I was born at Grandma's house in the hills, and when my Mother moved to Ohio with Dad and kept on having kids, she gae me the best gift of all, letting me live with Grandma and Grandpa till he died. Living in the hills we were poor but I didn't know it because everyone else was too. We had a cow and a pig and chickens, could go out and shoot anything that we could find for extra meat, all the while during the depression in big cities people were fighting to get to soup kitchens for free food.
Looking back, going to the little house out back wasn't that bad since we each had a thunder mug under each bed. (You had to clean up your own if you were old enough).
And with running water, you ran out and pulled it up from the well, except for a cow tail pump in the kitchen that had to have water poured into it to get it to give up lots more from deep in the earth. Sleeping in a cold attic or spare room with corncob mattress that crinkled at every breath, and covered with heavy, warm quilts made from old woolen clothes made you feel warm and cozy with the wind hurling rain and sleet against the windows. Grabbing clothes and pulling them on while running for the warm kitchen to finish dressing because most of the house wasn't that well insulated. (Come to think of it, I never even heard the word=insulation= till I was in my 20s!!
No, I wouldn't gripe too much at that sort of life, but I do love my computer and electric sewing machines and fridge and freezer, and lights to read by. Guess I'm too old to change, don't even want to go camping any more, even though we did that with kids all our married life.