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!

Play Time

I hear the deer again.  A buck, rack held high, is dashing about with the doe, engrossed in a game of tag.  They race and chase about, oblivious to me in my tent as I peer from the window.  It's a gorgeous autumn morning, a chill in the air and bright sun rising, perfect for prancing about under the canopy of trees aflame with the reds and orange.

The other day I saw a young bear playing with my bath towel that hung from the limb of a tree.  He batted it back and forth with his paws like any kid at the clothes line.  Then he meandered over to the garden and stood high atop his tippy-toes to sniffle at the satellite dish.  I was surprised, thinking he'd only be interested in edible things.  But no, he wanted to sniff and touch and paddle about like any two-year old, investigating every new thing he hadn't seen before, whether it was smelly or not.

And remember the bobcat, somersaulting down the tree, with glee?  Animals at play — not something you see, really, at least not in the wild.  Dogs tussle with old shoes.  Cats bat about feathers and balls of foil.  But wild animals?  I thought they were all business, burdened with the constant hunt for food, and with ferocity.

Not so.  And to see them let go of daily discretions to clown and cavort is such a treat, a delight. I feel honored to witness them letting down their guard.  They only need space, like anyone else — free of threats and loud crashing noises, free of faces leering too wildly from strange windows.  Matter of fact — I need this too, in order to rest!

It's been a long haul — this building of home, with quite a ways to go to completion.  I tire, but daily soldier on.  Then  the animals come — remind me to play, to take time for that.  Don't let autumn fly by in a rush of work! they say.  Take time to laugh, to play; enjoy the changes going on.  Go for a stroll under the canopy of trees.  Enjoy the sound of rain. 

So I do.  And am renewed.  Creativity flows, and as I turn to work again the work itself turns into play, and satisfaction — like the brilliant yellows spattering the woods — peaks, and I am so content.

Building Update: The Pounded Tire Foundation

Path tackles a tire.

I am happy (no, ELATED is a better word!) to report that the "pounded tire foundation", which is by far the most grueling and time-consuming part of building the dwelling, is now complete.  Yes — all 64 tires of it!  Thanks so much to Justin, Kristine, Tracie, Kris, Path, Catherine, Cindy, and Lydia for their help in this arduous work!  Now the aching tendon in my arm can rest awhile, and my flagging knees and back can take a break!  Even the woods is taking time to celebrate with oceans of leaves, thrown like red and yellow confetti, streaming profusely from trees.  I've often felt in a rush with this project, as if I am behind schedule, and yet the seasonal coming of the rains has made the pounding go more easily, helping the earth to better compact.  So, perhaps I am right on time.

Tracy:  Master tamper!

What IS a pounded tire foundation, anyway?  Just as it sounds — it is a foundation made of used and discarded tires that are pounded tightly with soil. It is an effort to build something of recyclable materials, diminishing their flow into area landfills, and to reduce the cost of building by using freely available materials (any tire servicing center will gladly provide the tires for free in order to avoid their disposal fee).  Furthermore, the tremendous thermal mass of the pounded tires (each becomes a 300- to 400-pound "brick" once thoroughly packed with soil) provides excellent stability and insulating properties.  Annie and Jay Warmke, my mentors in the building techniques I am using, report that their home, Blue RockStation, which is made entirely of pounded tires (called an "Earthship"), maintains a temperature between 60 and 70 degrees throughout the year, and that is in frosty Ohio! 

Kris handles the sledge with ease!

But what about the environmental and health impacts of using old tires in a foundation?  You're probably familiar with the foul and acrid odor of used tires — not something you want in a dwelling!  That "old tire smell" is from the photo-degradation of tires, meaning they degrade when exposed to light.  Tires in the pounded tire foundation, however, are fully covered with cob or mud-slip, and not exposed to light at all.  Tires not exposed to light never degrade (fortunately or otherwise).  In fact, tires buried in the soil have been found to ABSORB pollutants and, for that reason, are now being used in landfills to curb the flow of toxins, and in golf courses to absorb nitrate run-off from the manicured greenways (see articles "ChippingIn" and "The OffgassingNon-Issue", for example).

As I and my hardy friends have all experienced of late, building a pounded tire foundation is extremely labor intensive as it requires wielding a sledge hammer to pack the soil tightly into the rims of the tires.  Once complete, however, it makes an excellent foundation for straw bale walls, which can be raised very quickly once the foundation is complete.  Stay tuned for straw bale wall construction in the coming weeks, and for opportunities to help with applying the cub (mud-slip), a job that is a lot more fun and easier on the joints and tendons!

Building Update: If at first you don't succeed...

Bishop and ol' Bessie

 

Get the backhoe! 

What a difference a backhoe makes, and strong, capable friends!  Thirty wheelbarrow loads into "do-it-myself-ism" and my knees informed me that I'm not in my 20's anymore.  I listened (unlike in my 20's), asked for help, and Bishop and ol' Bessie came to the rescue.  This, after also realizing — painfully so in yet other ways — that my original efforts at digging a bermed foundation were all for naught in the original location due to ensuing water problems after recent rains.  Much thanks to those rains for inspiring me to move the location before doing even more work!  And thanks to Bishop's expertise and experience, a new location for the building was found, and Bessie made quick work of a raised foundation (PLUS a terraced garden, PLUS a pond!).  I've learned some valuable lessons about my limits, and made some great friends in the process!

NOW, "B is for BOX" folks — the new shape of the building — and for BACKHOE!  We're keeping it simple here on in, okay?  No more letter-shaped abodes for awhile!  I'll leave the creativity to words and not buildings (well...uh....I might want to make a bottle window, and ... er ... how about rounded doors, sculpted shelving, and...hmmm....)

Country Kitchen

Photo courtesy of Diana Rivers.

You might be wondering how I'm keeping my food in bear country.  I certainly don't keep any of it in my tent, but neither have I purchased a pricey bear vault.  I DID try the "bear bag" thing — storing my food in a critter-proof, metal-mesh bag hanging from a tree, but that proved too cumbersome.  It's okay for backpacker's quantities, but not for homesteading!

First of all, every food item I own is enclosed in a tightly sealed glass container; tightly sealed meaning tight-fitting metal lids or glass lids with hermetically sealing rubber rings.  Each time I purchase a food item from the store it is immediately transferred to such a container.  For additional protection, I store jars of especially aromatic and sweet foods in a large steel barrel with a tight-fitting lid (see black barrel left of the table in photo above).  And I keep the kitchen very clean.   All food-tainted liquids and solids go into the composting barrel.

This approach is NOT designed to withstand the strength of a bear, nor is it designed to keep food out of a bear's reach.  Rather, it is designed to prevent a bear from becoming interested in (smelling) the food in the first place.  I have a bear's favorite commodities in that barrel, including honey, jam, and nuts, and so far they haven't shown any interest.

My ultimate concern isn't the safety of my food but the responsibility I have for the welfare of these creatures.  If a bear discovers that my outdoor kitchen is the mother-lode of tasty treats, that bear will return and become a "nuisance" bear, and the danger that causes to me will require the bear's removal from it's home, and that's if someone else doesn't shoot it first.  I don't want to be the cause of that.  So I'm careful.  REAL careful.

It's easy to wonder whether or not we human beings can coexist with creatures like bears and others that can become dangerous.  I believe we can, but that coexistence requires enhanced responsibility on our part.  Behind many "nuisance" bears are human beings who really don't think that the needs and ways of other creatures are as important as their own.  I think that there are ways to handle our food and refuse that does not create nuisance bears.  Yes, it is more work, but it can allow for a much richer community of creatures than we allow for ourselves today.

Making Change

I didn't want do dig that hole in the ground, or rather — have it dug by somebody else.  I didn't want to see an ugly flat spot, denuded and bare, marking where I'll dwell.  I didn't want to drag the logs onto the pretty sunny slope or down the ailing trees.  I was hoping to leave those for the woodpeckers.  You should hear those woodpeckers!  Every morning each claims a tree with a unique sound — some higher pitched, some low — then lets loose a percussive improv of calling out and answering, each in their different tones.  It's really something to hear! 

Will they be farther away now?  Harder to hear?  That's not what I wanted.  Yet I don't want the "widowmakers" either.  That's the local name for dead branches hanging precariously from dead trees, of which there are lots this summer.

And I need a home.

I don't like changing things.  I don't like being an influence on my environment, or on people.  I was raised to weep and hide in the shadows — find a little hole somewhere and stay there.  Don't rock the boat, for heaven's sake; and better yet, be invisible.  But it appears that life is influence, and living better, influential.  To shun influence, or influencing, is to pale away, die.  So take your pick, because those are the only two options.  Take your pick.

Treetop Lost & Found?

The crows stole my car keys.  Yes, they did.  I have lost my car keys, and it's all their fault!  I placed my keys outside the tent along with several other sundry items early one morning, then zipped the door closed to remain inside awhile before walking the items to the car.

Minutes later I heard a raucous in the trees overhead, the crows squawking unusually loud and close, but I thought nothing of it, really, as I've heard their loud  commotions before.

"Oh, they've found a mouse," I thought.

Or "Oh, they're pestering a snake."

But later my keys were nowhere to be found!   Then I recalled how crows steal shiny items to decorate their nests.  Or maybe they don't think of them as decorations.  Maybe they're badges of honor, or mini-solar reflectors.  Maybe they're locator devices, helping them find their nests at night when the moonlight glances off the metal.  Who knows how a crow thinks!  But one thing is sure — they've got my keys!  What they're going to do with the attached library card, I have no idea!  And the pepper spray!  All I know is this is going to one well-armed, well-read crow, and they're already smart enough, which means I'm in big trouble here in Whisperwood and I've really got to start watching my back, because obviously THEY already ARE!!!

It HAS crossed my mind to get one of those microchips people put in dogs, attach it to a key chain I don't need, and set it outside my tent on purpose.  A-HAH!!!  Then I'll track the villains, head straight-way towards the nest of ill repute, and SPY!  Yes, and one fair morning when they're busy cackling about the airways I'll scramble to the top of that tree and retrieve my long-lost belongings, and those of other hapless victims, as well!

What treasures await, dangling from the high limb of a Loblolly Pine!  Can you imagine the loot I'll find?  Jewelry, watches, wedding rings, silver coins!  Gems from generations past lodged into the recesses of that poopy crow's nest!  Who KNOWS how long this has been going on!  They teach their young, you know.  There's a whole TREASURE TROVE of riches up there in one of those Whisperwood trees — I know it! — and it's just WAITING to be discovered! 

P.S.

I am very sad to report that I have found my keys — and pretty much where I left them.  I was very disappointed, to say the least.  I was having SO much fun conjuring crow shenanigans.  But I wouldn't put a shiny thing past them, No!  And for some reason I still can't quit thinking about that lofty treasure trove!

Building Update: Taking Shape

Saving soil for the garden.

My first step towards building my garden shed has been to pickax, rake, and shovel my way through the first six-inch layer of topsoil, roots, and rock and to wheelbarrow the soil away to a large pile by the garden.  This precious topsoil will be used in raised garden beds on the sunny slope.  With this task essentially complete I've begun to dig into the next layer of soil in order to prepare a level surface  for the foundation of the building.  Now before I say anything else I want you all to know that I did BEGIN with plans for a conventional, square structure.  BUT let's just say certain morphings occurred along the way, and now it looks like the garden shed is going to be shaped like a "B".  Yeah, that's right.  "B" for Building.  Or "B" for Barn.  Because I'm a writer, and writers need letters — BIG, BOLD letters — okay?  And because the sweat BEES (ground bees, yellow jackets, whatever) have led me into depths of wilderness communion that I do not wish to re-experience, so the garden shed must be BIG enough for my kitchen supplies so that next summer I won't go BONKERS amidst their incessant BUZZING, BOTHERSOME BALLYHOOS ever again!  But mainly it's "B"-shaped because I need to avoid BRUISING the roots of the BIG, BLACK oak tree that shades me while I work.  She's an old black oak, BURROWED through with BEETLES and ready to fall on my roof as soon as I'm able to BUILD such a thing, BUT I love her and am not cutting her down BECAUSE she is BEAUTIFUL and is enabling me to do my work even when the sun is really BLISTERING!

So, Welcome "B Abode"!  May you be filled with much joy, laughter, and BENEVOLENT BANTER!  May my life, filled to date with such inordinate, anxious striving — for work, approval, and love — be given rest, a place to "BE", simply and free, balanced and whole.

Nobody's Pussy Cat!

I THOUGHT it was a dog.  It LOOKED like a dog — medium sized, muscular, nearly the color of the leaf-strewn ground, only orangier.  It had a blocky build, squared shoulders and head, and a stubby tail about 4 or 5 inches long that wiggled some.  He, or she, was headed home, I thought, and ain't nothing sacred — a domesticated type saunterin' through my pristine wilderness plot!  But then he leapt up that tree!  A black oak.  He clamored some two or three yards off the ground and clung to the bark with glee, like he was after somethin'.  Then he somersaulted down, and repeated the whole thing again, mouth ajar and happy, like this was a game he played whenever he passed that particular spot.

I was eatin' oatmeal outside in a lawn chair, just relaxin', enjoying the mornin' air, when I realized it was a CAT I was watchin', and that it DIDN'T belong to any of the neighbors!

I gulped,  wondering "Is it really OKAY to be sitting here eating oatmeal while a very large, wild cat wanders by?"  Thankfully, after toying awhile with his favorite scratching post, he continued on his way, nonchalant and  never noting my presence at all.

Turns out it was a bobcat I saw in Whisperwood that morning.  They range widely and help control rodent populations.  Here's a great article on bobcats in Arkansas called  "Phantom of the Woodlands" if you'd like to learn more.  Don't expect ever to HEAR a bobcat.  They're silent in motion.  Look for the color of amber, moving quickly, in a line.

Breaking Ground

Photos of groundbreaking ceremonies usually show shovels thrust deeply into rich soil, but in northwestern Arkansas I knew better and pulled out the pickax instead. And the shovels are just for show anyway, of course.  You know workers will break out the backhoe as soon as the cameras are gone.  I may have to do that, as well, eventually.  But my biggest goal for this site isn't even to build a building but to RE-build ME.  Years of working behind a desk have left my muscles weak, my joints aching, bones thinning, and all rather prematurely for my age.  First and foremost I'm building my chance for the rest of my life, to have another healthy 40 years.  Additionally I want the emotional benefit that extended physically labor uniquely affords — the time allowed to breathe my own air, think my own thoughts, be with my own mental and physical energies combined, working for a good.  I saw a barn raised in a week recently.  That ain't gonna happen here.  The best way is not always the fastest or the easiest.

The building I'm making will be a garden shed, and will be my first permanent structure at Whisperwood.  It will have a pounded tire (tires crammed with soil; also called "rammed earth") foundation and straw bale walls with cob (clay and straw)  overlay.  The shed will provide  a cozy place to stay during the cold spells while I work on a larger dwelling for myself.

I'm uneasy during groundbreakings, and didn't know what to say at mine.  I hesitate to disturb the natural beauty of a place by building something new.  Like the lovely bluegrass lawn I pierced at my Ohio home while making my first garden, I say "Is it REALLY okay to dig here?"

Of course it was, and IS, and I only hope this dwelling I construct will be as productive and full of joy as was that little backyard garden years ago.

"Good Spirit.  Good Spirits.  Thank You for the ground," I said.

"And for the pickax!"

Solar Flair

A 240 Watt PW Array aims for the sky at Whisperwood.

It's so hot the TICKS are nappin'!  It's true!  Haven't had a bite out o' THEM for nigh on two weeks now!  Of course, sprinkling sulfur in the kitchen area helped immensely, but it's a fact — they aren't takin' to the heat any more n' I am.  Just when I've got the chance to stay PUT awhile and enjoy the great outdoors the temperature gauge turns to a hundred degrees and the tent gets a little asphyxiating inside!  No matter; help is on the way!  I just ordered a DC fan to run off my new solar panel which, thanks to the unrivalled expertise of a certain Jimis Damet of Rocky Grove Sun Company, is now happily installed on the very sunny slope.  How utterly TICKLED I felt on first pressing the ON button of my CD player and hearing the beautiful sounds of Robert Tree Cody's native flute wafting from the windows of my tent via the pure, unadulterated rays of the SUN.  It felt like magic!  It IS magic, and as soon as that precious fan comes in the mail, maybe I'll have a little more of that magical BREEZE comin' through the window, as well!

Spring Grape & Noodle Soup

Got grapes?  Ever ate the leaves?  There's lots of 'em growing wild in Whisperwood.  Of course, most vines snake upwards to the treetops and feed only the birds, and sprouts on the ground feed the deer, but occasionally I find a thicket of 'em just right in height for ME, and they are delicious!  Mind you I'm talking about the LEAVES; the fruit hasn't yet ripened!  The leaves have a sweet and tangy smell, especially when young, and add a lemony taste to recipes.  You can eat them raw, but they're a little tough.  Here's a soup I made that makes a wonderful, light meal on a cool spring day.  Note that any kind of noodles can be used, but I chose quinoa noodles because they are gluten free and a complete protein:

Small handful young grape leaves

About 2 cups of water

Olive oil (about a tablespoon)

Organic apple cider vinegar (about a tablespoon)

Sugar (about a teaspoon)

Pinch of rosemary

Salt and pepper to taste

Simmer above ingredients for 20 or 30 minutes.

Add some noodles; cook through.

Owl Howl

The owls sound like monkeys here.  Of course, I didn't know that at first and felt that somewhere along the way I'd made a major turn towards the wrong continent.  It took me awhile to identify the species going 'a-hoot-hoot-hoot-a-ka-ka-ka" in the woods every evening, but with the help of friends, I did, and I feel more comfortable now.  It's  good to know things, as being unawares is disconcerting.  But knowing how the owls sound from a distance doesn't help a whole lot, really, because of course they are so quiet up close.  Several times I've seen owls while walking in the woods, but only after they've eyed me in dead silence as I lug myself a full quarter mile through thicket and ravine to where they happen to be inconspicuously perched only feet above my head.  And then, with a sudden and loud "Awooosh!!!" they fall through the air directly in front of me and make a bee-line to a tree only a short ways ahead.  They're laughing, I know, and it doesn't end there, because then — knowing they're now the object of my full and startled attention — they marvelously twist their heads around a full one-eighty degrees and STARE.  Yes, they do.  It's like a game they play, poking fun at my dumb self, stumbling.  I love it though.  As far as I'm concerned, they can poke all the fun they want!  I never felt so honored being teased in all my life!

Bright Eyes

Spring in Whisperwood has been stunning.  After a dry winter the rains came, and everything changed. The crackly browns receded 'neath a verdant mantle, new, and wildflowers — their yellows, purple,  reds and blue  — decorated everything.  Here is Fire Pink, or "Silene Virginica".  I call her Bright Eyes.  She lives in Whisperwood, preferring the rocky cliff that straddles the garden slope.  Some call her Catch Fly, as her stems are sticky and trap the insects dawdling by.

Hello, Bright Eyes!

What do you see

with that face of yours,

so cheery today?

How pretty you are

by the stone —

sprightly,

oh, so gay!

First Bear Sighting

I saw a bear for the first time, only three days ago!  I was in my tent, dawn had barely illumined the woods, and I heard a soft padding o'er the ground, quieter than even a deer.  I looked out the window and there he was, striding towards camp, immensely agile, like a cat.  His coat was blackest black, pitch-black, and luminous, precisely groomed.  He was absolutely stunning.

Cautiously he strode to the wood pile thirty feet away.  He sniffed the air, and then turned around, re-traced his steps, and circled the unmarked perimeter of my property, as if honoring boundaries somehow.  I was more exhilarated than scared.  Though he was so large and strong, immediately I saw the care with which he moved, his tentative manner.  This was no marauding monster.  Here was a careful, sensitive creature, more concerned for his well-being than with harassing a new neighbor.  I was awed with the privilege of seeing this creature.

Seeing the bear has helped me immensely.  Call it "God", "Goddess", or the "Universe", it feels as though I was provided the opportunity to find that the animal is NOT going to maul me in my tent (as AK fondly suggested) — unless, of course, I slather myself in honey!  I dare say the bear was better at honoring boundaries than are many human beings!

Bear sightings in this area are rare.  Some of my neighbors have gone thirty years and never seen a bear.  Yet Charlie has made their acquaintance three times in the last two years, and I, in only my second day in the woods, have had the honor.  Seems they appear to the timid among us who've struggled with fears inordinate all our lives.  They embolden us, as if to say "peer in the face of pure power; see how careful it can be, how thoughtful and serene."

I want to remind everyone NEVER to feed the bears.   Wild animals accustomed to people feeding them can become extremely dangerous.  Case in point:  cayotes have never been known to attack people, but now are doing so in parts of California where tourists have been feeding them in the parks.

Googly Eyes in the Night

I knew the instant I saw those eyes that this wasn't an ordinary visitor.  The night was dark, and the eyes were huge, gleaming in the light of my lamp, and far apart.  That wasn't the head of a possum, no.  That was a large head, had to be at least a foot wide for eyes like that — much bigger than human eyes, bigger than an even an owl's eyes — and it was on all fours.  It lumbered up and down as it sniffed the air in my direction.  I shuddered in the tent.

"Bear!" I gasped.

I had hoped to postpone this part of my wilderness communion, but here he was already, downwind and moving in my direction.  My heart quivered like the wings of a hummingbird, only I couldn't fly.  I was trapped, with this thing bearing down on me.

Trying to keep my eyes on it's advance, I lunged for the knife and pepper spray AK warned me to keep on hand.  I was armed, alright, yet failed to see the good these items could do me in the face of a creature the size o' THAT!!!

I couldn't breathe.

"Knock some metal together," I directed myself.  "Bears hate the sound of metal knocking."

I rapped the knife on the can of spray, loudly and sharp.  The head jerked upwards, on alert.

"Yep, just like a bear," I said.

I rapped again.  It leapt.  NOT like a bear.  I could see the body now, the body of a  deer, large, as it sailed away.

I laughed and laughed; me scared of a skittish deer!  My track record in the scaredy-who department is kinda' low, I realize.  It'll improve,  I promise!  In the meantime, hey — it's worth a laugh!

Attack of the Scaredy-who's

It's late at night.  A strong westerly wind whips the sides of the tent, and there are lots of noises, rasping.  I glance nervously through the window to see the faint outlines of a creature only feet away.  Goose bumps tickle my arms.  It's maybe the size of a raccoon, head swaying hither and fro in it's approach.  I'm not afraid of raccoons — problem is I'm not sure it really IS a raccoon!  Nor am I privy to the accurate dimensions of the thing.  I AM sure that it's far too close for comfort, considering all the unknowns.  Bravely I grab my headlamp and shine the high beam through the window towards the scary thing.  Baby elm tree.

Okay, so I'm a little green.  I DID grow up in the country, but it's been 30 years.  And I AM somewhat surprised and embarrassed to find I have more than my share of the scaredy-who's, but I'm doin' this thing anyway, and aside from the fears, I'm happier than a tickled pig's tail to be here!

Home Sweet Home

Whew!!!  My move to my new home - a Wenzel cabin tent - has been complete, much thanks to Nancy and her pickup truck.  Yes, this is my first dwelling in Whisperwood.  It sits on the upper shelf near a sunny, grassy knoll, and rose in an hour with the help of young Azalea (who primarily served a supervisory function) and Nichole (who wasn't afraid to read the directions).   This was accomplished while AK and Alan enlarged the sunny slope for the solar panel and garden, all the while regaling me of scary bear stories.  I imagine my subsequent dwellings will take a tad longer to build, but here's a start, and I am SO happy to be here, launching a life-long dream of being a Writer in the Woods!