Season's Greetings

From my tent to yours...

 Merry Christmas, Happy Solstice, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Holidays to You;

Happy rustlings in the leaf-fall,

shiny stars above the tall

and quiet trees;

Merry needling of the nose,

nippy fingers, chilly toes

in moist and brisky northern breeze;

King snake slumbering underneath

an ancient stump; the icy sheath

in barrels left out in the rain;

Coon eyes shining by the moon,

cayote's howl — their merry swoon —

enraptured, nightly high refrain;

Quiet bear and busy mouse,

merry possum, owl, and grouse,

and all that goes a-softly

padding by at night;

Misty morn on mountain tops,

lovely quiet when wind stops,

and sweet hot cocoa

by the glowing warm fire-light;

Crinkled leaves a-clinging now

to restful trees a-sleeping now, and

clapping softly like brown paper

tambourines;

Squirrels sipping at the pool,

nesting mice beneath the stool,

and tiny tustling, bustling things;

Happy bed stuffed warm with down;

dainty deer on frosty ground,

prancing in the new dawn's

early light;

Happy new year to you all;

I wish you well, and most of all —

Sweet Love deep as forest

in the night.

Love, PLH.

Building Update: I've been framed!

As the leaves have fallen from the trees this autumn the wooden frame of my dwelling has risen into place, much thanks to Bishop's help and expertise.  He's heaved the rafters into place, as well, and now I'm nailing lots of hurricane clips to hold the rafters tight.

Bishop works on a rafter.

"Lightweight", he murmurs, teasingly, when I hammer for only an hour then take a break.  Well, I do have rotator cuffs to think about, and they're feeling a little worn about now.  And for good reason.

"It will take longer than you think."  How many of you have told me that?  "AND it will cost more than you think," you lovingly follow.

Okay.  Okay.  You're RIGHT.  I'm losing my race with ol' man winter, and fast.

It's amazing how much work goes into each aspect of the building.  I've scoured the woods for locust trees for the center support post and deck supports (thanks, Diana, for your locust).  I've hauled lumber and sand and rock, and lugged stones in buckets for the foundation drain (thank so much, Nancy, for your help, and your truck, and for wood).  I've "rubbled" the outside face of the foundation.  This means filling the voids created by the round tires with rubble held in place by dollops of concrete (my idea, to help stabilize the stones), and also by chicken wire tacked onto the tires.  See the photo below for a view of the "rubbled" foundation.  

A "rubbled" tire foundation.

And where do I get the rubble?  The rubble comes from sifting the clay soil that I'll be using for the mud-slip (cob) overlay of the straw bale walls, which means first making the screen to sift the soil.  And there is no magic to sifting soil.  It is done one shovel-full at a time.

Sifting soil.  I'm proud of my sifter!

 An alternative to rubbling the foundation is filling the tire voids with discarded plastic bottles packed into crevices with mud slip or cob, but that requires preparation of lots more cob and, hence, lots more sifting of soil.  Further, cob in contact with the ground develops moisture problems, so I am opting for rubbling my foundation with stone and then creating a rock wall overlay.  I've had the good fortune of beginning the rock wall overlay during a recent warm spell, and I absolutely LOVE the process, the artistry and patience of it.  However, the remainder of the wall may have to wait until a season of reliably warm weather returns.

Rock wall overlay of foundation.

Meanwhile, I may rest awhile, finally, and enjoy — to my surprise — a wondrous change of scene that has occurred; for as the autumn leaves fell, the summertime view of the garden on the sunny slope with birds streaming past gave way to a stunning panorama of misty mountains to the south and east!  What a delight! — a mountain-top view for six months at a time and then the forest garden for the other half of year — all without changing my seat!  As much work as it is to create, I think I'll want to keep this seat for a very long time.

A Cool Routine

Cuddly Duddley keeps warm!

The morning is cold — colder than it should be this time of year — but I am in my tent nonetheless, with a little propane heater for warmth, and a cup of hot cocoa.  The other day my stove quit working — the gas line froze.  I had to wait for breakfast at lunchtime!  And there's ice in my bathing tub!  No matter.  I love it  here.  I love the peace, the quietness, the morning sun illuminating my tent, and the sound of Ms. Squirrel quietly lapping water from the tarp.  I love that she can do that, that my tarp is there.  Bishop, who is helping to frame my home, doesn't like the cold, so we work only in the afternoons, and I have all morning to enjoy these things — the soft putter of the heater by my desk, a little mouse skittering outside, the sound of owls.

Earlier in the fall a family of mice moved in overhead, on the nylon mesh that is the ceiling of the tent, beneath the upper tarp.  The mother made a nest of chewed leaves, which she lugged by small mouthfuls up long nylon walls.  I was afraid, afraid she'd take over the place, afraid she'd chew through the mesh and plop down on my computer, afraid she'd chew up my bed!  So I bumped the nest, trying to discourage her choice of location, and two infants popped out. The infants, hairless and cold, blundered about in the dark, eyes sealed tight, mewling for Mom.  I was so ashamed.  Ashamed of my fears, of my disturbance of the nest. The mother retrieved them eventually, and eventually moved away.  I wish she had stayed.  There was plenty of room.

I was afraid of the cold when it first arrived.  But I've adjusted.  I bought the heater.  I have a sleeping bag that's stuffed with down.  I cook lots of soup.  I've lost my fear of the dark.  Since it arrives so early now I thought we must get more acquainted, so instead of rushing about to have dinner accomplished and dishes washed by the time evening stars sprinkle the sky, I wait for dark to arrive, then sit near the door of my tent eating my meal and watching the moon rise.  Then I retire inside, and if it's too cold for anything else, I snuggle under my sleeping bag and read for hours.  Not bad for a winter's routine, I'd say!