For now, I think I’ll have plenty of twigs, bark, and rotted bits to provide the mother’s milk for my burgeoning fires, but Thoreau’s teachings have taken root and I will tend them for when I need them most.
And now it’s time for dinner and rest.
September 3rd
7:15 a.m.
To think that just a few months ago, I was showering and getting ready for work at this time each weekday morning. Now I get to bathe in a lake (although with fall approaching, no telling how much longer that will last), and set about a day’s schedule formed solely from my own creation, untouched by the whims and wants of others.
As I sit here at my table, steaming cup of coffee before me, half bagel in hand, and look out my dining space window, I see that the day appears overcast but calm. The leaves in the trees near the lake appear motionless, and the lake itself is quite smooth.
While I feel very secluded here, usually I see an occasional sailboat or fishing vessel pass by on the lake – not today, but usually. Their silhouettes are typically very tiny since they tend to remain offshore a good distance to keep clear of the rocky shoals, some of which give only a foot or two of clearance to boat hulls – and that’s on calm days. When the waves are up, the rocky outcroppings can tear a boat’s bottom to shreds in an instant. From what I’ve heard, the point past the lighthouse is a veritable ship graveyard full of old wooden sailing vessels and steel-hulled ships alike. Apparently the rocks there discern no difference in their appetite for boat bottoms.
The looks of the lake today, paired with my curiosity, give me and idea. And since I’m happy with the wood-cutting progress I made yesterday (and I’m still nursing some sore joints and muscles associated with that progress), I think I’ll take a trip out to see the lighthouse. It will give me a chance to do a bit of exploring, test my outboard motor (I’ll take some oars with me just in case), and maybe even see how the fishing is out farther from shore.
I don’t know much about the lighthouse other than it’s old, it’s no longer in use, and it must be pretty big since I can see its outline quite well from my position here on shore. It’s cool to see the lighthouse’s silhouette framed by the setting sun at night. It makes me think about all the ships that have sailed past it, all the ships it has saved, and all the ships lost, still sitting long-forgotten in the lake’s murky depths.
10:47 a.m.
I’m on my way out to the lighthouse. I’m cruising along slowly in my row boat, the outboard motor just above idle speed. I want to open the old girl up slowly. No sense or need to push her hard. I’ll give her a few more minutes at this pace and then increase the throttle slowly to ensure she has time to ease into things.
The lake is still calm, but the movement of my boat makes it hard to write, so I’m going to stop for now.
11:12 a.m.
So I made it to the lighthouse. It’s even bigger than I thought. Up close, it kind of reminds me of a pyramid or the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It’s positioned upon a large concrete base (where I now sit).
While I can’t provide exact measurements, I’d estimate that the base is maybe 50 feet by 50 feet and protrudes around 12 or 15 feet from the water. The top portion of this sizeable platform upon which the lighthouse sits is accessed by a metal rung ladder built into the concrete of the shore-facing side. Upon initial inspection, the ladder appeared rusty, and I wondered about its stability, but it was intact enough to bear my weight and seemed quite capable of bearing much more if put to the test. I tethered my fishing boat to one of the lower rungs of this ladder.
Atop the platform upon which I now sit, is a smaller, four-story concrete structure that forms the lighthouse. Set into the base of this structure, is a steel hatch door similar to those one might find aboard an old navel vessel.
The first three levels of this secondary structure are all the same size, roughly 25 feet by 25 feet. The fourth level is maybe 15 feet by 15 feet (although it’s hard to tell from below). Atop that level sits the tiny, balcony-ringed, glass-encased structure that houses the light.
The paint has peeled from most of the tower. The concrete is a whitish-beige until it reaches the light tower which is painted a rust red (although I’m not exactly sure what is paint and what is rust).
I feel weird sitting here, legs dangling over the lower platform’s edge. There are signs up all over the place. “No Trespassing.” “No fishing.” “Trespassers will be prosecuted.” “Government Property.”
Hell! Who is going to come all the way out here to yell at me, let alone prosecute me? I’d see someone coming from this vantage point well before they ever got here.
It must be cool to be out here during a storm. I bet the lighthouse keepers over the years saw some real doozies. For now, however, the day remains calm, although a slight chop in the water has developed. It sloshes the waves up against the lighthouse’s concrete sides making soft slapping and gurgling noises below me – it’s actually quite soothing.
I’d take a look around inside the lighthouse, but the steel door is padlocked, and I have no desire to be accused of destroying government property by trying to break in. I’m sure there’s not much to see anyway, probably just a lot of empty space.
It would be nice to come here when the sun is out. I could sunbathe, write, bring a picnic lunch, and enjoy the amazing solitude.
A lone seagull is my only companion for the moment. He’s perched at one end of the lower platform watching me warily with a combination of curiosity and hopefulness. He’s probably learned that people around these parts equate to fishermen, and fishermen equate to meals of stolen bait and leftover fish bits. It makes me wonder how the lighthouse keepers viewed the gulls. Did they see them as nuisances, ruining much needed rest during the day with their pesky cries? Or did they view them as companions during their long stints of solitude here on their concrete fortress?
Looking down between my dangling feet, if I look hard enough, I think I can catch glimpses of the lake bottom when the clouds part and the sun momentarily breaks through.
I wonder if there are any ghosts here. Probably not, but I guess you never know. I’ve heard tales about missing light-keepers. A replacement light-keeper arrives only to find the lighthouse boat still there, the lights on inside the keeper’s quarters, even a half-eaten meal still set on the table, but no keeper to be found.
Oooooooo…
Or maybe it’s the ghosts of sailors and passengers lost on vessels that broke apart on the lake. They cling to the rungs of the steel ladder or moan and bang their way haplessly around the lighthouse innards, forced to spend eternity on this tiny concrete island.
It’d be neat to spend a night here to find out. I could pretend I was a member of one of those ghost-hunting groups. Heck, I could get a tape recorder and a video camera and record my own episode or even make a movie. Yeah, right! I don’t think I’d take it that far. But I’d certainly like to have the experience.
Gosh, there sure aren’t many other boats out on the lake today. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen one all day. I don’t even know if I saw one yesterday. Fishing must be really bad or something. Maybe there’s a big storm blowing in that I don’t know about.
Okay, I’d better get a move on before someone DOES come along and report me to the Coast Guard or fishing authorities or whoever it is that issues fines for being up here without permission.
2:02 p.m.
I’m currently sitting in my fishing boat, stuck halfway between the lighthouse and the shore. Yes, yes, I could row, but I’m actually kind of enjoying myself. I’ll give my motor a rest (I’m not exactly sure what its problem is). I bought the thing used, so god only knows how hard it’s been pushed over the years. The guy I bought it from, a local fellow who was advertising the motor on a grocery store bulletin board, said it was only a few years old and that he kept it in good repair. But who really knows if that was the truth. He probably saw a fresh-faced city boy, figured I didn’t know jack about jack, and decided I was a good mark to m
ake a few easy bucks. Maybe he was right. I mean, I only paid $50 for the thing. Could be I just got what I paid for. I don’t know. I’ll give firing it up another shot here in a few minutes, but first I’m just going to sit here and float and enjoy a few peaceful moments on the lake.
2:37 p.m.
I’m home. I got the motor fired up again a few minutes after I finished with my last entry, and it seemed totally fine for the rest of the trip back. Might have just been some dirt in the fuel line or something. I don’t plan on going far with it anyway, not so far that I can’t row my way back home should it come to that at least.
Time for some lunch! I’m starved!
3:49 p.m.
Mmm-mmm! That really hit the spot! I made a club sandwich for lunch. Ate it with some chips, grapes, and a dill pickle. Dee-licious!
Reminds me, I need to load up on some deli meats and cheeses next time I’m in town.
6:28 p.m.
As much as I love the peace and quiet out here, I think I’m actually craving a little personal interaction. I might take a trip into town sometime during the next few days. I’d like to try to get to know my neighbors and townspeople a little bit better. I don’t want to become known as “the hermit by the lake” by the local community. Even Thoreau had visitors to his cabin and enjoyed the occasional social interaction. He writes, “I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society.”
Well, Thoreau has me beat by a chair, but I’m still warming up to things here. It’s slightly harder than I thought it would be being alone all day everyday. I’m sure I’ll get used to it, but after city living, I think it’s a little difficult going cold turkey not living ass-to-elbow with the rest of humanity. The loss of that constant human presence leaves a sort of void that I’m finding I actually miss a little bit…not a lot, just a little. I still want human interaction; I just want it on my own terms. I’m taking Thoreau’s approach on this when he wrote about visitors, “I had withdrawn so far within the great ocean of solitude, into which the rivers of society empty, that for the most part, so far as my needs were concerned, only the finest sediment was deposited around me.”
That’s what I want, only the “finest sediment.”
But I have to find that sediment first, since other than Oscar, I don’t think many people will be seeking me out so far from town.
September 4th
7:48 a.m.
DAMN MICE!
They’re back with a vengeance. I made the mistake of leaving a small box of granola, a bag of pretzels, and a bag of potato chips out on the counter last night. And guess what?!
Yep, the mice got into ALL of them! Thankfully, the box of granola and bag of chips were almost empty, but the pretzel bag was over half full.
While I’d like to play nice, I’m not going to stand for this any longer! Tomorrow, I’m going to town to load up on some payback for these little pests.
I’m really just glad that I have left so much food in the hard-plastic buckets and containers I moved in with or packaged them in once I arrived. Otherwise, I might have a costly and quite wasteful catastrophe on my hands. It’s not that these little buggers eat a lot, but they seem to enjoy tapas-style meals, tasting a little bit of everything that’s available.
Tomorrow is the battle royale – Nathan Whitmore vs. The Mice of Mills Creek!
8:22 a.m.
As I sit here at my tiny table, enjoying my freshly opened box of mouse un-tainted granola, I can’t help but notice the dearth of boats on the lake lately. It’s weird. The first week I arrived, I’d often sit here and watch two or three or even at times four boats pass on the lake within just an hour or so. I haven’t seen one in days.
Maybe it’s the end of tourist season and the charter boats are already packing it in. With the kids starting school again, parents may have been forced back home to the “real world” from their vacation homes and rentals.
Poor folks.
Still, you’d think there would be at least a few stragglers hanging on – but nothing. Maybe I’ll ask about it when I’m in town tomorrow.
11:03 a.m.
After my daily dip in the lake, to help take my mind off the mouse situation, I decided on a nice walk around my property. I’ve found that this is a great way not only to forget my worries (not that I have that many anymore), but to explore a property that is still relatively new to me.
I began my walk near the lakeshore, listening to the soft lap of the waves as they broke on my small beach. I gazed upon the glistening dew, still clinging to the wet grass. I absorbed the smell of the morning, the fresh air, the lake, the pine trees. I heard the wind blowing softly through the treetops, whispering its way between the leaves.
This essence of nature left me wishing that there was a way to tempt the mice outside again. I have no real desire to kill them. Walking this morning made me realize just how much there is to live for here. How could the little rodents not be content to live outside in this…this wonderful world? I understand the desire to be indoors during the winter, but during this time of year it’s amazing to be outside. There are no cars, no trains, no airplanes, no people (except for me). It’s so darn peaceful – something that’s long been foreign to me.
During my wandering, as I made my way from lakeside into the wooded areas that border my cabin clearing, I discovered a cherry tree as well as a walnut tree. Like my berry bush discovery the other day, the cherries looked a bit past their prime and already well picked over by the birds and insects, but the walnuts were already coming down and ready to be collected.
These discoveries will be useful to my hopes of future self-sufficiency. I know that walnuts can be a real bitch to deal with, and messy as hell. As a child, I remember picking my grandfather’s walnuts out of the yard for him. They used to stain my fingers something terrible. Then we’d sprinkle the nuts, still in their husks, along his gravel driveway for the car to drive over in an effort to de-husk them.
I’ll have to research if there is a better, CLEANER way to handle the de-husking process. Maybe there is a place I can take them that could process them for me. I know it’s kind of cheating in the whole self-sufficiency realm, but I have a feeling that I’m going to be busy enough around here without spending hours working for a few ounces of walnuts.
6:33 p.m.
I just sat down and popped a cold beer to celebrate the job I finished moments ago prepping a steak I had in the fridge. For dinner, I think I’ll pair it with a baked potato and some leftover green beans from the other night. Sounds delightful! I’ll cook the steak outside over an open flame and wrap the potato in foil and bake it in the fire’s hot coals. I love being able to eat when I’m hungry rather than at society’s pre-appointed times – or not eating at all for that matter. If my stomach tells me its time for lunch at ten in the morning or at three in the afternoon, then that’s when I eat. Gone are the days of breakfast at seven, lunch at noon, and dinner at six. And I like it that way!
The same goes for sleeping. While I’m typically up early here (largely because I’m excited about the day), I have every right to sleep until ten without guilt if I feel like it. If I hit the hay at seven at night or midnight, then that’s my prerogative. It’s REALLY nice and it leaves my body feeling all-around better.
I think that dinner will be the highpoint of the day since it was otherwise a largely uneventful afternoon. I didn’t get a whole lot done, at least by my personal standards. I did a little more wood chopping, but I’m still feeling the soreness in my muscles from the other day. So after a bit, I decided to forego the more strenuous chopping to instead gather more kindling and dead logs to chop for later. Nothing warms the cockles of my heart these days like seeing my wood pile continue to grow.
During a wood collecting break, I grabbed an empty 5-gallon bucket and filled it with walnuts from my new-found tree. I’m not going to deal with them right now, but the process of collecting them made me feel productive, gave me a breather from my more strenuous w
ood collection efforts, and provided me with more time in the serenity of the woods.
How I love my property. I really am glad I made this move. I wasn’t sure at first how I would acclimate to this new environment, but I feel like a hand sliding into a well worn glove – something about this place just fits me perfectly.
And I have so many things to look forward to. Fall and winter will let me put my wood pile to good use. I also plan to study up on what I want to grow come spring, as well as how best to grow it. I will have time to plan out exactly where I want my garden to be located for proper sun exposure, proximity to water, and good soil. Come spring, I’ll build my garden fence (I’m setting aside some of the straighter logs I collect to be cut as fence posts), and then I’ll have the opportunity to see just how green my thumb really is.
Summer will find me busy tending my garden, harvesting the fruits of my labor (hopefully!), and learning how best to preserve what I don’t eat immediately from my harvest. I hope I’m successful enough for that last part. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I’d really like to be close to self-sufficiency by next summer when it comes to the majority of my food needs. But I’m realistic, and I understand how hard it can be as a new grower, especially one without much experience. Still, all my plans have me excited for and looking forward to the future with great anticipation.
Here is a general list for what I’d like to grow this coming spring (subject to change of course).
The Dystopian Diaries Page 47