Tattooed and copiously bearded men in flannel, flinging axes at targets in beer halls (safely screened off, of course), had their pre-pandemic heyday. Perhaps, some mused, I'll build a cabin, by hand, overlooking a serene pond. I'll let my facial hair grow out. I'll grow my own artisanal food, forage for nuts and berries, ferment my own mead. I'll write in my Moleskine journal with a quill pen.