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Friday, March 22, 2019

Life at SoftAcres 03/22/19 - Equinox Ritual and the Coming Thaw

I'm tired, just generally. I've never been through a winter like this one. Last year was said to be the worst, but this year totally kicked its ass. I've been extra curious about climate change this season. So, I dove into research about why the winter is so long, cold and wet here in Maine, while the globe in general is supposedly warming up.

I thought that climate scientists didn't really know, but I was shocked how much they do know! Apparently, it turns out that since the winding down of the last Ice Age (something that we are still finishing up), the wall of circulating arctic air which has held the cold air above the arctic circle during northern winters has collapsed. It used to serve as a kind of force field (if you will), holding in the extreme cold air around the north pole while the sun dipped below the horizon for months.

Because of the loss of this arctic wall of air, cold air in the arctic is now free to be pulled down into the more southern latitudes; places like where Maine is.

The Joshua's trumpet that pulled down this wall (sometimes called the "Arctic Vortex") was the warming of all the oceans. Unlike air temperature (which has been cited by climate change skeptics as going up and down, therefore not necessarily rising) oceans never cease in their continuous warming. They are a preview of what the atmosphere will be doing, once a certain ocean temperature and atmospheric carbon dioxide level are reached.

What all of this means is that Maine will have maybe two or three future consecutive harsh winters (if we're lucky) and then things will begin to become milder. And it isn't going to stop getting warmer. No ice will be left in the arctic within about a decade or two. So sunlight will be absorbed by the arctic ocean during the three seasons in which it shines upon that water. But stored heat there will prevent an ice sheet. It will also be absorbing more carbon dioxide (warm water and air absorb more CO2 and more carbon always causes the temperature in that water and air to rise, setting up a runaway cycle).

I am most concerned about my own state of Maine, but of course every location on earth is going to change, due to the runaway climate problem. If I were to speculate, having now read quite a few studies, I can better plan for what I will face here in the inland mountains, what my family will face at the coast, and what our nation will face. I have no idea about the timeline, but it goes something like this...

Once that arctic air wall is gone for good, other patterns we are used to will simply begin to disappear. A state of increasing chaotic air and ocean circulation will set in. Maine will gain more rain. Ha! For a few years we will have rainy winters. Water will condense from all around the northern hemispheric ocean locations, slide down through the middle of the United States, be further heated and then be blown eastward to New England and the mid Atlantic states. 

Some deciduous trees will not lose their leaves. Other kinds of southeastern plants and animals will slowly seep into the state. Spring and fall will be highly unpredictable. Summers should be pretty nice for a while. Nights will be warmer, days will be hot and muggier, almost tropical. Growing seasons will allow crop diversity to expand, with longer seasons. Where Maine was once seen as being harsh and cold by the rest of the country, it will be soon be considered an ideal environment...again, for a while.


* * *


OMEGA TO ALPHA

Recently, I lay in bed on a particularly quite and very cold night, meditating and also probing the darkness. In a way (that was not supernatural, but still very clear vivid), my imagination spread out across the aether, and as far as I can remember I saw something like this...

I stood at a certain spot on my land. It is a little "temple" area about the size of a small closet. My plan is to plant a malus fruit tree with as many compatible varieties of apple as I can graft onto it growing out. Intertwined around that would be a stone fruit tree with as many varieties of plum, peach, nectarine, etc, varieties as I can graft onto that. These two trees would grow together as one. Anyway, that is the fantasy "tree of life" plan I have for my little temple. But in my vision of the future the tree was gone. Also gone were all trees everywhere. In fact there were no plants at all left on the earth. 

I walked around slowly looking at an amazing scene. The entire yard was laid out the same way it is here in 2019, except...it was all cast in fine marble. There were seven small cabin sized structures, each connected by a narrow hallway. There were enormously intricate moldings and ornamentation over all of these structures. The connecting hallways were lined on the outside by small classical columns. I knew it was long after I had died. A few generations (maybe more) continued to build upon my original intention of creating an intertwining, living place, set among a home that was made of these seven separate small rooms, with the hallways completing it.

As I made my way around the perimeter of the property, something caught my eye. It was a small woody plant with one last leaf clinging to it. I bent down and admired the only green thing left. Looking at it seemed to awaken the plant, and buds quickly covered the stem, with shoots beginning to emerge. I stood up, and stood back. Before my eyes a maple tree began to rise and thicken. Sounds crackled all round me. I turned slowly all the way around to see that the forests across all the mountains were rising again. Beech trees, oaks, white pines, hornbeams and birches... They came into full leaf.

The overcast sky grew brighter. Looking back down at the marble buildings, I saw they were utterly covered with thick vines, and some began to flower. There were morning glories of all colors. Rose bushes trained themselves to grow between the spaces and then bloomed all at once. A small flash of sunlight instantly poured forth from the sky, seeming to set the center of my little aforementioned temple on fire. But it was just sunlight, focused and now expanding in concentric waves from the beautiful tree that stood there. Fruit of all colors, shapes, and sizes, along with the opening of fragrant tiny white and pink flowers covered every bulging limb.

Around the edges of the temple, which I discovered was actually made of marble with rare stones and large crystals intricately inlaid, was a dirty metal cable, fancy and wide, like a large braided rope. When I walked over and grasped it, it suddenly felt warm in my fists. The residue of centuries cracked and fell off revealing a pure gold and silver band. It looked like a small fence, tied to seven surrounding posts. I let go of the fence.

I noticed that stone walls were now surrounding the entire property. Paths of grass appeared and they wound their way around small running streams of crystal clear water. Several pools glinted in the bright sunlight. That's when I heard voices. 

There were kids laughing and playing. I saw people all over the place. Many were in lotus positions--humorous to me now. They were dressed in the most unusual ways, every person different from the others, adorned and highly decorated as individuals. All at once, the people gathered and began walking down the hill paths and stone stairs to a group of small, multileveled performance stages. Musicians played as people ate and drank in large comfortable couches cushions on spectacularly weaved carpets.

Then that old west wind I know so well here gusted powerfully from the west and across the property. I fought my way back up to the buildings against the heavy breeze. The outsides of the buildings were no longer made of marble. They were covered with a mixture of wood and fieldstone. Quaint stained glass windows and nicely carved mouldings made nice lines to observe. In the next blink four of them faded out of sight, and the remaining three little cabins were sided with wooden panels. They were cute and humble. Each was connected by an outdoor walkway. Peering down over the hill I'd just walked up, I saw that all the trees were connected by branches to each other. The paths were only lightly covered with grass. A few large planters held young fruit trees. A young family was working in the yard.

I got a shiver...

Then, there was only one building left. It was a small but pretty little wooden cabin near where my shelter stands now. Around the yard were projects in mid construction. A few stone and concrete planters stood half done. A small wind turbine gently spun with a quiet hum. Four solar panels were mounted cleanly together. Things looked so nice, so peaceful. The crow I call "angry bird" squalked out her call. The red squirrels called out to each other and scampered up and down the trees. And, an old gray cat made his way over to a brand new block of marble to lie there in the sun next to is radiant heat. I walked over and watched him purring with half-open eyes, as he rubbed his back against the corner of the block. On top of the marble was a newly engraved brass plate. A seven sided star was positioned in the center top. Below it, in simple script, were the words: "Wear Your Soul." And, under that, center, and in smaller letters was: "A C W"..........

I closed my eyes and then opened them again to the rapid fading of the dream-vision. I lay, now back in my bed, right here in the frozen shelter where I write this very post. 

I think I know now how far I'll get with the development of my property, before I join the Light. I hope though, that it is a lot longer. 


* * *

Here are some photos from the last week or so, leading to the Equinox...


Along the road into town... Yup! This is where he took off!


When I'd gotten back from town one day, I noticed that where I'd put out bread crusts for the birds, springtails (a.k.a "snow fleas") were bouncing around in the snow, sipping salty areas flavored by the bread...





I applied the tarp patches I bought at Reny's to my shovel punctures.



Some dude.




A couple of days before the Equinox, I prepared to walk into town after a warm rainy night. My snowshoes sat at the ready...


What I didn't realize was just how much consistency the snow had lost overnight. Instead of the dry crusty snow I'd set down as a path, I sank down up to 18 inches with nearly every step...



Then a rivet pulled out and I lost my toe hold.


I made it out, then back to my land, coming out of the shoe a few times each way. I needed to fix it for the next day.

And the next day was the day before the Equinox. The warm morning air created a very rare mist...



Two cable ties wrapped through the hole will have to do for now.



On the way back from town, walking up the big hill.
What a large moon!


The next day the temperature dropped way below freezing and that re-solidified the snow. It was so hard that I didn't need the snowshoes. That was nice, to have a good solid path. My heart does a lot better when I am not struggling for each step!

When I got back from town, I wanted to light a fire for sunset. It had been a couple weeks since I'd had a fire and it seemed appropriate to honor the first day of spring in this way. I couldn't get out back to the fire pit very easily, so I decide to make it the fire in front of the property, actually on my right of way (which sat four feet below the surface of the snow). It also lined up with the place where the sun was going to set...





My appetizers.



Golden hour approached...




Almost there.




I love it when only orange and blue dominates the evening.





Saturday, March 2, 2019

Life at SoftAcres 03/01/19 - Late Winter Drifting

The neighbors I'd rented the cabin from last year offered to let me finish up the publication of my book, Modern Nomadics, there. Interestingly, it is where the book was written last winter, so I really felt like a circle was completed. During these last two weeks it was as if the weather was conspiring to keep me there at the cabin. One of the many polar vortexes of this season hit, with temperatures down to -20 F. Then another foot of snow fell upon the already 3-feet on the ground. Then there was a warm up with rain, and finally a bitterly cold night with wind gust of up to 70 mph!

I thought about the brutality that my land and shelter were going through as I guiltily luxuriated at the cabin. While I was glad to not be out there in that kind of weather, I knew exactly what it was like, having experienced these conditions since...well, October! 

I had been really struggling to get in and out of my property (which is 1/2 mile from any plowed road). It wouldn't have been as bad without heart pain. But, waiting for the pain to die down every 30 seconds, in between trying to stomp through three feet of snow in a pounding sub zero wind was just too much. The shelter was wonderful, dry, warm, and well-stocked, but the march in and out to the road was an odyssey of painful struggle. So, I really was not just averse to the idea, but actually feared it to some extent.

After one particularly windy and extremely cold night walking out to my property, I worked so hard just to move forward step by step, that I almost collapsed before I got there. I'm a tough guy, and you folks have seen me go through some pretty rough stuff. Until this last fall I believed I could withstand just about anything, but on that scary night I finally realized that it was stupid to put my life in danger just to prove I could survive in this way. Unlike so many other times in my life, I have too many plans for the future now. This Modern Nomad has found his promised land. I have responsibilities now, not just to the physical development of my property but also to the real development of my own future.

My kind friends, Vicky and Frank in New Mexico, offered to send me a pair of snowshoes. It was something I had wanted for a while but just couldn't afford (they are $80.00 here at Reny's, in Farmington). I should have them tomorrow (3/3), but my neighbors let me borrow a pair to go out and make sure the shelter was still standing and not blown down or crushed by snow. First I had to dig out the path to the cabin...


This alone was a job.



This is a view from along the cabin's driveway as I walked out to the main road
that leads up to my snow-buried road.


When I reached the eight foot snow bank that blocked my road, I climbed up and over. Only then did I get a look at what I faced. Upon climbing down the other side of the snow bank, I ungracefully fell onto the 3 feet of snow at the bottom. That told me all I needed to know. The snow was really fucking deep.

I removed my backpack and took off my gloves. I'd tied the snowshoes into the backpack, so I removed those and strapped my feet into them. It was the first time I'd ever used these strange "shoes." The gloves went back on, the backpack was zipped up and strapped on and I was ready to stomp my way into a 1/2 mile of unknown snow depth. I was especially concerned about what the field might be like, since the tempest winds had likely blown all the snow across from the far northern edge, drifting and building up. I was sure it would be maybe twice as deep as the road's snow cover leading up to the field.

As I began walking I was encouraged by how much easier it was as long as I took it slow. My heart is pretty sensitive now. Even walking up the hill that led to the head of my road felt pretty bad. Granted, I was out of shape from having stayed in the cabin and catching rides into town. Now though, lifting each foot and advancing forward along - and strangely above - this road that is dirt in the summer I felt like I'd found my answer to getting in and out. It was an awkward way to walk, but so much easier than stepping all the way down through 2-4 feet of snow. No matter what kind of snow I had to deal with, I saw that these were going to work.

When I got to the field I saw what looked like a frozen ocean. The snow had been blasted for 24 hours straight by gusts of wind reaching 60-70 mph. The solidified white waves were cresting all across the field from north to south. I sighed and started forward again. When I reached the open field my feet ceased breaking through the surface and I stepped up upon a compactified floor of densely packed snow, perhaps 6 feet deep. I had never seen such a thing before. Gone, were the trailers and farm equipment. Only the tips of their hitches could be seen peeking a couple inches up through the surface.

I didn't even need the snowshoes at that point, but I was not convinced that there wouldn't be weak spots where I might fall through. The day was beautiful with cloudless skies and only a small breeze gently sweeping in from the west. When I reached the edge of the woods road I chose to go up that, despite instead having used the edge of the field for months. I had stopped using my right-of-way road, when the snow had gotten too deep and the snowmobile trail on the field became easier. But now that the snow had been so heavily packed into my little road (blown over from the field) I found a solid path all the way up to my land. It was surreal, walking along, breaking off dead branches that would have been far above my head in the summertime. 

I grew concerned as I passed over my property line and approached the shelter. I could barely see it! Had it been blown over? Had the snow crushed in the roof? Nah, it was just buried, and like Han Solo, "in perfect hibernation"... 


It can take anything.



The buried bottom edge of this panel is four feet off the ground.



Very little of my already-deep paths were left visible.


Thankfully, I had kept the entranceway fairly well dug out, so it wasn't much of a chore to clean that up enough to get into the shelter...



These are my pea plant trellises, usually just above my head.


The back roof collected a lot of drifted snow. It built up on the other side and disallowed the snow on the roof from sliding off...


Cleaned this up. But unfortunately, I nicked the tarp with the
shovel and put the only puncture in my precious structure.





I was hungry and went inside to see what I had to eat. There in frozen form were a couple little steaks, some pork cutlets, some bacon, cheese, bread and coffee. I could have just stayed there for a few days! I decided on a couple steaks. There was no butter so I used bacon as oil. Came out incredibly well... 



The battery banks were in good shape. I had left Bank 2 charging and it was up 13 volts. I switched over to Bank 1. I opened the gas up and clicked on the propane heater just to make sure it was okay. An open door provided plenty of light...



Lunch was delicious. I'd sliced up the steak, slapped it on pieces of bread with cheese... I even made some lemonade! Yum! I was really full and got that drowsy, happy, brunchy feeling. Before nodding off, I pinched myself and went back out into the brilliant sun. There really is nothing brighter than a sun splashed field of clean snow. This was a useful kind of snow too...


I carved steps and used them as if they were stone.



I was still kind of sleepy. It was so warm in the sun and the air was so crisp and sweet. I seriously considered just lying down on my bed and taking a nap. But I wanted to be outside. So, I went out front, laid out my coat on the snow and lay down in the brilliance of the sun. I wish I'd had a pillow. The sun was so warm that even with my coat off I felt like taking off my shirt and just sunbathing for a few hours...


View from the surface of the snow.


I got a second wind and, feeling rejuvenated, got up and put the snowshoes back on. Time to venture out around the side and back of the property. This is not something I could have done without the shoes...


Amazing picture. This is the top of a 55 gallon bucket.





Standing 6 feet above the fire pit and looking up at the shelter.



As you can see, I walked ON the snow, not in it.


When I'd gotten way down into the backyard I saw the only animal tracks I've seen on this land in weeks. I was surprised to realize they were from a cat... 


Pretty large!


Cat toes spread out on flat surfaces and normally the retractable claws are not seen (these show he is digging in). Coyote prints are more condensed and the claws are always clearly seen. This cat was walking cautiously. I noticed he had fallen through a few weaker spots along his way. Could be a bobcat, but I suspect it is a large feral cat. There is heartell of several barn cats around the area. I would not be surprised, since I live between two hay and dairy farmers.

I loved that there were cats around. It does surprise me though that there aren't any other animal tracks around...not even turkeys!





The sun was much higher at 4:00 pm than I had remembered it when I first went to the cabin about tens days before. I really noticed the difference. 

It was time to depart. I turned off the power, shut off the propane, zipped up the tent, closed the inner tarps and secured the outer silver tarp. It was reassuring to see those snowshoes and to get myself strapped into them. I had been losing a sense of confidence by having such a hard time getting in and out of my land. Now I genuinely felt like I'd conquered the last major obstacle. I could still just rely on me. 

It only took me about 20 minutes to walk back to the snow bank at the main road. Walking in snow as I had before the snowshoes took me 45 minutes! In the summer it is a ten minute walk.

I slept well that night at the cabin, knowing that I could get back onto my land and finish out my time in the harshest Maine winter I've ever seen. Literally, if I can do this, I really can do anything.


* * * * * * *


I'd like to thank the people who have bought my books in the last week!
I will leave the $15 price open for blog readers when I raise it to sell in other places.