I stop.....and think...

Death of 'Caveman' ends an era in Idaho
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.



Read more: http://www.idahostatesman.com/2010/04/23/1164899/death-of-caveman-ends-an-era-in.html#ixzz0lxmY7SAp



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 our 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 our 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.