His is a tale of unfettered optimism, of rolling with the punches, of not giving up.
More than 17 years ago Larry Radomske was injured in a workplace accident that left him with a collapsed lung and a nine-day hospital stay. A subsequent bureaucratic nightmare left him ailing and unemployed. Unable to afford a place to live, he did what many would consider unthinkable, embarking on a life away from the modern conveniences of what we call civilization.
“You’ve got to keep working at it, you don’t just sit there and feel sorry for yourself,” he says of his choice to follow in the footsteps of people like Henry David Thoreau, who spent two years “living deliberately” in a self-made cabin in the woods.
Unlike the boxy cabin depicted in Walden, Radomske has grown organically, like a crab on the hunt for a new shell. He began with a small shack built out of scavenged lumber, which got him through the first years. He soon found he needed an upgrade, building a larger one around it.
That shack is one of three structures of his home that sits near the Westlock and Athabasca County line. He now resides in a tin-lined tee pee that has all the amenities you would expect in a 60-something’s home.
The walls are adorned with pictures of family and friends; various trinkets and keepsakes line the shelves of the meticulously organized quarters. A battery-powered radio hangs from some shelves alongside a Mickey Mouse alarm clock.
He mills around, making coffee with boiled creek water while showing off collected antiques, like the battle axe used by female Aboriginal warriors, which happened to pop up in a conversation about equality.
His opinions are wide-ranging. He speaks matter-of-factly on many things, citing historical events and books by name.
The room is a tight fit with little space to move around the warmth of a wood fired stove he designed himself. He shows pride in his workmanship, demonstrated throughout his home. There’s the stove, the shelters, the water filters, all built by hand.
Then there’s the more curious contraptions; a self-powered rowing machine on skis, which he claims to have a patent on; the three-pronged bird feeder made out of two Christmas tree stands; and, of course, a latrine fit for a king, an independent tee pee with a white plastic toilet seat, reading material and a “silent flush” mechanism (one of his many jokes).
Dealing little in the way of common currency, he likes to call himself “King Scrounger,” an ode to overall efficiency. He points out lumber he got from old pallets and some tarps he found in the bush.
His food is much the same.
He doesn’t scoff at the idea of eating road kill, instead embracing the free bear, moose or deer meat. Local fish and wildlife officers help him out with poached animals they’ve confiscated and fish caught for studies. At one point he explains the pungent powdered concoction of wild dandelion, plantain and stinging nettles he adds to his meals for extra nutrients.
He tells of some visitors who once joined him on a road kill moose supper.
“So they tried it and said, ‘if you can do this to road kill, what do you do for normal moose?’” he pauses and laughs. “Same thing.”
But he doesn’t get by completely disconnected to the economic system; he does acquire and use currency. He sells some of the things he makes. This year it was bat houses, but in the past he’s sold knives, birch bark containers and jars of wild blueberries.
As he’s not the typical Grizzly Adams-type adorned in bearskins and moccasins, he uses that small income to buy clothes, except undershorts, second hand at Athabasca’s Riddle Used Store.
Today he’s wearing a sweatshirt, blue jeans and sneakers. Clean-shaven and well groomed, he’d go unnoticed walking down the streets on his twice weekly visits into town.
Once there, he does laundry and checks the PO box he’s had for over 30 years. He’ll also stock up on the basics, things like toothpaste, sugar, rice, flour, and pasta, that he can’t find growing in the bush or dead on the roadside.
Those are the lonely days for his trusty companion, a beast of a dog named Blaze. Sporting a striking white mark on his forehead, the Pyrenees cross keeps him company on the days when no one else is around. The dog was left to fend for himself when he was four months old.
That measly, malnourished pup has grown into a seven-year-old deep-barking brute, who fends off roving bears and provides much needed body heat during winter.
Blaze joins in on the daily routine, which starts dark and early, 4:30 a.m. for breakfast. Always leashed up, they go out for an hour-long walk at 6:30 a.m., coming back for lunch, which was rice and sardines today.
It’s that daily routine that goes a long way in staying healthy, he explains. Suffering from emphysema and muscle spasms makes some times harder than others, but day after day he trudges on.
“Every day you work at it, you don’t just sit there and say ‘I’ve got a problem’,” he says.
It’s that fight that really sticks out, that stubborn scrappiness of refusing to let his situation affect his sunny outlook.
He rejects the title of “rebel,” even though past acts of defiance pop up multiple times through our visit.
At 11 he flat out refused to return to a Baptist Church that asked him to confess to his sins at such a young age. He ran out with his sister part way through the service. He left home at 14 and was never one for formal education, even though he finished a diploma at Lethbridge College many moons ago.
“I have a mind of my own, I just never allow anybody to put a ring in my nose and lead me,” he says.
It’s hard not to think of him as a rebel. His life smacks of rebellion, a rejection of what is considered the norm.
But this is where he is meant to be, he says. A firm believer in predestination, he accepts what is given to him, but he is not downtrodden or depressed.
“No matter what happens, if you have a positive attitude it’s going to work out,” he says.
For him, it’s only God that knows what tomorrow holds, and that day doesn’t matter.
“Tomorrow will deal with itself,” he says.
Most importantly, he doesn’t want people to feel sorry for him. He has what he needs, and more.
“This whole lifestyle is not a hardship, hardship is what you perceive in your mind.”
And if you don’t believe it, see for yourself. Larry welcomes visitors.
