I therefore let him fire a few rounds from my own weapons as a neighborly welcome.
He seemed to be a fine old fellow, not that he’s too old. I’d place him somewhere in his early to mid-60s. He came a-trompin’ in a plaid long-sleeve button-up, cut-off jean shorts, hiking boots, and wool socks that nearly reached shin-high. Atop his head was a fedora-style hat, from underneath the back of which sprouted a long ponytail of snow white hair. He had the taut, veiny arms and seasoned face of a man who has weathered many a tough season here. But there was an amazing vitality in the sparkle of his brilliant blue eyes which shown with the glistening glow of the Hope Diamond.
While shooting, Oscar asked about me, my past, and my presence here. Apparently he’s a true off gridder (no cable, internet, phone service – just like me), and he runs what power he generates off solar panels he installed himself (impressive!). He wasn’t what I would call nosy, more just curious about his new neighbor, something he said he hasn’t had for some time.
When I explained what I’d done for work back in Chicago, Oscar asked good-naturedly enough, and between fired rounds from my .44 handgun, why on earth I’d decided to move all the way up here.
The question recalled thoughts of Thoreau’s words in the portion of “Walden” entitled, “Where I Lived, And What I Lived For.”
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.”
I kept my own reply to Oscar about the reason for my move short and sweet. It was something to the effect of, “I was tired of city living and yearned for something more, something I’m hoping to find here at my new homestead.”
I think the answer placated my inquisitive new friend. He seemed content enough with the explanation and didn’t press for more. And I didn’t offer more. I think that people in these parts value their privacy and understand their neighbors’ desire to do the same.
Oscar left with a hearty handshake and a final welcome to the area. He seemed a reasonable fellow and someone who could be relied on to help in a bind. I think that’s the way people are here – they’re content to live and let live unless provoked in some way or asked for assistance, then they’re as dangerous a foe as you’ll ever meet or as dependable a friend as you’ll ever need.
That’s the way I like it. Leave me alone unless I’ve done something to garner your presence (requested or otherwise), like shooting off my various guns.
Apparently Thoreau liked it this way too, and his wariness of do-gooders proved just as strong. He writes, “If I knew for certainty that a man was coming to my house with the conscious design of doing me good, I should run for my life…”
And as his section on economy in “Walden” concludes with a few pages devoted to doing good and charity, he professes:
“Be sure that you give the poor the aid they most need, though it be your example which leaves them far behind. If you give money, spend yourself with it, and do not merely abandon it to them. We make curious mistakes sometimes. Often the poor man is not so cold and hungry as he is dirty and ragged and gross. It is partly his taste, and not merely his misfortune. If you give him money, he will perhaps buy more rags with it.”
That was one of the things that bothered me so much about Chicago. The politicians and taxing agencies were so willing to fleece me of my hard-earned money to “do good” with it for others. But I question whether their definition of “doing good” fit mine or even the people for whom they were doing such good.
Thoreau expounds upon my thoughts with an interesting anecdote:
“I was wont to pity the clumsy Irish laborers who cut ice on the pond, in such mean and ragged clothes, while I shivered in my more tidy and somewhat more fashionable garments, till, one bitter cold day, one who had slipped into the water came to my house to warm him, and I saw him strip off three pairs of pants and two pairs of stockings ere he got down to the skin, though they were dirty and ragged enough, it is true, and that he could afford to refuse the extra garments which I offered him, he had so many intra ones. This ducking was the very thing he needed. Then I began to pity myself, and I saw that it would be a greater charity to bestow on me a flannel shirt than a whole slop-shop on him. There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root, and it may be that he who bestows the largest amount of time and money on the needy is doing the most by his mode of life to produce the misery which he strives in vain to relieve. It is the pious slave-breeder devoting the proceeds of every tenth slave to buy a Sunday’s liberty for the rest.”
Having my own coffers raided for the sake of the government doing what they consider “good” for others, is not something I’ll miss. I’ll help someone who is truly in need, but the methods of assistance I dole should be of my own choosing and should pertain directly to the situation at hand. The government is great at warming the impoverished with a fire fed with the money of others.
Ha! That last sentence was my own, not from Thoreau. I like it!
Okay, enough of that for now. I’m not really a political creature, but I AM an independent one, and government seems to cultivate anything BUT personal independence.
7:48 p.m.
Right now I feel as though I’m writing like how Thoreau must have in his day. I have several candles lit alongside an oil lamp here on my small dining room table. Yes, I have electricity, but there’s something about writing by the light of natural flame that makes me feel, well, better – as though I’m MORE off the grid than I am. Sitting beside the live flame harkens back to a more primitive time in which fire was all our ancestors had once the sun set and they were beset by darkness.
There’s a slight chill in the air tonight, and having the candles and lamp going just seems to fit. I loaded up on extra wicks and lamp oil last time I was in town, along with a big box of candles. I think these forms of lighting will make for a nice addition throughout the long winter. Any extra source of heat will come in handy from what people around here have told me.
I don’t have much else to write other than it was another good day. I cooked my fresh-caught fish for dinner. They were delicious! I breaded them and fried them in oil along with some pearl onions and small potatoes. I also opened a can of green beans and a bottle of chardonnay for my feast. I’m usually not a big white wine drinker, but it just seemed to fit the meal.
And now it’s time to wrap things up and call it a night. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, and I need to get some sleep. Tomorrow is the first day of September, and that means fall will be upon me soon, and winter won’t be far behind that. It’s time to start the preparations for what could potentially be my long hibernation here at the homestead. Considering that it will be my first winter here, I want to be ready for anything.
September 1st
6:55 a.m.
I’m up and ready early this morning. Breakfast was just a bowl of granola. I want to get moving while it’s still cool out. I’ve got a ton of work to do today, and by “work” I don’t mean fishing. Not every day around here is living the easy-peasy good life. There is some heavy lifting to be done at times. But I’ll take it any day over the alternative that awaits me back in the big city.
Today is wood cutting day!
The chill that was in the air last night remains, so I want to get out early and take advantage of the cool. From what I’ve hea
rd, I’ll have many similar days spent collecting my fuel for the winter.
The previous owner left about a cord of wood in the form of a wood pile behind the cabin, but from what people have told me, it won’t be near enough to get me through the long winter. I could buy wood, but that’s not the point of being up here. Plus, I’m trying to live as economically and efficiently as I can since I really have no income and I want to leave as much of my retirement accounts as possible intact for the future.
Therefore, I’ll be working to cut some felled trees on my property for this year’s wood supply. In the process, I want to fell a few more and cut them up to allow the wood to cure for next year. I’ll finish the day’s work with an easier project – I’ll walk my property and collect smaller kindling for starting and re-stoking my fires when they dwindle or die out.
I don’t have a ton of experience with a chainsaw, so I’m kind of nervous about this. At the same time, however, I’m looking forward to the work. I’m really excited about the arrival of fall. Don’t get me wrong, summer is nice, but there’s just something about fall in the Midwest that really gets the old blood pumping and the sperm count up. The changing color of the leaves. The accompanying blustery weather. Fires in the fireplace. The smell of woodstove smoke lingering in the air. The chilly wind gusts that cut you like a knife and chill you to the bone. The scent of dry leaves and the sound they make as they crunch beneath your feet. Those long gray days of soft steady rains. They all combine to create the essence of fall. It’s so invigorating! I can’t wait!
2:04 p.m.
Wow! I’m whipped!
I worked through lunch because I was in such a wood-cutting groove. But now I’m taking a break to eat a sandwich, drink some much needed water, and catch my breath.
I was afraid that if I stopped earlier, I might break my rhythm and never get restarted. I’m certainly glad I got my hardest work done this morning. I cut down several good-sized trees and sawed up several pre-felled ones into more manageable hunks that I have hauled back with me closer to the cabin.
I selected my trees from the inner perimeter of the clearing that forms my homestead. This way, I could drive my pickup close, load up the wood I’d cut, and drive it to the cabin to unload and chop (later). With a nice inventory of wood available close to home, I’ll save chopping it for another day. The rest of today will be spent on easy (relatively speaking) stuff. I’ll drive the pickup over to the edge of the woods and spend the later afternoon hours tossing sticks and broken limbs into the back bed for kindling.
God I love this kind of work. It’s so amazing being able to work outside all day. It’s cloudy out today, and probably right around 70 degrees, which is great for this type of work. While I’d prefer low to mid-50s if I had my choice, I’m certainly not going to complain with this type of weather in early September.
I feel great about the start I’ve gotten on building my winter wood supply. While I know I have a ways to go, I feel confident that by mid-fall, I’ll be set and ready. And all the chopping will help keep me in shape. I feel that city-boy flab starting to ooze away already. Even though I’m consuming more calories, I think I’ve already lost a few pounds since arriving here. The muscles are starting to tighten, the lungs are beginning to clear, and the energy levels are up.
I keep this up much longer and I’ll be a true man of steel.
7:09 p.m.
Okay, maybe “man of steel” was pushing it a bit at this point in my homestead living. I’m feeling the muscles starting to tighten up already. To think that I was considering forgoing buying a chainsaw to handle my wood cutting needs solely with an ax! Ha! I’d be as stiff as one of those trees I cut down earlier today!
For now, I’m going to clean up dinner (I was too tired to cook, so I just made hot dogs and opened a can of baked beans), rub myself down with some muscle relief ointment, maybe do a little reading, and fall asleep.
September 2nd
7:33 p.m.
DAMN MICE!
Thoreau might have had a good relationship with the mice who resided in his cabin, but I have no love for my own. Upon waking this morning, I see that they’ve gotten into a bag of rice I’d left out on the counter. Little bastards! I didn’t buy this food for them. While I’m all for melding with nature as much as possible in my new life here, there are some things I just won’t stand for, and mice getting into my food, is one of them.
I’m putting mouse traps on my list of stuff to get on my next trip into town. I feel that poison might be more humane, but I’m not sure if they still sell that stuff. I think it was used in too many murders (of humans) to have readily available at stores, but I’ll check it out anyway.
I know I could keep the rice since they only ate from one corner of the plastic bag. But there is mouse poop all over the place, and the thought of eating the contaminated contents just disgusts me; therefore, I’ll throw it out.
I’ll have to make sure that I keep my food put away in glass or hard plastic containers or in the refrigerator each night.
On other fronts, it looks like rain today. That’s fine. I have cleaning, tidying, and organizing to do around the cabin. I still haven’t found spots for all the items I brought from Chicago or bought once I arrived. So spending a little time getting the interior of my new home better organized would be just fine with me.
Until it starts to rain (should it do so), I’m going to work on chopping some of the wood I hauled to the cabin yesterday. I bought a new ax that I need to sharpen, so I’ll do that first. Then I need to hone my chopping technique. I’ve chopped wood several times before, but I’m far from an expert. I’m going to have to take some time to practice my swing – not TOO much, though (I’m still pretty sore from yesterday’s work).
10:47 a.m.
Ahhhh…saved by the rain. Actually, I was just getting into a good chopping groove, but that’s okay. I was able to refine my technique, get maybe a quarter cord of wood chopped, and not strain or RE-strain any muscles in the process (at least I don’t think so).
I’m going to spend however long it takes for the rain to pass organizing things indoors. If or when the rain stops, I’ll go out and do a bit more chopping, but I’m not going to push it.
1:23 p.m.
The rain has stopped. I got some good work done indoors over the past couple hours and I feel that I almost have my cabin in order.
I’m going to make some lunch and then head outside to do more wood work.
2:39 p.m.
I’m just taking a short break from my wood collecting. My neighbor Oscar stopped by about 20 minutes ago. He brought me a jar of honey as a housewarming gift and to thank me for letting him shoot my guns the other day.
He raises bees that he said not only produce delicious honey but help pollinate the area’s vegetation.
I thanked him and told him I looked forward to trying the honey. I think I’ll make some buttermilk biscuits tonight to drizzle the honey on. Maybe I’ll make a double batch and take some over to Oscar.
4:49 p.m.
It got warm out today. The thermometer outside my front door hit 75 degrees right around three o’clock. I think that was the peak temperature of the day.
Funny enough, while the few weeks of summer I have enjoyed here have been wonderful, I’m looking forward to it getting cold. I want to try out my woodstove and put some of the fruits of my labor to good use. I love seeing my woodpile grow and knowing that it’s growing from wood chopped by my own hands. I’m glad I didn’t just purchase firewood. I think it would have been sort of anticlimactic. Burning the wood I’ve cut myself will instill a greater sort of satisfaction.
As Thoreau writes on the subject:
“Every man looks at his wood-pile with a kind of affection. I loved to have mine before my window, and the more chips the better to remind me of my pleasing work. I had an old axe which nobody claimed, with which by spells in winter days, on the sunny side of my house, I played about the stumps which I had got out of my bean-field. As
my driver prophesized when I was ploughing, they warmed me twice, once while I was splitting them, and again when they were on fire, so that no fuel could give me more heat.”
My experiment in felling live trees is one conducted more out of curiosity (to see if I could manage it) than necessity. I really didn’t want to cut any of the live trees on my property, and I picked two that didn’t look to be in the best of shape. I prefer to select stuff that’s already dead, and there is plenty of it around to be cleaned up before I go killing any more trees. I found almost an entire pickup truck bed full of dead stuff in one patch of forest that stretched maybe 30 feet by 20 feet deep. And there is an array of driftwood along the shore that I wouldn’t mind cleaning up for fuel too. Those pieces are easy pickings and it clears my land, making it more presentable in the process (not that it needs to be presentable for anyone other than me).
Thoreau’s words on wood, and the cutting of such, not only inspire and entertain, but educate as well. He guides with words like, “There are enough fagots and waste wood of all kinds in the forests of most of our town to support many fires, but which at present warm none, and, some think, hinder the growth of the young wood. There was also the drift-wood of the pond.”
See? Two great ideas in two sentences that have helped (and WILL help me) immensely. Collecting the dead wood strewn about my property, and the driftwood along the lakeshore were seeds planted in my mind from the long-distant Walden Woods.
And another idea, I’ve yet to try, came from Thoreau when he wrote, “But commonly I kindled my fire with the dry leaves of the forest, which I had stored up in my shed before the snow came.”
The Dystopian Diaries Page 46