A HOMESTEAD IN OREGON'S HIGH DESERT

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Obtaining water was, of course, our first priority . . . and the well driller we hired struck a reliable supply of the precious liquid at a depth of only 28 feet. (He continued drilling to 72 feet to provide a backup reservoir.) This valuable necessity cost us $936 for drilling and casing, plus $91 for the state-required concrete seal. And since the ground freezes to a depth of about three feet in the winter, we also invested in a 1/2-horsepower, 220-volt, stainless steel submersible pump. That-along with the necessary wiring, plumbing, and an air-pressure tank-was an additional $389.

The local electric co-op provided a service line at no charge, and an electrician installed a 220-volt service boxwith fuses-for $364.

It wasn't long before we discovered that-even here at the edge of foreverthe bureaucracy enforces its land use regulations. After we filed a $100 permit application and dug two 2' X 2' X 6' test holes, an environmental quality inspector told us we'd need a 1,000-gallon septic tank-and 75 feet of drain line per bedroom-for an approved septic system. The tank, a distribution box, and pipe for a threebedroom system cost $557. A neighbor lent us his backhoe to dig the 36inch-deep by 18-inchwide trenches (in exchange for a little mechanical repair on the machine), but the drain field required 20 yards of crushed rock that we bought for $106.

With winter only a breath away (by then it was November), we selected a mobile home for our temporary dwelling . . . after receiving the required zoning approval and paying a $40 placement permit.

FOOD FOR THE TABLE

Now-with a roof over our heads-we turned our attention to putting a little bread on the table. We soon discovered that healthful, outdoor work is abundant here. Ranchers need fences built, cattle fed, irrigation lines moved, and hay cut and baled . . . while-in Januarythe BLM and the Forest Service take applications for temporary summer fire fighters, tree planters, and range aids. My husband also set about building up a small mechanical repair business and was soon offered carpentry jobs, too.

I found that the local Paiute silversmiths, Basque settlers, skydiving grandmothers, and trail-weary drovers provided an almost infinite variety of material for my camera and typewriter. I also began working two days a week as a stringer for a regional agricultural paper, and two more days as a darkroom technician for the local weekly.

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