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.
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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.
Speechless!
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