Free Made by Hand by Mark Frauenfelder

loam—that superfine silky stuff with the micronutrients in it. It just went crazy. Now it’s got about two feet on it.”
    We headed into the main house and went into the kitchen, where Julia was making muffins and brewing coffee. It smelled wonderful.
    Eric poured everyone a cup of coffee, and we settled in the living room. I asked them what they are trying to accomplish with their foray into ramshackle living.
    “We’re still trying to figure out exactly what the motivation is for the decisions we’re making,” Eric admitted. “There’s an aspect of imperfection in the stuff we’re doing—that’s part of the name Ramshackle Solid. I like imperfection. I like something that’s been reworked or modified in an unintended direction and the way that that shapes the outcome of the project. It seems to have more of a . . .” and here he paused, searching for the right word. “It seems more real . It seems more like it’s a living thing or has a history at that point. If everything’s perfect, it’s kind of boring. And if there are modifications that have to be made or adjustments or things like that, they give it character and interest, and also somehow they add meaning.”
    Eric offered the example of fixing a hinged trash-can lid. “I’m on my fourth attempt,” he said. “I tried to fix it with wire. It held together for a week. Then I got these pieces of galvanized metal, and I made little hoops and used a finishing nail for a hinge. But it wouldn’t stay on, so I taped it on, just because I wanted to be done with it, and it held for like six months. Recently I soldered it, and now I have these two rods, which is where I ended up. I’m happy with all aspects of it. I’m happy that it works now, but it’s not just about it working; somehow it’s about arriving at the solution, the trial and error. I probably never would have come up with that solution in the first place. Or, if I’d really thought about it and not been kind of half-assed the whole time, I probably would have gone to the store and bought something that’s the right piece that could screw on the end and had a hinge and maybe a bolt or rivet that let the hinge move. But it wouldn’t be as interesting as what I have now. And I also have the history that evolves with it. Every time I open that trash can now, I have a little sense of satisfaction over how it opens. I never noticed the trash can opening before.”
    Eric’s experience with the trash-can lid is something I’ve heard over and over again from DIYers. They thrive on constantly challenging themselves to learn how to make things and fix things on their own. It’s an appealing alternative to buying solutions to every problem that arises. Eric invented his own solution and, as a result, he feels a connection to the trash-can lid and cares about it. In a culture where everything is built to be disposed of at the first sign of trouble, it’s harder to care about or even be aware of the objects in your life. But when you become personally invested in the care and maintenance of something, you appreciate it more. I notice this myself with the plants in our yard. I don’t really care what happens to the plants that I didn’t put in the ground myself, but I am interested in the well-being of the ones that I did, because they embody my time and effort.
    It started getting warm in the living room, so we moved out to the big canvas tent Eric and Julia had erected on a deck to drink our coffee and continue our conversation. The tent was open on three sides, shady and breezy.
    I asked them how far they wanted to go down the road of self-sufficiency. “We would love to be able to grow all our own food and be totally self-sustaining,” said Eric. “But it’s also about creating a place for the kids. It’s also about buying stuff only when we need to. It’s about making more of everything we need—not just garden stuff but making shelves instead of buying them from Ikea, or creating