A Living Magazine - Tap Root: Days 167 to 173 - Winter's Wondering

Over these next few days I discovered that I had not let anyone know what was going on. It was an extremely cold stretch and a few folks had contacted me, wondering if I was still out at the land.

The following excerpt from Facebook was published to fill in the gap...

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Howdy Folks!

First, thank you so much to the people who have been contacting me to see if I am okay. Some generous people have helped with donations and securing propane lately. I can't express how much that help means to me. I want to leave an update tonight. Here is an excerpt stitched together from some upcoming blog posts...

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On the 16th of December I began a ten day cat-sitting job for neighbors of mine. [snip] The cabin is reached first about halfway to the house. The cabin has full utilities (monitor heater, fridge, electricity, hot water, full bathroom, etc.).

As we know, the superfreeze set in after two days of eight inch dumping snow storms (12/23 and 12/25).

At their bidding, during that period, these neighbors and I negotiated a way for me to rent the cabin (month to month) through the winter, if necessary. At the time of this agreement I still expected to preserve the campsite on my land by clearing snow off the canopy after each storm, just as I would if living out there, digging out my paths and keeping up the ability to run the propane heater if need be.

In a perfect example of plans falling apart over one lazy decision, instead of leaving the cabin and spending the night of 12/23 at my land - something that would have involved waking up in the tent and clearing snow every few hours (as I had done several times during over-night snow storms before the cat-sitting) - I chose to stay in the comfort of the indoors of the cabin...

You know what I'm about to say. 😊

When I did get out to check things at the land in the very cold light of morning the next day (Christmas Eve day, before driving down to celebrate Christmas at my sister's in South Portland [snip]), I saw that the roof of the canopy had 6 inches of snow capped by 2 inches of ice on top.

The weight of the snow had caused the roof to sag from it's 8 foot height to about three feet off the ground. The tent had been crushed down. One of the tent poles (reinforced fiberglass) split like a stick. Even the tiny IWALLK tent which I had used as a bedroom within the larger tent had it's main pole broken. In thousands of miles and every seemingly possible scenario, never had that NorthFace tent been damaged so severely as what I found on this day.

The canopy itself was better off than anything else. Only some of the tarp had ripped from the ribs to which it had been attached.

Under a time constraint, I set about clearing all the snow off the canopy, repairing the ripped parts by reattaching them with zip ties. It made me very sad to peer into the crushed tent that had protected me for 5 months, with my little sewing desk, chair, totes and food cooler. One night of comfort had cost me my ability to stay on my own land...

Anyhow, I did not have time to install new supports under the canopy and I knew that it was due to snow again on Christmas day.

There is a certain point at which defeat in battle should be accepted, rather than losing the war completely through futile effort; living to fight again. A good leader can discern when this moment has arisen. For my part? This was it for my immediate plans. It was a game changer. Renting the cabin now became my only alternative.

After the Christmas storm I ventured back out to my land. Now the once-packed trail out there was covered over. Where the dirt road of summer crossed the expanse of the hay field before reaching the woodsy road to my property, the snow of winter had completely eaten it up and erased all traces of its existence.

I trudged along using my best guess for where that field road might be, somewhere under me. Entering the shorter, woods road, I acutely became aware of the second consequence of my lack of presence there (that being aside from the collapsing of my canopy and tent).

It was two feet of snow, with a hard but permeable crust half way down to the ground. Previously, before my neglect, I had maintained the narrow shovel-width path through the sweat of shoveling the near-quarter mile after each snow storm.

On this afternoon my shoes were packing in snow around the sock-edges, as the crust scratched up my legs with each labored step.

I was panting so hard that I needed to stop, put my hands on my knees and catch my breath. Those who work in subfreezing temps know the very real phenomenon of dehydration that can set in. The bone dry air sucks all traces of moisture from each exhalation, and gives nothing back in return through inhalation. In other words, I got unusually thirsty. Couple this with sweating under my hat at the risk of hypothermia becomes real. Though I ignored the potential drama of being caught up in the precariousness of the situation, it did lodge in the back of my mind.

When I finally did round the corner where the solar panel had stood like a sentry through the summer and fall, proud and gleaming in its technological glory, I found a pathetic, snow and ice covered rectangular object, tipping over and off of its support scaffolding.

Upon seeing this, I was struck with a feeling I'd never had before. It was something akin to waking up after suspended animation, or hibernation, to an ancient human space colony I had once thrived in, frozen in time upon some distant icey planet; a failed project to establish a new world.

I had arrived there what seemed like centuries ago, like a test pilot, dropped off alone in the wilderness, with half a pallet of supplies and the book knowledge necessary to plant, germinate, and grow a new future for myself and hopefully others. Last summer when I made that touch down, my planet was teaming with layers of green, lush life. Here in the dead of winter, it seemed to me that there was no better time than the present to simply give up.

But if I have learned anything from being disappointed by the devastation and dismemberment of my sacred agenda in this last decade, it is that "...if I aint dead, I aint done."

Standing there in the snow, looking back down the woods road from which I'd just come, I saw the drifts whip over my ephemeral path, steadily erasing my footprints from history. The Spark touched me. "It shall not be so."

I got to the back entrance of the canopy, grabbed the shovel and cleared the entrance. Entering the canopy was like a repeat of 2 days before. On this day though, I was to undertake my only and hastily devised contingency plan.

Again, I cleared the roof first. It was a matter of using my homemade ladder around the outside of the canopy to climb up and literally shovel the majority of snow off. This took about an hour. But I wasn't done yet.

Once the heaviest mass had been removed from the roof, using a broom with bristles-side up and standing inside the canopy, I would push up on the tarp material bouncing it to channel the loose remaining snow to the low points of the roof where it could then be punched off onto the growing bank around the outside perimeter of the canopy.

When all of that had finally been completed, I immediately got into the big tent tent and disassembled the much smaller NorthFace "bedroom" tent. I didn't have time to fold and organize it, nor its famous rainfly, nor pack it up into its little bag. All of that would have to be done later.

Disassembling the small tent required removing my bedding, including the queen sized comforter, which contained my sleeping bag sandwiched within it. They lay on an old goose down-filled Army sleeping bag which reflected heat back up through the other layers very well when it was used. That sleeping bag lay upon a deflated air mattress, which ultimately rested upon a foam sleeping mat. Whew! Maybe with that description one can get an idea about why I was never cold while in bed, no matter what the temps were.

I removed the desk and chairs, positioning them under parts of the canopy that were strong enough to take any amount of snow. The same thing was done with the heater, and then the entire solar power system. Interestingly, right before being detached, the little digital power meter showed I had used a mere 14 Kw of power in five months.

All these important things were packed as well as I could fit them into spare boxes, though my fingertips had become numb and the time needed for their recovery with each dip into my pockets, grew toward an unreasonable length.

I would need to finish up and leave soon or risk frostbite. The larger tent came down easily once the guy ropes were loosened. It was however a total pain in the ass to push those large tent poles through their respective fabric sleeves, because the aluminum joints kept snagging (a frustration most campers have dealt with on at least one occasion). The difference with this job was that I could no longer tell how tightly I was grasping things with my numb fingers--no longer able to tell where the knuckles began and the tips ended. Finally, I got it done.

That was it. That is how things stand right now. I had to leave without securing new supports under the canopy's tarp roof, but at least everything is now at ground level or situated under stronger areas of the canopy, and cannot be crushed or destroyed.

One good aspect of the temperature (which has not exceeded 10 F in the last 4 days, with another 10 days predicted to follow!), is that it is too low for snow to fall. At the same time, it is also so low that I cannot reasonably go out to my land and continue to work.

An over-analyzer like moi can dam up his mind with the ironies of what is happening in my life right now! Even when I was ready to drink the cup of a dangerous winter of incredible struggle in this extreme place, I was presented with a living situation that was almost the exact opposite--a warm safe cabin.

Now that I am pretty much forced to be inside and safe, I suddenly possess all I'd hoped to have in my (pre town-code enforcement issue) dreams of last summer, for what I would do over this winter. The idea was to build a small cabin and live essentially as I am right now in *this* cabin, allowing me to focus on writing books and pursuing other creative projects. More irony is squeezed out of the fact that my code issues had finally been solved when it was too late in the season to build! I thought the dream was now - as it were - on ice.

But the very unlikely opportunity now upon me, allowing me to get ahead in these other creative endeavors - after falling so far behind since my heart issues in 2016, then gaining hope again with the purchase of this land, then being denied a good shelter on this land - is more than I could have dreamed of.

Still, in honor of irony itself, such incredibly "good" fortune always leaves me feeling uncomfortable. Surely, the other shoe is going to drop... Surely, I shall pay for such gifts with more hardship before I know it... Intellectually, even spiritually, I appreciate that things can get better over time, not just worse (as my previous experience always seems to suggest). But one of the lines from my own song said it best: "I'm afraid to feel this happy."

When this frozen streak is lifted, I will get back out onto the land, reinforce the ribbing and supports under the tarp canopy. And, over time, I will make a stronger structure that can hold as much snow as the good gods of winter want to dump on it. In the meantime, and in between writing, I will also repair everything, clean up and organize the snowless area under the canopy and set up a much more stable shelter which could still be used for sleeping out there this winter if necessary or in some kind of an emergency (if things don't work out with the cabin, for example).

I will now have even less money--with rent and utilities, as new expenses, ones that I had tried to make a very clear point about getting rid of by starting to establish a self sustaining property. At least now I will be investing time in book writing and not just surviving, which hopefully will bring in a few extra bucks after publication. Not going to get rich on any of it I think, but a little more income would go a long way.

I'll conclude this particular post by saying the following...

In the last month since publishing anything of substance, I have experienced much inner growth. I am beginning to penetrate the density of some of my thickest psychological barriers. How much I would love to share about this! But it will have to wait.

Many of you who have closely followed the ups and downs through the Journeys of the last 6 years know just how bipolar these travels were (despite that not being a diagnosis for my strange condition). For now, suffice it to say that this last autumn set up a pattern upon which I could try to find ways of eliminating the kinds of anxiety which have increasingly dogged me as an adult.

Around Thanksgiving of this year I discovered a sort of mental mechanism for not dwelling on the past, and therefore, no longer using the pain produced by that dwelling to worry so destructively about the future. The fortitude of this new way of thinking is now apparently in the testing phase by my being forced to end my stark plan of winter camping and instead accept the good fortune of safety in an environment conducive to writing. Now? It is a matter of getting to work on that. There really can be no more excuses for not having some books to publish by spring.

In my opinion, nothing about meeting these wonderful neighbors, nor the timing of the snow and the extreme cold; the forcing of a major change in plans, nor the clear path to wallk in their new directions, indicates anything more or less than the intervention of some outside.......Influence.

Sometimes it is plain that chaos needs to run its course. I have found this chaos to be more like my resting state. Now that I have made will-choices that reach beyond my material circumstances and have decided to live before I die, I think I can see that messy pile of chaotic knotted yarn being pulled up in a single colorful-beautiful strand. For me, it is being tugged by the unseen Spark as it sews a sweater to cover and heal-over the torn out sections of my soul.

I am starting to truly see what until this point I had only strongly suspected, that chaos is the misunderstood aspect of beauty, so nicely represented in the concept of the Tao.

That may all sound overly melodramatic. But, if the new soul-sweater fits? Might as well wear it.

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Thank you for reading!