Life at SoftAcres 11/23/18 - Shelter and Thanksgiving

After disassembling the green house, consolidating the things in there down to a strong (meaning, able to hold a winter's worth of accumulated snow) three foot high level, all finally appeared to be completely stowed.

After the snow had settled for good, the property was now barren of all color. The numerous thin living trees fit right in with the stick gates and bare maple arches that I had created. Everything except the blue tarps covering the shelter was in an overcast of monochrome. It didn't take long for me to crave something beyond black and white. The fire pit that I had really only used for burning trash over the summer stepped up to play that color role quite nicely. 

I've sought to do a fire each evening now. With their orange glowing, these sunset fires of early winter seemed to channel the colors of a future spring through their flames. Or, maybe that was just me? All the sunrises and sunsets to come flickered through the fire of the present moment, like they do through every light source. You just need to blur your eyes a bit and look into the distance of the flame. By that, I mean all things of value exist on the insides of each light source--it's all the same light. As one closes one's eyes to block the outside world and peer within, so does light share that inner space. The perfection potentials of Reality are almost entirely within consciousness. I know naturally now that as I view the material world around me I am staring out into the thin membrane that separates all things from nothingness. I know this outer place completely now; the darkly imperfect realm of mostly physical existence. There isn't much left for me here/there anymore.

That there had not been a proper fall before this permanent snow pack made the lingering days of November even darker. Apparently, my "lucky" piece of personal global climate change now includes sustained winds of over 30 mph, at least three times a week, starting the moment the clock turns 12:00 am, on October 1. Moreover, while green leaves remain on some of the trees, I need to expect a permanent snow pack by the end of the second week of October. Judging by last year's admittedly mercurial patterns, December should include weeks of below zero temperatures, dipping to -30 on the longest nights.

I mentioned last time that I quickly covered the shelter in time for the heavy rains and then snow that swept over My part of Perham Hill this last October. There is much more that I need do, but my physical situation is limiting the extent to which I can accomplish all that I want each day. I believe the next post is going to be about some of these new heart-related developments. Nevertheless, I do all I possibly can, even when that wicked succubus, Angina, chooses to have her way with me...now, a few times a day.

I installed a wind breaking tarp along the west side of the shelter instead of making a full doorway. I just could not do the construction right now. It will also save me some lumber for more additions to the structure of the shelter. The breaker works very effectively on its own, with the wind sealing it against the entire west side of the shelter. It is a pain in the ass to get in and out once the breaker is down, so I try to make damn sure I remember what I need to take with me into town, or bring in for the night.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. I had gone shopping the night before. I didn't have enough to buy more than that night's and next day's food. Checking out at Tranten's I was proud to have gotten as much as I did. There was no brand turkey stuffing for $0.99, a family pack of chicken thighs for $1.39 that I joked about at check out, "pretending to be turkey," four little potatoes, two small white onions, and a beer for another dollar. The plan was to eat two thighs that night, and save all the rest for my Thanksgiving dinner the next afternoon.

Besides, I didn't want to carry too much, lest the heart stab me at each step up my mile long hill. I woke on Thanksgiving at about 3:00 am to the now familiar ache in my chest. I've been using deep breathing techniques to fight it off. I discovered that I had been sweating--this, in the 15 degree temperatures. The heart pain--something alternating between the feeling of swallowing a large bone, or having barbed wire implanted from one wrist, up across the chest and into the next wrist, then pulling it from side to side; the shivering cold sweat risking hypothermia, the nausea of anxiety about not having money, being cold, feeling like I'm fading away from this life... None of it helps an already dangerous and unpredictable lifestyle. The mild frustration I have with trying to descriptively put you into my bootliners, while noticing how utterly I fail when I reread my efforts, seems sometimes like an additional slap in my face each day.

I drank some water that hadn't frozen yet, and when I felt better, must have slipped back off to sleep. It is with a little bit of satisfaction that I can report that I never feel the heart pain while I'm asleep. Even my dreams seem to completely separate me from it. Sleep has become a place of supreme respite. Perhaps it is a hint about the relief that death will eventually bring--resurrection, or not. Sorry if that is too morbid for people's conventionally blissful denial.

Waking again, I felt much more rested. The sun was leaking in through the window on the shelter, and thence projecting a shadowed image of the window upon the inner tent wall. It was about 9:30 am. The temperature in the tent had risen to a balmy 20 degrees. I slipped out of my double sleeping bag and clicked on the the little heater. I stood there in what I usually wear to bed: a sweater over a long sleeve shirt, over a t-shirt, underwear and pajama pants from Reny's. I've been wearing my boot liners as slippers inside. I'm not sure why, but I still check out my reflection in my little mirror each morning. On this day I saw my matted hair, now dry after its cold sweat bath the night before. My beard has completely invaded my face and neck. There was an old man looking at me. They say age is psychological. Guess that's why I'm old now. Makes perfect sense. I feel so close to the end that I'm almost wondering if my tapping on that door is...voluntary?

Most of all, for the first time in months, I peered deeply into my own eyes. There were the irises I knew so well. These were the eyes of the new baby, the hopeful child, the disappointed kid, the unhappy teen, the self destroying young man, the foolish adult, and now...just a sad old man. I watched them get red and water...blue eyes...I closed them and turned away.

I've been trying to make up for my battery overcharges by only charging my phone, letting the panel charge the battery banks for the rest of each day. Overcast and snow are washout days for charging. Still, in more than a month, the only full charge I had was the very first day I installed them. They rest now at about 11.88 volts. I am ruining them by not being able to fully charge them, but I have no choice.

The heavy gust buffeted the west wall of the shelter, slapping any loose part of the tarps like little gun shots, while fine crystalline snow dust made a fizzing sound as it continuously blasted the outside of my only home. When my phone was charged enough I turned on Maine Public Radio for the news, while I made coffee. The gas camp stove needs to be run with the tent vented, which kicks the overall temperature down. 

I began cooking at about 2:00 pm, boiling the potatoes, some carrots and onions. I removed the potatoes and carrots to have separately. To the boiled water, now with butter and the soften carrots I added the stuffing mix. Discovering a can of smoked mussels, I delightfully cracked it open and added them. Then it was a matter of frying up the last two chicken thighs. When I was finally done, I had an enormous mound of food to munch on. Settling in, I felt some actual satisfaction creeping into my consciousness.

Just as I began to eat, I heard voices out on the snow covered road. Then there was yelling, "Alex!? Hey, Alex Wall!?? Hello!". I'd spent the whole morning warming up the inside of the shelter and now I had to open it? I was displeased.

When I finally was able to get out, I saw my neighbors (abutting land owners). They were on their cross country skis blabbing questions about whether I knew someone had dragged a couple deer out of our common right of way. I had no idea what they were talking about. They told me I needed to "be careful, people don't know you're out here!" Beside finding it extraordinarily rude to interrupt me as I ate my Thanksgiving dinner, that they were accusatory and completely clueless about how disruptive they were being. Before they left they said, "stay warm!" That was going to be a lot more difficult now that I had let out all my heat. I will say, folks, that people who are poor and don't have the front yard, or front door to keep their privacy sacred, still deserve to be treated with dignity. These people see me as the fool on the hill, something less than deserving of respect. Does that help my struggling lifestyle or broken heart? Nah...Not so much.

It ruined my day. I couldn't even finish my meal, because I was so pissed off. Trying to get my mind off of things I worked on a writing project that is nearing completion. Sometime after the 3:45 pm sunset, I began to get another feeling I have gotten used to over the years...food poisoning. It was a mild case, and after filling my toilet bucket, I felt a bit better.

I was trying especially hard to feel thankful. At this point in my life, it is only lowest common denominators that I can thank God for. Thanks for allowing me to live in a freezing place, on one meal a day, rather than on the street. Thanks for letting me have only a few pangs of angina each day and night, rather than continuously. Oh, and by the way, thanks for the emotional numbness that is slow replacing the hopelessness that I have tried to beat back.

Are these things to be thankful for?, I asked out into the ether, and maybe to the Spark. Going through each day, loving life less, and feeling nothing at all when I should be happy...or sad...is a kind of hell with its own special torments. I am not unaware that the longtime reader is likely to be fatigued by the lack of happy endings in my story. But please don't give up yet. I'll leave you a definite note when it is time to give up on me, if I can.

For now, here are more pretty pictures, mostly showing how nice the shelter looks on my land. Maybe tomorrow will bring some uplift for us both...

Devil in the rising sun.

From the first snow storm.

Cold turkeys.

My pond, soon-to-be itsy bitsy ice rink.

The solar batteries could not keep up with the four effective hours of daily light. I needed to hold smaller expectations for using my devices. Like any debt, the debt of over loaded batteries charge interest of a certain kind. Adding knife switches to toggle between battery banks allowed me to squeak out a bit more energy each day...

Two bi-polar (appropriate!) switches. the first toggles between my old and new battery banks.

The lower one let's me decide which bank powers the inverter to give me AC.

Bank 1.

Bank 2.

Second snow storm.

See how the sides puff out with about 500 pounds of dry leaf insulation.

Ah, the rink emergeth!

Color! Look into the flame...

Third snow storm.

From my walk back home. The sore loser didn't even pick up his trash.

Fourth snow storm. I used ashes to cover my paths to prevent slipping.

When I'm gone, don't let them
take down my totem pole!

Fifth snow storm.

I'd like to thank the reader for walking up and down through the heights and pitfalls of this story. There won't be an awful lot more to it, I think. I just want you to understand that as long as I am still willing to grasp the handholds of hope occasionally, that there may still be a surprise ending to all of this. If there isn't it will become plain enough.