the story of her family, their farm and the simpler way of life they embraced. She writes of a childhood full of eating wild blueberries, running naked in the rain, making homemade bread, chopping wood and gathering seaweed. It is a full and happy life for the Coleman's.

    There comes a point though, when Melissa's parent's relationship is strained and pulled apart by outside influences and stresses. Not long after, the sudden tragic death of her three year old sister tears the family and all that it was, all that it stood for apart, leaving only broken dreams in its wake. Melissa is left to neighbors as her family disintegrates.

    This book is Melissa Coleman's search to sort through her families dreams, to make sense of what happened and why, how such beauty could have gone so awry. She looks to answer how one can find forgiveness when there is no actual blame. Truly, a thread of wisdom winds throughout her book, as she teaches us the price of sacrifice and the value of forgiveness.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted April 27, 2011

    Wonderful Read

    Beautifully written.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 17, 2013

    We did the same thing in York ME. Her book was great, it was the

    We did the same thing in York ME. Her book was great, it was the times and a new attitude among many. Sad that her story had such tragedy. Not many made it happen but her story is well worth the read

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 20, 2012

    I Also Recommend:

    Beautifully and well written. A must read.

    Beautifully and well written. A must read.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 29, 2012

    hippie living

    This book is great, especially if you are of the "baby boomer" generation, and at one time wanted to live off the land.

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  • Posted October 21, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Too repetative!

    It was hard to get through, too much repetition.

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  • Posted September 22, 2011

    Glimpse into a Subcultre and Cultivation

    Amazing story of back to the landers. This is a unusually well written memoir. A life few of us have lived.

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  • Posted July 7, 2011

    A very impressive story...survival of the fittest!

    This is a story of strength, persistence, forgiving, and love. It's amazing to me what people have had to experience in their lives and it is good to read about how they adapted and were able to come through it with flying colors.

    It was hard to put the book down - I wanted to keep finding out what was going to happen next.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 1, 2011

    Excellent

    Loved this book! Couldnt wait to find out how it ends. Inspired by the authors incredible insight at such a young age. The only reason i didnt give it a 5 is because i would like to know more about her "after" story. But worth the read!

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    Posted May 7, 2011

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    Posted January 14, 2012

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