I have a pension. It’s small, but adequate for living in a second-world country. I am the caretaker of pecan and fruit orchards, and a few sheep on thirty acres bordering a national park on two sides, private land on another and a cliff over the Atlantic on another. I don’t pay rent, utilities, or for animal feed or veterinarian fees. I have two border collies, and a mare that are my own. I care for chickens and goats besides the sheep. The pecans and fruit provide an income for the absentee owner and the livestock are a kind of research experiment in commerce. I have a boat down below docked in the village that pays for itself and provides a little added income.
I sell fresh eggs to the lady at the fruit stand in town. When the catch is good, I’ll sometimes trade her fresh fish and shellfish for whatever red meat she has available.
I keep special little stingless melipona bees for their high-grade honey as a small cottage industry. My market is local boutiques and hotel bakeries. The hives are surrounded by vanilla vines the bark of which provides valuable natural vanilla. The little meliponas are the only bee that squeeze deep inside the vanilla flower to propagate the vines. Otherwise, the operation must be done by hand, which is labor intensive and expensive. Symbiosis. Love it.
I often fish for protein and to defray food costs. I have a great year-round vegetable garden and all the mangoes and tangerines I can eat.
The small city of Castries is an hour over the mountain from me. Ft. de France is a half day sail away. Miami is nine hours north by island hopper, eight to Havana and ten to Mexico City. My favorite getaway is a friend’s yoga retreat on the Yucatan near Merida, where you can take a walk into the jungle and still run smack-dab into abandoned, unguarded Mayan pyramids. I have the time to travel these distances. The city is my retreat, and I live the rural life with the best people in the world, my dogs and mare. The people of the village are good, earthy and honest.
If I were boatless and forced to live on my pension in the States, the best I could probably do would be to live in a room with a microwave oven in an old hotel with the bathroom down the hall and drug dealers and their crack whores between me and the toilet. No thanks. I’m way too old to fuck with those people every day.
And my home country, where I paid taxes of all sorts for 43 years, can go fuck themselves with their substandard healthcare based on my personal finances, and not my needs. Mostly, no healthcare at all. Here, as a foreign legal resident, I pay the equivalent of $300 per year for excellent healthcare at par with the first world, with no deductibles and no pre-existing conditions.
Here, I have everything the world has to offer, including meaningful work. I wouldn’t change a thing.