A Living Magazine - Tap Root: Days 148 to 166 - Gato and the Question of Comfort

The pathway back to the tent created by the sled carrying a brand new propane tank (just delivered by my uncle), became nicely packed under its weight. Before heading out again to take up my cat-sitting job, I took these shots...   

A look back at all my hard work. I was so surprised to see how small it really was. 

I wouldn't blame folks for thinking it is indeed laughable.

To me? It is the summation of all I have yet been through in
49 years of life and the ten thousand miles of recent travel...

In a sense, that small patchwork of blue tarps represented my whole life...

I suppose it is both pathetic and profound that these small things mean so very much to me.

I entered the cabin with a bit of food for myself and met my little companion, Gato. On the first morning after I'd arrived, it was like I'd been there in the cabin for years. As much as I have dealt with (including suffering through every possible imaginable test, as you loyal readers have seen), I could still easily function in this completely different domestic and relatively more pampered environment. Immediately, I thought of cooking--probably my favorite pastime...  

An everything omelette, with plenty of bacon on the side.

For the last five months I'd been eating once a day. Even after the delicious meal shown above, I opened the little college fridge and looked at its contents a couple of hours later...once...twice...then over and over again. I didn't know what else to do with myself as the temperatures bottomed out in the -10 F range. Christmas was still 8 days away, but I revelled in my new comfort. Why not eat another meal, just before sunset? ...

Pigging out? Is it really that, when so much had been denied for so long? Okay...Maybe.

At first, Gato didn't really know what was going on and ran into the bathroom, hiding in an unguarded closet. He wedged himself into the space between the bathtub and outer wall. I'd call him and hear a shuffling in that space, but that was all. I was disappointed and worried that we were not going to get along. His hiding space was untouchable--being behind the water heater and too small for me to even see him.

Eventually, something told me he would emerge if I just simply acted like I was giving up. So, I went out into the kitchen, set up my laptop and other devices to charge, and got online to write. For about an hour I became so immersed in some new work that I'd forgotten there was even a cat around.

Then, in the dim light of my LED lamp, I happened to look down. And, there he was at my side, tail over his back and purring loudly. I lifted him onto my lap...

Gato.

From that point on we were pals. I got up and he walked in figure eights around my feet, constantly looking up to see what was next on our agenda. Finding his cache of toys, I threw what we would eventually call, "the thing" (a rattling fuzzy ball) onto the floor. He picked it up, threw it in the air, grabbed it in his teeth and carried it around the room. This was all unusually entertaining. I had never before seen a cat behave so consistently focused on a toy. 

He'd pick it up and bring it to his food bowl (as if it were a mouse to be eaten), then he'd munch a few pieces of food and grab "the thing" again, only to continue the important job of playing with it. Here is the video I made the next day...

Since my time with Buddy (my late, three legged cat) I had not been so satisfyingly amused by an animal. 

As the days passed and I grew used to my time in the cabin, Gato became a real companion for me, crawling under the covers to snuggle up against my belly for short bouts of sleep during the night. Anything I did, he would join me. I would wake up in the morning, usually after about ten times of having him jump on my feet or head--probably each time he heard me start snoring, trying to keep me awake. There was an awful lot of playing to be done each day, and he'd be damned if I was going to sleep through it! Finally, realizing that in this great test of wills I was failing miserably. I'd finally get my lazy ass out of bed, mumbling under my breath about wanting just a little more sleep, and see him beyond overjoyed to go to the bathroom with me while I did my thing. 

This act never ceased to fascinate him. Sure enough, as I tried to concentrate on the task at hand, he'd raise up his front paws onto the underwear around my ankles and try to look between the seat and bowl to figure out exactly what was going on there. This was...awkward...to say the least. One morning I tried to close the bathroom door, but had to open it mid-project due to the most pathetic whining and crying coming from the other side, along with a little paw darting around under the door.

One day I became obsessed with working on a possible CAD design for my future cottage. I got up very early and began working on it. Seeing my laser-like focus on something other than him, Gato was more than happy to make contributions. He saw the movement of things on the tablet screen. Youngsters these day, with their screen obsessions! It took no more than about 5 seconds for him to realize he could manipulate the program like a pro...  

Gato eventually realized that he was, by design or default, the constant center of my attention. Days were filled with throwing "the thing" out for a few moments of respite, and watching him turn playing with it into an Olympic sport. Yet, it always ended up with him at my feet, then on my lap, sometimes even crawling up onto my shoulders...and sleeping in the peace of the kitty-angels for 5 or 6 long minutes. 

As uncomfortable as I would become, fidgeting to adjust my seat without disturbing his naps, he never complained. In fact, he would simply turn into a piece of kitty putty at that point, stretching out and flowing off my lap like a big blob of fuzzy slime. Although I usually came to the rescue before he actually fell, he held no hard feelings when I couldn't grab him in time, as the combination of gravity and his paralysis would inevitably pull him off me.

After four or five hours of constant play, he then would look at my lap, then the bedroom, then back at my lap (perhaps remembering that sleeping there would eventually lead to sliding off), and huff... 

Somehow, I saw into his tiny brain at that point. I just wasn't good enough as a medium for solid rest and relaxation. At that point, only the bed would do... 

The bliss of kitty sleep.

I was able to go down to South Portland and be with my family for Christmas Eve. It was the first time I'd left Farmington in five months. Just to see my mom and sister, along with my niece and nephew, was more than I could have hoped for.

After Christmas had come and gone and avoiding so many things about the season that usually disappoint and annoy me, I felt pleasantly gratified.  In the back of my mind I was somewhat confused and off my game, because I was not used to being comfortable about being comfortable, nor feeling so good about it.

Why would I suffer and struggle so regularly for years (as many of you have witnessed so clearly), only to feel such support and love? Surely, it was all wrong! But, for now, it seemed alright.

My inner child told me I should feel guilty, that I didn't deserve it, and was probably going to get in trouble. I am meant to be under the jackboot of oppressive pain--or so I had led myself to believe. I am meant to be miserable. That's just is the way it is. Why was such a pleasant thing occurring? Surely the other shoe was on its way to dropping. I could not let down my defenses. And, honestly...I still can't.

Yet, when Christmas had passed by, my patrons returned from Florida. They offered the cabin as a winter residence, with an extremely generous rental amount. 

I sighed whenever I thought about it all. I literally could not believe that any of this was happening. But I am not a fool. I took them up on the offer. I would need to make even more money in order to afford this opportunity. I knew I probably wouldn't be able to do it, but it was worth a try.

All the while, after several snow storms, I decided it was time to get back out to my land to see how my only possessions in this world were faring...

Due to my negligence over the Christmas weekend (not spending the night out there during a large snowstorm, to keep up with clearing the roof) the situation on the land was not good. It was indeed fortunate that I had this fortuitous option for renting the cabin. Now? There was no choice at all.

Honestly? I have no idea how any of this is going to go. I am safe and warm for now. But February is coming toward me at an alarming rate. I may be back out there sooner than I want if I can't raise the funds to pay rent next month.

I will say that NOTHING is more important to me than retaining a semblance of self-preservation. With my father screaming in my head about how I am destined to fail, and my current patrons throwing everything at me to prevent that, still, what of it is truly mine?

Having dodged two swipes from the Grim Reaper already (2006 and 2016), I sit and ask myself every day what the convoluted Plan is. Sometimes I feel like a clay figurine; something to be placed upon a shaking shelf as some kind of experiment. A little too much shaking and I fall, hands to my side, diving into the ground, there to splinter into a thousand pieces.

For so many years I just wanted the Universe to get it over with. Just destroy me for godsakes!! Why must I be dragged along like a fish hooked through the jaw, across the beach of human amusement? In the past I have hated myself so completely but not had the courage to jump off the bridge, pull the razor across my veins, kick out the stool with the rope around my neck... 

How pathetic and despicable is a man who wants to die but can't muster the resources or courage to accomplish the task?

I do remember though...how the Spark grabbed my soul and shook it at Boston's North Station way back when I first set out from conventionality. I subsequently fought wild animals and even wilder humans, experienced every possible iteration of discomfort and thrilling adventure, sleeping outside (now) over 600 times since 2014 to follow the Spark.

Yes, there is always the option of defeat. But, what is defeat? Apartments, and cars, and insurance, and jobs I hate... Were defeat my only option, I would not be so cowardly. The plunge off a bridge, the cold steel slice of the razor would be like a soft and welcoming friend compared with being immersed in the American scam again.

What remains to be seen is whether this story will turn into a legend, besides in my own mind. And will this legend be characterized by tragedy or triumph? Isn't it fun as someone not in my shoes to be watching it all? 

I have to admit to growing a small smile on my face either way. 

So many men fade away into the throws of quiet desperation. But, whatever happens, I will not join them. Be assured! Whatever happens to me will come to you as an update in your email--a notification on your smartphone. And, it is likely to be exciting! I think that is the best result for all of us. No time like this will ever come again. And no person like me will ever Wallk the earth again. 

A Living Magazine - Tap Root: Days 137 to 147 - First Snow and a Change for the Colder

Tapping the top of the heater didn't work to somehow kick it back into action. I unzipped the tent door to expose the tank and knew already what I would find there, even before I lifted it up.

Yup, totally empty... My brief season of happy satisfaction was ending... 

I went to bed that night with the sinking feeling that now I'd need to figure out the whole propane refilling process--along with getting the tank out to the road and bringing it back--filled. 

I'd planned on using the heat only 3 hours a day, but it just felt so damn good... I switched my expectation over to seeing just how long the tank would last if I used it for comfort whenever I wanted heat, rather than sticking to my austere program of only using it when necessary. 

Can you blame me? 

Where I had budgeted a 20 day life for the tank, my "excessive" use cut the final usable time in half.

With typical IWALLK irony, nature brought 8 inches of snow on the very night I'd run out of gas. I heard the snowflakes hitting the roof of the canopy and set my watch to wake me up every four hours or so to clean the roof. 

The sound of millions of snowflakes was like the hiss coming from a speaker connected to an old tape recorder without Dolby B engaged in between the songs. In the pre-digital audio world, this was called "noise," as opposed to "signal." My signal was a long way away...

The next morning--I saw the results of the first true snowfall of the year. It wasn't even officially winter yet. It was however quite beautiful. I set about shoveling while I contemplated what would be necessary to keep ahead of having a storm like this once a week for the next four months...

Still made some coffee.

After working outside for most of the day to replenish the fire pit wood reserves, I retired to the tent for a rest. 

It was pretty cold (about 20 F). Immediately, I missed my heater. Though every one of you (likely) takes heat for granted, the ten days I'd enjoyed my propane heat struck me now as being more than I somehow deserved and this cold world. My coming frigidity was much more appropriate. I know how crazy that sounds. 

My mind often swims around in the lukewarm water of childhood misinformation about what life is supposed to be like. Teach your children well...indeed...

I will eventually get into greater detail about all this childhood mind-fucking, but for now? Let's just say that no moment of rest and happiness ever passes me by without the angry, swearing, hurtful voice of my father echoing forward through the years, telling me that I'm just a disappointment; that work should never be enjoyable; that if I am resting I am actually just wasting time. I have never psychically been able to simply relax. Any moment that goes by without constant and sustained effort toward some kind work (even if it is just useless toil) is impregnated with now-ancient threats that I am merely a failure flapping around, and will never be able to live up to his standards.

So, as I sat there before my subfreezing desk, I instinctually and involuntarily kept working. Foremost in my mind was a project I'd been tossing around to make my pathways around the property more permanent. At first, I'd cleared them of leaves and underlying roots, but soon discovered - during the very heavy rains of late summer - that that action only created mud. It occured to me late in the fall that ultimately I really just wanted the opposite of lawn-obsessed land owners. I wanted a forest-centered landscaping, where the only grass in the yard was that which ran along the pathways. Usually, a large grassy lawn will have secondary dirt-based paths. I wanted the opposite.

My cousin's wife (a landscaping professional), who you might remember from this post, is who I will be consulting when I am finally able to do such things. My idea is to buy sod (pre-grown grass) and lay it down over my paths. My question to her will be: Can I simply lay the sod down, or must I rough up the underlying ground in order to have it take? With this all in mind I drew up a diagram to help express this idea, in the context of my forest floor situation... 

The layers are, from surface to underground: (1) leaf litter--about 3 inches deep, (2) a root mat

(an incredibly dense system of tree roots, such that it can't even be chopped with a

machete)--about 8 inches deep, (3) loamy sand and mid-sized rocks--about 10 inches deep,

(4) sand--about 8 inches deep, and finally (5) the rock ledge of the mountain,

consisting of a solid mixture of slate, granite and other rock.

Pathetically perhaps, feeling that I had now satisfied my dad's expectations for how I spent that ten minutes, I took a breath, hoping his spectre wouldn't see such obvious slacking off as breathing for a moment, I headed back outside to simply walk around and think about how all of this winter's life was going to go... 

It was time to eat something. As I dug into my cooler (which ironically was now more of a refrigerator--disallowing the freezing of my food for as long as possible) I had only a couple of pork chops left. Perfect! ...

It was a nice afternoon, though with a strange feeling of foreboding... It wasn't like my life was at risk. But, maybe, my plans were indeed being thrown up as a jump ball between my desire to do anything possible to achieve independence versus the constant temptation pulling my attention toward comfort. 

Inevitably, I retired to the tent once the sun had hidden itself behind the edge of the mountain. As I have explained before about so many other nights leading up to this one, I sat there in the tent thinking and planning (things that would be barely acceptable to my dad's standards--because I wasn't hitting something with a hammer or grinding away at it) until the lamp dimmed due to my battery running low. 

After climbing into bed with my phone in hand, trying to conjure up ASMR videos, via my 1G connection, that I could then stream and use to bring on some peaceful sleep, I received an email from some neighbors asking me if I would cat-sit for them while they were away. 

Appreciating the ability to obtain a bit of extra income to supplement my blog donations, and because these people were very friendly and even loving folks, I had to only think for about 3 seconds before accepting the job. It would start the next day (December 16th).

The next morning I awoke to another message--this time from my Uncle Rick, letting me know that he was driving over from New Hampshire to Kingsfield, Maine, to do some recording (he is an incredible drummer--I mean one of a kind, like you have never heard before!), and asked me if he could help by dropping off a full propane tank. What an incredibly generous offer!

I practically jumped out of bed and texted him back that we could meet just before I would head to my neighbors' land to begin my cat-sitting job. 

At around 2:00 pm I walked out to the main road, dragging a makeshift sled to pull the tank back to my property, and met my uncle...

A good sled for pulling stuff around.

Besides the wonderful blessing of my uncle's delivery, it was just great to see him. I'd followed his musical jobs throughout the last few years, recently playing drums on a riverboat that made its way down the Mississippi while he always advertised his other major talent--tuning pianos. 

On this day, after dropping off my treasured propane tank, then recording drums, he had already set up piano tuning jobs in the area. And, don't take this piano tuning as some kind of fluffy work! It is a seriously accredited profession--one which he has persistently pursued and achieved the highest degree possible in order to work.

I dragged the little sled to the head of my road and met him there...   

I am on the left. Interesting to note that even though Rick (my mother's younger brother, on the right) is 13 years older than I am, he looks younger than I do!

Thanking him, and with joyful effort, I dragged the tank back to my property, thinking that I would be returning there after cat-sitting. I wouldn't, but I had no idea about that yet.

Then, after securing the tank and shoring up my little piece of the Universe, I set back out to spend what I thought would be ten days in a cabin on the land of these neighbors, whom I would be helping out. They asked that one cat stay with me in the cabin. I love cats and looked forward to caring for these.

It was truly nice to be settling into this cabin--as the temperature plummeted to -10 F, with the cabin's monitor heater, washer and dryer, kitchen and cute little kitty, named Gato.

As you will soon see, this new paradigm totally changed all that I had planned for the winter.

Ten days before Christmas, I was set up in a warm cabin with a cute kitty cat who I would grow to really love.

* * *

Out on the windswept edge of the mountaintop I had called my own for the last 5 months, soon to be pummeled by subzero F snow and ice, sat my unmanned canopy, with a tent inside it, and a smaller tent inside that tent. I thought, as I settled into the soft bed of the cabin, that (due to my dad's psychological blasting) I was about to "abandon" and "neglect." I was never able to escape how inferior I was. Never...

All the while, I enjoyed these moments of comfort and joy that preceded the Christmas week. And then I slipped into unconsciousness, not knowing just how chaotic things were about to become.

A Living Magazine - Tap Root: Days 129 to 136 - Happy, Neat and Clean

The trip into town was something like walking on a bundt cake, powdered with confectioners sugar, and impressed with the wheel marks of a candy tractor...  

By midday the sun had burned the snow away. I settled into a downtown Dunkin Donuts table with their special deal of a large hot chocolate, flavored with caramel and sea salt, topped with a goopy swirl of whipped cream. Yum! A large hot chocolate had almost as much caffeine as a small coffee, at least fulfilling that part of my daily medication.

I reached into my backpack to retrieve the phone charger and realized I had forgotten it. It was my first time in town for several days and everything I owned was running low on power. I'd planned on this trip to get a free charge. Shit! 

Then I realized one of the other outlets had a USB power port, and thankfully at least I had my little cable. I moved one table over and plugged in. The first thing I wanted to see was a weather forecast from intellicast.com, my very well-informed, but highly ad-imposed weather site. And, damn!, when I say "highly ad-imposed" I aint kiddin'. In a world of seeking maximum efficiency and excluding wasteful time-consuming activities, watching the forecast stand still while seven ads for things that I've already bought, including my new heater (I mean, how incredibly stupid is it to show people ads for the things they already own and will not buy again?--but web-scampering bots don't care), turns my eye rolling into impatient foot tapping.

Eventually, the forecast came up on my screen and I saw it would be pretty calm, while very cold, for the next week or so. Even the wind was not going to kick up again for a few days. College kids came and went studying for midterms. Christmas music had replaced the trendy Millennial "acoustic versions of pop songs" that had heavily rotated at this store ever since I moved to town five months earlier. As much as I despise Christmas music, after 49 years of hearing the same unrealized bullshit musical sentiments and unrealizable fantasy about "the most wonderful time of the year" - a time that for me, has only involved the death of friends, the divorce of my parents, the destruction of my home by fire, and my own loss of love - I actually found this Christmas music to be a refreshing change from the shallow, three chord folk music of uninspired young "singer-songwriters".

Without even gaining much of a charge on my phone, I packed up Green Bean (my backpack) and left to hit Tranten's (the local grocery store) before heading back to the land. At Tranten's I looked for my typical day old steaks, and cheap chicken thighs (skin-on, of course!), a baguette, a 99 cent instant potato package. I found it all and stuffed two beers into my basket as well. I figured I would drink one that night and save the other for the next night. Naturally, the other side of my mind knew full well I'd drink them both that evening and be all the happier for it.    

The walk home reminded me that I was no longer an anonymous ghost in this town. Three cars, each with a neighbor I'd met in the last few weeks, stopped to very kindly ask if I wanted a ride. Folks have a hard time understanding why IWALLK. When I tell these well-meaning folks that I'm doing fine, or lie that I'm doing it for "exercise," they half-smile, with just the hint of that "you poor crazy man" look in their eyes and furrow their brows, then accepting that I am just slightly insane and perfectly happy doing something they would never ever choose to do, they roll up the window, wave goodbye and proceed on to their warm homes. 

There is always a weird feeling just before Christmas. And, if you are a (formerly) homeless, vagabond, vagrant...blah, blah, blah, walking down the road, you get to know this feeling with uncomfortable familiarity. Where for 11 months out of the year, you are treated like a piece of trash, the pre-Christmas "spirit" suddenly turns you into a potential Christmas "miracle" for some doting good-intentioned stranger to treat as a charity. "Peace on earth and goodwill to men," transforms otherwise-uncaring, thing-fetishizing, consumer-oriented, shallow people into temporary lower-class philanthropists. Whatever... "Thank you sir, may I have another?"

I climbed the steep incline to the top of Weeks Mills Road, then turned right onto my dirt road and continued past the chain across it. Whenever I get to this point I suddenly feel free and unable to be bothered by anyone. As I made my way down the road I saw a man (apparently a hunter) ahead of me. He was walking incredibly slowly, in fatigues, with an AR-15 carefully drawn out to his side. When I got to within 50 feet behind him, I thought it reasonable to let him know I was there, or risk receiving a bullet to the head by surprising him. I called out. And, when he saw me he stopped and let me catch up. It was obvious he only had a few hours to enjoy going hunting on this land.

He was a neighbor I'd met a few weeks earlier at our neighborhood get-together last fall. Although he was a very respectful and polite young man, I got a strange and cold feeling from him, like there was a lot going on in his mind. I distinctly felt like I was intruding on his only peaceful moments. On this day there was something else being processed.

When I tried to joke and lighten the atmosphere, telling him I felt I had to call out in order to avoid a potential gun shot in my direction, he said (almost too quietly and with no expression at all on his face), "Oh...I'd never do that..." I apologized for breaking his stride, and passed him to complete my walk home.

* * *

In the next few days I continued my processing of fire pit wood...

One night, it occured to me that - in light of my having to deal with the severely low temperatures to come - I could probably have even more comfort at night by setting up my IWALLK tent inside the bigger tent, where my bedding was. Ha! What a cool idea!

My latest air cushion (the third of four faulty ones that I would buy) fit quite nicely in the tent. On top of the cushion I laid out a down-filled army sleeping bag, then a queen-sized comforter was draped over my regular sleeping bag. I will tell you right now, that no bed has ever been more comfortable! I looked forward to every single night that I would crawl into that cloud of wonderful sleep-inducing fluff!

My shortening daylight activities, brief fires to cook my meals, and immediate retreat to the joy of my bedroom tent each night was intoxicating. It was a very fresh and satisfying way to live. The propane heater functioned exactly as advertised, and for the first time in many weeks, I simply revelled in the joy of turning my wilderness domicile into a nightly heaven on earth.

I was so happy and gratified that of my Five Basics for Human Survival, I had water, food, shelter, heat, and electricity--all of them. My tent was clean and comfortable. The heat, food storage, a way to cook it, coffee every morning, my illuminated desk light to write by every night before falling into the bliss of my bed, fit my expectations for what I'd wanted to have during the winter. In adjusting my ability to store food, a one-meal-a-day routine allowed me to have a wide variety of leftovers...     

Baked beans, pepperoni, fresh bread, Ramen noodles and delicious steak.

This was a peaceful respite from the harsh implementation of winter's cruelty - or more appropriately, its introduction (winter doesn't mean to be cruel). For the first time in years, I actually flirted with feeling the Christmas spirit myself! Those who know me and have followed this blog know how completely I bitterly hate the commercial aspects of this season. Yet, with my gorgeous location, fresh-aired tent, heat when I wanted it, delicious fire-cooked meals, sweet rainwater and freedom to come and go as I so chose from my own land, I had a small glimpse of what my future could be. In this novel seasonal optimism of mine, for fun, I built a reindeer into my fencing...

Can you see my reindeer?

When venturing down to get more paper birch I discovered this kind of midway bark...

...it is a layer located just under the white paper of the tree, and before the wood is reached. It's corky, multi-layered makeup, even when completely soaked, can serve as an incredibly efficient fire starter.

The eight blissful days allowed me to further sweep up my paths, tack more slats onto my pathway railings, and basically just slow down. I'd wake in the morning, and make my coffee...

...enjoying my mug as I walked around, sipping the smokey, slightly-birch flavored concoction, and dreaming about the future.

In spite of my many shortcomings, I can thank God for a natural ability to focus my mind very intensely upon my future vision for this property--literally seeing it in my head. I'd peer at a section of the yard and the future image of its development would overlay itself in my imagination. I'd step over fallen logs and make note about how I would clean them up in the spring. I'd stop before great indentations in the ground and see how they could be developed into little ponds, or natural planters where herbs and flowers would one day claim the ground at the base of my few majestic pines. I saw the sunlight of future springs sparkling off carefully maintained, stone lined channels where rainwater would leisurely trickle in its own relaxing way, wherever it might...

Day to day, I'd spontaneously decide to stay peacefully on the land or wander leisurely into town, passing the well-known sights, like this...

Apples cling proudly, but in vein, in the deadness of the post-harvest air. 

I took this picture to show how nicely a fallen pine tree could be used as a border barrier

with its sharp branches detering passage for animal or human.

Sauntering into Tranten's one day I found a day old $11.00 steak for $4.00. It was marbled with lines of delicious fat, spider webbing through bright red meat. I had to buy it. I also dropped one perfect tomato into a plastic bag. 

With a song on my lips and a spring in my step, I made my way back to my land, just as the copper sun floated above the mountaintops in the distance. It was the Golden Hour--the time when the bald trees on the hillside of my property seem to soak up the evening light as if they were auditioning to be the holders of jewels.

Along with leftover mushrooms, the remainder of my instant potatoes and my one last garlic roll, the meal came out perfectly...

A few days later I made another trip into town. This time the air was seriously colder. An unexpected cold front had swept in from the north and painted the earth with the white frost that looks so beautiful but finally destroys the cells of grass and other annual plants. Along Middle Street I noticed for the first time how much straw there was in the bog. I thought that maybe it might be nice to grow a bit of this stuff myself. It would be good for insulation, maybe in some future out buildings that need it? Maybe that was just dreaming. Nevertheless, I took the time to venture down into the swamp and gathered seeds from the few plants that still had wispy seed tips, just incase...

Frost covered marsh grass that could serve as a wonderful padding, or for insulation.

In tune with my week's cleaning and organizing, I made an additional effort to make the space under the canopy more domestic, setting up a bathroom area, where previously I had been taking my toilet into the tent to do my business. Now I could "powder my nose" outside...

The lining on the floor is an old faulty air mattress, cut in half and flattened

out to make very effective, waterproof flooring.

The space was quite acceptable at this time...

Nighttimes were very cozy...

I thought it might be worth the effort to capture as much of this idyllic life in pictures as I could during these last few days of fall. Some of the following are panoramas and they deserve a good zoom-up and pan left to right to get the idea, especially the last image...

To say that all of this was the "calm before the storm" is to express an astounding understatement. Still, in a blog that has so frequently focused upon my suffering and seemingly unending series of challenges, I found writing this post to be cathartic. Rather than expressing my typical cynicism, I thought it more valuable to remember these good days publicly. It was a brief time of peace and calm.

Having said all that, on the tenth day after hooking up my heater, after nearly two weeks of relaxing existence, good food, healthful walking and inspirational contemplation...and just before bedtime...the propane...ran out...

A Living Magazine - Tap Root: Days 127 to 128 - The Heat Was On...For a Little While

The fall was pressing through Western Maine with what locals were calling unusually high winds. And I really felt it on my mountaintop (by the way, I learned this mountain that I share with my neighbors is called Perham Hill). 

Even when temperatures moderated a bit from their slow and steady plunge, the windchill was chopping off another 5-10 degrees whenever that mountain breath really got started. And the gusty days were more frequent than the still ones.

Way back in the fat green warmth of late June when my realtor and I first walked through this untouched property, the wind was a constant presence. I did notice that this wind was quite prominent. Yet, thinking it was just a fluke on that summer day, after signing my deed to buy this property, I immediately bought the solar system that we have now become so familiar with in this project, in past posts. 

Given a second chance with the knowledge I have now, I would have spent a bit extra on a turbine generator and two batteries instead of one. The solar panel worked very well--exactly as it should have. But it was just not powerful enough, nor the battery large enough, to charge all of my equipment and tools, plus run lights and other devices overnight. I will make it a priority if I am able to secure funds this coming summer (2018) to continue building my power system, this time adding the advantages of wind. That would allow continuous charging through thick and thin, with the solar panel supplementing the system rather than serving as its central electric generator.

During this November I found myself wanting to stay on the land for longer and longer periods of time each week. Where I had walked into town each day throughout the late summer and early fall, now I tried to build up food and supplies for multiple days, just staying on the property and working. During these stretches - which varied between two to four days in a row - I continued to primp up and preen the yard. Pathways were further defined and then bordered by laying the many small spruce trees that I had been taking down around the yard. These dead trees were on average ten feet tall and straight a plumbline. 

Mostly though, I spent much time experimenting with fire pit techniques. Although I never was able to install a drain for the pit (which would fill up with water during heavy rainstorms), bailing it out with a decapitated one gallon milk jug, like a leaky dingy, worked fairly well. That is, as long as I was then able to get a subsequently significant fire going. The heat from the fire would dry it the rest of the way. Even a fire pit can consume massive amounts of fuel over time. This was true for me, because it was my only means of cooking. 

But, aside from braising steaks and boiling water, the falling temperature inspired experimentation with keeping the fire going from morning coffee to bedtime. Through many iterations, I found that the best means of maintaining a daylong fire without burning everything in sight was dues to the following process...

I made up starter bundles, wrapped in masking tape (that I'd found on the road), with thin strips of paper birch bark twisted into their centers leaving a couple inches sticking out to serve as small wicks. The Old English technical term for this kind of bundle, before the more offensive North American meme put it out of business, was "faggot" (being a "bundle of sticks or twigs bound together as fuel")...

A work week's worth of fire starters lined up on the left.

I was developing a nice system of felling, gathering, cutting, chopping and grading kindling and other firewood. All over the yard were the fallen trees I'd taken down by chainsaw, piled up in different spots near where they'd once grown. I would drag each tree up to my chopping stump and "process" it. It is truly amazing what a sharp machete and hatchet can do to a tree. 

First, all the branches in the 1-2 inch diameter range would be removed by machete and piled up beside me. Then, by starting at each branch tip and working my way to its base, I would chop it into 12 inch sections. The leftover tree trunks in the 4-6 inch diameter range would similarly be cut (by hand saw or chainsaw) down into 12 inch long logs--later to be split by hatchet and piled up. It was the smaller stick sections of the branches that were most important to me. I would grade and separate them into twigs up to half an inch in diameter, sticks up to 2 inches, and rotten sticks up to 3 inches, into piles.

On one especially nice sunny day I formed a line of cubic yard piles: twigs, 1-2 inches, 3 inches, and 4 or more inch logs were set aside for the fire pit. Especially straight wood was sequestered into 1, 2, 3, and 4 foot lengths of various diameters for building-wood; used in making structures rather than burning. 

On that same day, I visited several of my naturally-fallen birch trees, harvesting the paper bark, which was then graded as show here...

Birch is the ultimate matchlight-starting material.

When the day was done, I had enough lighting material, kindling bunches, twigs, sticks and logs to last a month of daylong (being about 6 hours) fires. I could wake up in the morning, light a bundle (sometimes having to supplement it with extra birch bark sections), surround it with sticks, then smaller logs, finally adding a circle of large logs on top and around the perimeter. In this way, the fire would continually feed itself by gravity pulling down large logs to replace the ones that turned into coals. By evening a square yard's mass of thick, glowing embers would be the perfect bed to cook my daily meal over. But I learned early on what the true secret of a daylong fire is: WATER. 

Fire is a hungry beast. In order to keep it from growing too greedy and bursting off of its leash (in other words, burning all of its fuel in just a couple hours), it needs to be liberally doused with a few gallons of water on a regular basis--about every half hour to an hour, at least for the size of my pit and depending on how much I wanted to scale it back. On days where the temperature hovered around the freezing point, this was never a problem. My many topped-off water containers and large barrel (about 75 gallons total between these containers at any one time) provided plenty of water for this purpose. Consecutive days of freezing temperatures however, created challenge that grew as each day's hours of sunlight shrank. I kept a plant watering can filled with enough water to sprinkle over, or really soak the fire when it got too large. The nice thing about a well-established fire is that a lot of water can be dumped over it and still it will perk back up again in a reliable amount of time...

Water in its various phases.

With the early arrival of subfreezing mornings, I discovered that I could reapportion the pit for more efficiency, dividing it into different sections. One section would be a place to dump chunks of ice into my large pot to keep a steady supply of liquid water available. Another section contained a place for the flat rack to allow cooking. And, a third section would be piled up with larger wood to pull over the coals and allow for a more substantial flame which I could then visit throughout the day to warm up at. I also scoured the yard for larger odd shaped pieces of wood to just slowly burn over a few days. Here are a couple of fire pit configurations...

 

Inevitably, the cold began to overtake all the effort I was putting into stalling it. It became more and more difficult to keep any amount of water from freezing. The rain barrel quickly became a permanently solid chunk of 200 pound ice. I was melting small amounts water and keeping the containers close to my bed at night, hoping that a bit of body heat might maintain some amount of liquid throughout the night. But having no source of heat in the tent (besides my own body), was becoming a pretty limiting prospect especially as the sun was sinking behind the western part of the mountain earlier every day, to around 3:30 pm as December grew nearer.

By this, I mean to say to say that because of the late sunrise and early sunset, coupled with the extreme cold that would soon characterize the coming winter, there was little time to do much on the land, and walking into town and back would take the entire period of daylight. I would still often be able to build a fire in the evenings, but no matter how much wood I would pile upon it, the heat simply dissipated too quickly to be of any use in warming my old bones. It got to the point where nothing was achieved besides simply depleted my reserves of wood. I'd cook my meal as quickly as possible, with as little wood as possible, retire to my cold tent, use my dwindling battery to light up the scene until the lamp faded, then climb into my sleeping bag where I would feel the only sustained warmth of the whole day until it was time to get up again the next morning...

The first dusting of snow arrived and I mentally and physically tried to prepare to hunker down for what I assumed would be a very, very long and cold winter...

I was desperate for my heater to arrive. I already had the tank ready to go and it seemed to thumb its brass-fitted nose at me everytime I walked past it under the blue canopy. Unfortunately, because I'd not realized the heater I bought through Amazon was being sent via UPS to my USPS General Delivery address at the post office in downtown Farmington, I was in for a great disappointment. For the mail system, it is a big no-no for the USPS to do any tasks for UPS. And, when I received the cheerful auto-email alert notifying me that the heater had indeed been delivered, I immediately walked downtown, confidently calling Farmington Taxi for a ride back. It was a ride that I smiled about and assumed would include me and my new heater, then walked into the post office to discover they had rejected the delivery and my precious heater was on its way back to California. I was...um...displeased.

Seething, I still took the taxi back to my road because it was far too dark and cold for my deteriorating attitude to handle the three mile walk after such a let down. I didn't make a fire that night. I simply crawled into my sleeping bag at about 5:00 pm and stared out into the darkened tent, watching slight distortions in the air as my breath dissipated around the tiny glow of the LED on the solar charge controller. Light in the form of a LED dot can look so cold sometimes...

That weekend my friend Jason arrived on Saturday morning with his truck and, though my credit card was already loaded down with the unrefunded amount I'd paid for the heater--now on its way back across the country, I vowed to increase my debt even more if necessary to have some heat. 

We went to the local Walmart and simply bought the same damn heater there--for less than the online price! In a comedic series of processes that didn't seem so funny at the time, I bought the wrong sized propane hose and fittings--TWICE. Meaning, we made three trips to Walmart and back to the land before being able to hook up the heater.

Jason - though I could tell he was becoming a bit irritated - held his temper in check and cut me more slack than I deserved for these errors. What constitutes a good friendship?: Being (him) able to watch your friend (me) screw up and still not slap him in the face. He's a good guy. And, despite the apparent futility of the afternoon's travels, were both feeling much better when we clicked the ignition on the heater and saw that gorgeous blue flame flicker in waves of orange-tipped gaseous heat up and over the porous ceramic radiant plate. Heat filled the small tent. He'd already stayed well past his planned time of departure and left, I hope, satisfied that he'd really made a difference in my living situation. And, he really had...

Pictures from a few moments of bliss that lifted me higher than any drug. The heat was on!

The next morning I rose from my warm bed and clicked on the heater. Within moments I was warm enough to dress without shivering! It was an amazing feeling. All liquid, in all containers, including the extra coffee I had made the morning before, was frozen solid. But I put the jar of coffee in front of the heater and within about 15 minutes I was able to pour it into an old coffee can. Then I gently placed the can on top of the heater and it was piping hot within another ten minutes. Pouring the coffee into my cup without having to have built a fire was a satisfying act indeed.

I switched off the heater and headed out to walk downtown, passing my carved IWALLK nomadic symbol in the old tree I call my "totem pole." 

I'd glued in a tiny diamond earring that represented the Spark into the star (sorry for the out of focus shots)... 

Spark.

...and I said out loud, to all creatures great and small, seen and unseen, high and low, and also to the Spark itself... "Now I will be able to continue on!"

As my shoes crunched down upon the jewelled crystals of ice that had pushed their way up through the dusty surface of my driveway I "heard" the Spark faintly, as if it were also waking up after weeks of sleep, say something like...

"Sometimes even the greatest frustration you feel is the best possible blessing you will ever have. This may be the lowest life of your Universe career, but no other experience will give you as much. I know how hard it is to believe that. But look to the east! The sun always returns to warm your soul...as will I.........."