Op-Ed: How to Do Remote Work from Remote Locations

How to Do Remote Work from Remote Locations
By Linda Stansberry

Working remotely from Humboldt. Remote work in Humboldt. Remote work in Southern Humboldt. Remote work on off-the-grid homestead. Okay, hopefully those were enough key words for a search engine to get you here. Hi! I do remote work for my office job from an off-grid location in Southern Humboldt, and you should too!

Okay, key question first. How can you work a job that’s online and be ‘off-grid’ at the same time? Our family home, perched on a ridge and four miles from the county road, has never been hooked up to the electrical ‘grid.’ When we were kids it was kerosene lamps and CB radios, then with advances in solar power we got one electric light in the kitchen. Our fridge runs off propane; the washing machine off generator power. (Laundry nights were also our weekly TV night — very exciting as kids!) About 10 years ago, we were able to get wifi from a local company that uses cell towers dotted across our advantageously tall regional ridges and mountains. Our modem and a couple of other key appliances, like the TV and DVD player, run off power from a solar inverter with battery backup. In the late spring and summer I can comfortably do a full day of Zoom calls and spreadsheet-jockeying while still leaving enough juice to fire up the DVD player later that night. No Netflix, but that’s not what I want to do when I’m out here anyway. I’m currently researching a more powerful battery backup system that can charge off the generator and will allow me to work through the darker winter months too.

The best part of my day is 5 p.m., when I switch off the inverter and am instantly offline. (Our phones work off the wifi as well.) As anyone who’s lived here can tell you, time in Southern Humboldt feels more expansive than it does in town. Right now the fruit trees are starting to burgeon, the blackberries are ripe and the river is just the right combination of cool and deep. I’ll usually go for a walk with my dog as soon as I finish work — no leash requirements, no driving to a park — and let my head empty and refill. It usually fills with words like the ones you’re reading right now, because nothing is better for my creative practice than not spending every free moment on Reddit or YouTube.

I acknowledge the privilege of my circumstances. I have a great job for this set-up and a stable place to live, although staying here does mean eating a lot of bacon and hamburger, my Dad’s meal staples. It took some work to make this work — me negotiating and training for the right job, Dad setting up our solar system — but it’s doable. It could be doable for you too.

We are currently experiencing an exodus of families and valuable community members as the cannabis economy contracts. Community institutions like schools, volunteer fire departments and regional non-profits are suffering due to dwindling participation. There are a few things want to say about this:

I want to acknowledge the legitimate sadness and fear many of us are feeling. This sucks.

I want to say that if you have to leave, you shouldn’t feel guilty about it. This will always be home.

And I want to say there is room for hope, and innovation. Innovation is one of the things that we are best at in our special part of the world. Consider, just as one example, the alternative energy systems in many of our homes that we developed out of necessity. My neighbors, few of them formally trained, are nevertheless some of the most proficient electricians, carpenters, plumbers, preservers and mechanics I’ve ever met. Because they have to be.

I currently work in philanthropy, and one of the common conversations we have is about learning from the communities we’re supposed to serve, about their inherent strengths and actual needs vs. their perceived needs. It’s a welcome change in tone. For much of the sector’s history, the narrative has been around what people with more resources think people with less resources need and how they can deliver on that in a way that looks good. At various points in my life, I have been on the receiving end of a similar type of condescension. People hear the above anecdotes about kerosene lamps and apply the old narrative: What can we do for these poor people? How can we help them?

Okay, I’m never going to say no to the services we need, and need more of: Better roads, healthcare, broadband…you name it, we deserve it. But the question people aren’t asking is what can Southern Humboldt (or for that matter rural Humboldt in general), teach and offer the rest of the world? Quite a lot, in my opinion.

Contrary to the pessimism that could prevail here, I think it’s a great time to move to/stay in/move back to Southern Humboldt, even if it’s just for the sunny seasons. The folks who remain are invested in their community and very interested in welcoming you aboard. There are a lot of rental properties currently available, many of them already equipped with what you need for this lifestyle. Many employers have embraced remote work since the pandemic. If you already live here, there are remote work jobs you can train and apply for. I know spreadsheet-jockeying is not everyone’s idea of a good time, so if you’d rather work with your hands you could add formal training and certification to your current valuable experience. There are always jobs in the trades, and new industries such as restoration and prescribed burn technology offer some really cool opportunities for folks who want to keep working on the land.

Maybe you can become an electrician and tell me about all the stuff I got wrong in this article, but you need to visit me in Honeydew first. I’d love to have a light switch in the bathroom, too.

Linda Stansberry is a novelist with a day job who splits her time between Eureka and Honeydew.