The cost of our existence, as I see it, is the negative sum of all the sacrifices we make to our quality of life. For example, millions of people live in Los Angeles, a city perpetually bathed in a haze of smog, because in L.A. there are jobs, nightlife, and, of course, more people. I would say it costs a lot to live in L.A., at least in the measure of one's soul.

Sitting in the Tanana Valley on a crisp spring evening, you need only to look to the slowly setting sun, with an entire galaxy of stars peeking out from a green glimmer of aurora, to realize that some things in this life are much more valuable than "making it big." This is a place where value is defined by the importance you put on things like fresh air and wide-open spaces, and not by the sticker price of a new Hummer. This is a non-negotiable, non-refundable humdinger of a deal, a real "steal," and if you realize it before you either move out or die, you're better off at least for knowing.

You might also be better off for getting the hell off campus and not looking back.

With recent increases to the cost of campus housing, and the fact that it's almost impossible to consume all of the meals paid for in the required meal plan, living in a cabin becomes a mere accounting exercise. If college is difficult to afford, and living without running water is the least expensive option, it is only natural for college students to leave the security of dorm life and embrace the freedom of the woods.

And really, how can you put a price on a life in paradise?

Your existence can be as simple or as intricate as you are willing to make it, and in an era of complex interwoven social and commercial networks, the minimalism of cabin life seems like food for the starved.

I live in a small cabin in the woods, not because it's inexpensive, but because the freedom I enjoy there is priceless.