A Living Magazine - Tap Root: Day 1 - Making a Homestead Out of Nothing

The following is a kind of introduction to the new project. It is bigger, wider, and more important than even the Journeys I took across this country. The public-reaction dangers of publishing such a detailed description of my plan are probably obvious. People will suggest this and that, give unasked for advice, not knowing just how replete my intensive research and preparation for all of this has been. I just want to be able to report on what I'm doing, and not have to defend and discuss what other people think might be better. But, it what it is. And it is the price for living a publicly-open life. 

With that inevitability in mind, it is with great hope and anticipation that offer what I offer. I had been tossing around many different strategies for how to publish this very different effort. Should I use the blog that the project was developed at (SelfSustainingProperty.blogspot.com)? or just this blog or both? I don't know yet. We'll see.

Any of the following could change in small or radical ways. But time's a-wasting! Let's get on with this. 

I successfully closed on buying 2.75 acres in Farmington, Maine today. It was a long struggle, but nothing compared to what is coming.

Now comes a cold feeling, almost like when you have a cavity or sensitivity in your tooth and ice cream sends up that message to the brain... But this feeling is strangely without pain, only an ancient kind of wind-swept surprise. Can you see my opened eyes?

There are several things to do now. No, no. That's wrong. There are dozens of things to do now. Somehow I must make a round trip to drop off my small amount of supplies at the land, and then a one way trip to drop off my pathetic self.

Thinking outloud...

A chainsaw (with five gallons of gas and oil for mixing), a pole digger, an axe, a conical wedge, a wheelbarrow, my electric screwdriver, fasteners (nails and screws), my hammer, a mitre handsaw, my speed square, a level, an adjustable wrench, a skilsaw and jig, a rain barrel, the bucket toilet, an outdoor shower rig, a tarp to channel that rain, a tent, a chair, an air mattress, some kind of lockable boxes that will hold: (1) clothes (can't work at a job without clean clothes), (2) tools (need a box to keep them from being stolen--not that that will be a big problem in the middle of nowhere), (3) the electronics (weatherproofed) for the solar system to charge batteries every day and supply power every night, (4) a stash of non-refrigeratable food (specially sealed milk, cans of meat and veggies, dried goods, sugar, salt, etc...), and a bunch of other stuff, too boring to list.

They all need to go up in the round trip.

Once I'm there from the subsequent one way trip, I should have a bike for the non-snowy days--to get to work and "home" again. It's only a 20 minute ride into town. Rain will just suck--period.

Snowy days will require leaving 1.5 hours early to walk into town. I must travel 1/2 mile on an unplowed road to and from my (hopefully) little cabin, then three miles into town, then back out again each day.

Speaking of the cabin...

While the leaves are still green and the ground is still unfrozen, foundational construction must take place.

Of course, just like every time I headed out onto the road in my last adventures (the Journeys), I will be starting with no money. Saving from my job and donations from blogging will have to be used to buy everything to come...

I'll locate a sweet spot to build. Then comes the digging of 12 5-foot deep holes for concrete foot and pier supports. I will have 24 80-pound bags of quikcrete delivered and then haul them all by wheelbarrow (a few at a time) for the half mile to the lot. I'll need 12 sonotubes to pour the cement into, rebar, and 12 brackets to secure the framed floor--which must consist of a bunch of 2x6's. Then plastic seal, and insulation. And this is only a 120 sf cabin! It's practically a shed. Still, for one guy, kind of a challenge.

Some kind of stove will be purchased and, who knows how, delivered. As the leaves fall I will (God willing) frame out the walls and roof of the cabin, while cutting down trees, slicing them into manageable pieces, splitting and stacking about 3 cords. 

As a side note, I have made a personal goal of getting to know the town folk; maybe hitting a few local jam sessions, might even keep a look out for a pretty lady with whom to dance under the harvest moonlight. This is Western Maine after all. I intend to dive into this new life...as it were.

Farmington is a college town. I actually attended UMF for my freshman year. Perhaps I can find a way to get a second BA degree or go on into a Masters.

By November, I hope to be Tyveked (siding might have to wait), insulated, windowed and sealed up. 

The water tank will collect rain (November is notoriously rainy in Maine, especially on the plain, though I will be on a mountain), and this rain tank will be stored in a specially insulated closet of its own, with a small vent right behind the wood stove. This will keep the water liquid throughout the winter and also allow the roof above to continuously melt the snow and ice that shall accumulate thereon.

A small 50 gpm transfer pump will be installed and a point-of-use tankless electric heater will supply the kitchen sink and bathroom shower.

In the winter it will be all work at the job in town during the days and writing books at night; maybe I might even FINALLY begin to record some music again. (In the last four years I have accumulated three vocal and two ambient albums worth of music in my dusty old brain.)

Strangely, and awkwardly, I have a one way plane ticket to anywhere in the nation, courtesy of Delta. It expires on December 28, 2017. What the hell do I do with it? I would still need a return ticket. I've visited, wallked, and camped my way through 28 states in the last three years. I have lots of friends I'd love to see again. The Northwest Coast especially beckons, or should I see my cousin (more like a brother) in North Carolina? I just don't know yet.

Over these snowed-in dark months, I may experiment with growing LED micro greens. Probably try to grow some legal cannabis. Ferment hard cider. Things could get pretty desolate. Thankfully being alone has never bothered me.

All of the above assumes that things will go just swimmingly once I arrive on my chunk of earth. Naturally, one hopes for the above but plans for the below...

No cabin to be in when the snow begins to fall? I have slept in a tent, in the snow. It aint fun, but it was survivable in the more Southern states. 

Maine is a beautiful but rather unforgiving environmental host in this regard. 

In the winter there could be weeks of slushy, muddy mild temps, or a month of merciless negative 20F wind chill, howling in 40 mph gusts, and 10 foot snow drifts...

Or, as I have seen over 40 times in my life, it could just be a combination of everything. 

IF I am able to survive the winter, the spring is going to be unimaginably wonderful (from my perspective). To make it through a Maine winter, on my own piece of land will be the greatest triumph I have yet experienced in my life--not excepting 10,000, Atlantic coast to Pacific coast, to Great Lake coast, to Gulf Coast, and back to Atlantic coast, American miles. 

Assuming I can make all of my mortgage payments, and not die of exposure. This time of year - July of next year - may be one of the happiest seasons of my life. 

Of course, if I die during the process none of it will matter to me anyway. And y'all will be left to figure it out. Ha! The land will revert to my dear sister, and she can decide whether it is worth keeping or not...

But this is the whole thing, isn't it?

In this modern life we have separated ourselves from true risk. There are so few frontiers left. Stepping off a mile-high ledge of the Grand Canyon without a parachute or being dropped into the middle of the ocean without a life vest? These things are plain old dumb assed versions of adventure. 

Yet, true spiritual, social, physical, and economic enlightenment (if you will) comes from adventures that have at least a 50% chance of working out. It also helps if each day is documented. I think my coming adventure in Farmington has about a 70% chance of success. 

Sure, it will be an unbelievable experience for me to go through. But that means ZERO to me.

If it truly was just a personal challenge with comfort and ease at that end, I'd rather not even try. I want...No, I NEED to bring YOU with ME. 

As with each day of wallking America's highways, freeways and forgotten roads from 2014 to 2016, sleeping wherever I could (over 400 times), never knowing if I would eat or starve, etc., I needed to have you feel it all with me. Perhaps this feeling is just an inflated sense of self-importance? Delusions of grandeur? Who knows? I'm not inflated, and I certainly don't feel grand. In a way, who really cares. Watch the superbowl and you will see no shortage of showboating exhibitionism. Would it be more fun to watch the guy who doesn't have a 13 million dollar contract? Shit, you can watch us both! Lucky you!

Any psychologist would have a ball examining my written accounts of what I do. Even the ego-temptation of being paid-attention-to pales in comparison to my knowing that you can read and view all of this from the safety of your own life-----and simply DREAM...

"What if it were me?" "Maybe I could do something of my own that would be just as, or more, challenging?"

Maybe you will do something seemingly small, but that you have never done before? 

Maybe you will do something gigantic, and dwarf anything anyone has ever done before? 

But, I stand here sincerely, when I tell you that my concern about all of this experiential adventure IS only for you. That's what gets me off! At the very least I would have found completion in my life's projects and efforts if you are simply entertained and amused. That's what allows me to do what I "normally" should not be able to do.

And, I intend to never stop finding greater means of reaching you in this way. I intended to have a much larger video dimension to this project. And there may be more podcasts too. Certainly a new blog entry will be posted for each day, for at least one year--through thick and thin.

So, get out your vicarious work boots, strap up the sleeping bag and tent, fill the backpack, grab a hammer and come along for what promises to be a great adventure! It will be nice having you along with me!