I recently stumbled upon a fascinating book by Iain McKell that documents a tribe of modern gypsies living out their dreams in the heart of the English countryside.
They're the vestiges of a post-punk group of anti-Thatcherites who abandoned London in the 1980's in a quest to exist on their own terms.
Their lives are an eccentric mash-up of New Age beliefs, 19th century Romanticism and 21st century practicality.
On one hand, they reject gasoline-fuelled vehicles in favor of horse-drawn caravans.
On the other hand, they embrace solar power, laptops, cell phones and -- yes -- even Facebook.
McKell's photos are incredibly affecting. For me, much of the poeticism lies in the precariousness of their lifestyle.
They live with only what is necessary and not an ounce more. The richness of their lives comes from within.
But I can't help but worry about them a little. (Okay, maybe a lot.)
They're meta-conceptual pagans...
...Dickensian punk rocker-ruralists...
...and Vivienne Westwood-y tartaned nomads.
They've found the open road, all right, but it's a long and difficult and bumpy one.
So here's the question: Is that what makes it all the sweeter?