A Living Magazine - Tap Root: Days 113 to 126 - New Appreciations

I finally got around to ordering my heater, hose and filter. I have the tank already. I procrastinated on it, because I was waiting for a bit more money. But if anything is worth going a bit in debt for it is heat. I think it will last about a month per 20 pound tank. I will use it very sparingly.

Most of the daytimes I am in town, and for most of the night I don't need room heat. My bed is warm enough. I'll be shooting for about 3 hours of heat per day through the winter. So far I have had weeks of sub-freezing days and nights, a few ice pellets, some cold rain and very fierce winds. I have survived with no major issues with no heat at all. I guess it could be done all winter, but my god, if there is any other way to have a bit of heat, I need to find it! I'm not an animal. Heat has never been my major problem. It is the wind itself that has taken over the role of nemesis (it used to be rain).

The rain doesn't bother me anymore. In fact, I've learned to harvest, store and use it. On this mountain, I could easily harvest 100 gallons per week on average (assuming I had the storage capacity to hold that amount). I should qualify this to say that the cold of a rainy day is worse than the cold of a snowy day. Any moisture in the air is an unwelcome heat-sink. 

Let's see, what else?

Oh, my air mattress failed. Third one! They are cheap at Walmart (about $8). I can see why. The chambers on the inside tear loose and make huge bulging pockets that essentially roll you out of bed. I did a little research. Walmart knows about the issue and has a no-cash back return policy on the damn things. Intex is the brand. And the sad thing is, I will buy another as soon as I can get to Walmart, because they are so cheap. I could buy one a month if I had to. A class action suit was even filed against Walmart and the manufacturer (though it was dismissed), because some older woman had the popping of the inner ribs and was stuck on the floor for hours.

The shitty thing - besides never knowing when the innards of my bed are going to toss me on to the floor - is that a useless air cushion is a big ole piece of rubber waste to have kicking around! In a city I could just toss them in some recycling bin. But, yes, I have come up with another brilliant idea! As these cushions fail I am going to use them to line the floor of the inside of my blue tarp shell. The plastic/rubber of the cushion is strong as shit. I already laid my last faulty cushion in the shower area. It sealed the floor nicely. I have a real issue with tracking dirt into the tent and having something on the floor should help with that.

As some readers may remember in the first few Tap Roots posts of this living magazine, I was in a very psychologically difficult place. I had been able to buy this land--a real dream come true, yet I couldn't appreciate what I had. I felt overwhelmed with some initial nay-saying from former supporters, the great disappointment with not being able to build my cabin before winter due to code issues, and other personal family things. I also felt like a foreigner in this neighborhood. This stuff combined to leave a bitter sweet taste in my mouth whenever I walked onto or out of the property. I felt unwanted (but for no reason). It was just my shit...shit that I deal with.

Two things have changed all that for me now. First, I have gotten to know my neighbors. As far as I can tell they are outstanding folks. For example, I met the neighbor across from the entrance of my dirt road. He is a professor at the University of Maine at Farmington (UMF). 

But more prominently, I have gotten to know a couple named Susan and Jim who live about a mile away; having had lunch with them at their house a couple times.

Also, I have mentioned Simeon, the first guy I met in town, who offered to give me a ride, months ago. I hadn't seen him for a while and was a bit worried, but, in fact, he just gave me another ride last week and gifted me a lobster!

I cooked up the lobster, some chicken and steak, along with stuffing and mashed potato.

I ate the lobster and that left the rest of the food to be stored and used, 

as I was to be stuck on the land through the two days of rain to come.

The day before the unexpected lobster I was picked up right before the big hill on Weeks Mills by another neighbor I had not yet met, Barry. He lives just up the hill past my dirt road. He said he'd seen me walking many times and heard that I'd bought the inner lot on Staples Road. Well, it turns out that he himself owns a stretch of that road as well, so he is a fellow right of way owner!

All of these meetings and growing relationships have that vague taste of being set up beforehand by unseen forces. I am especially keen and sensitive to this phenomenon now. For such long stretches, the Spark seems to be in hibernation. If these periods last long enough, I begin to question whether the Spark is even interested in what I'm doing. When I play the conventionality game, the Spark submerges. But, when I am struggling on one of these "crazy" projects (long distance walking, rough camping, or now primitive homesteading), the Spark seems to wake up, yawn and ask, "What can we do today!" Though, I know it is winking or crossing its figurative fingers, because it already has everything well planned out. This is how I know that all of our Sparks are constantly working to bring us together, if that is the plan...if that is our Will.

Still, it can't seem to happen as well when people are stuck in habits that make them feel comfortable, while locking them away from new experiences. Those are the people who call me crazy. But I know better what I am. I was once like them and I can understand why there is resistance against those who choose alternate routes for their lives. However, with that knowledge being refreshed in my mind constantly, due to my own circumstances--an environment initiated by my own will, I know more clearly what sanity truly is.

I mentioned that there were two things that have changed my attitude. The first was meeting my neighbors and getting to know them. The second came once I was able to let go of the idea that I had to have a cabin to get through the winter. I mentioned this a bit earlier in another blog post. Somehow I came to the realization that I am in no rush. I need to simply get through the winter, and I will then have 6-7 months to build and further develop my plan. 

Granted, this winter's life of being cold, dealing with the elements and accepting discomfort, sucks. Don't get me wrong! And, frankly I would never do this if it weren't my own land. Nevertheless, if I can survive through to spring, at the very least, I will have proved to myself that I truly own where I am.

So, becoming part of the neighborhood and also feeling better about the slower pace of this project has brought me a more serene state of mind.

I still have lofty ambitions. I'd mentioned the future edible yard and gardens, etc., but my dearest plans have to do with proving that - if given a leg up - a formerly homeless man can still make a life for himself. So, it isn't only about developing the property to be ideal in wasteless, non-fossil fuel powered, self-sufficiency. It is also about offering this kind of lifestyle to folks who have no possessions or housing, but a similar ambition. I believe that so-called entitlement programs (SNAP and TANF, for example) could be eliminated for families if they were instead given a one time subsidy to buy a small piece of property, predeveloped to be as completely self sustaining as possible--the way my property will eventually be. First, again, I must do it and prove that it can work.

Every day that I face my own situation in its undeveloped state, I use challenges and circumstances that arise as learning tools. If I can make it through the winter in my very primitive surrounding, how much easier would it be for someone who moves into a cabin, has a full rainwater harvesting system, renewable power, clean heat in the winter, and an organic garden to supplement food? It would not just appeal to those who are used to going without these things, but also to those who can understand how simplifying and downsizing could give them more resources--enough to pursue creative or other work, instead of jobs they don't enjoy. There is a lot to all of this. And, I plan to elaborate more substantively upon it as we move into the new year.

Since building my "chrysalis" (the blue tarp outer shell), I have seen where weaknesses occur, as the unusually high winds pull pieces apart. I have found that nothing beats zip ties as a way to repair it. All around the inside, basic accommodations are developing...

The front door area. This is where the wires from the solar panel (and eventually

the propane hose for the heater) come in, and also faces the strongest wind, being the northwest side.

This opposite leeward (southeast) side is the rear entrance, "bathroom" and shower

area are found. The water barrel and drain for the shower runs under the outer tarp to

a low area, shown in the following photo...

A look back at the barrel. It is mostly frozen at this point. I hope to insulate it and

run a warm air vent from the tent to the insulated barrel.

I guess this would be considered the porch area. It is left open for sitting on days

when the temperature isn't too cold.

A look back at the shower area.

This gives a much better idea about how much smaller the inner tent is, having been

partially collapsed so that I wouldn't have to heat as much.

After being stuck inside for the first rainy day, I took advantage of a drier few hours the next day to harvest some different grades of birch bark (what I use to light the fire pit)...

Clockwise from the bucket--filled with very thin paper-like bark, comes the moderately thin pieces,

then very rough, thick bark, and finally, what I call "scrolls"--pieces good for interweaving between

larger pieces of wood. The nice thing about birch bark is that even wet, it will easily catch...

I cooked some dogs that had been frozen, to store with the other food.

I was able to melt a gallon of water within this small tote, by having it near the fire, and transferred

it to a gallon container that I could keep in the tent, where temps are

usually enough above freezing to keep it liquid.

It is now the end of November. I have slept on this land every day for the last 4 months. I truly know every inch of these three acres. When I walk around the trees, I mostly live my fantasy of the future, where a small cabin sits among the gardens, trained fruit trees and bushes, pathways and... most importantly... a place for peace of mind. It may be in the future, but the future - for once in my life - seems more reliable than it has ever been before. Appreciating what I have is part of my personal lesson. Looking more optimistically at what will eventually arrive has made the present much more satisfying than I have yet known.