Author Archives: JALevine

Cabin Life – # 47

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There’s big fat flakes of snow slowing drifting down out of the sky.  I just threw a few logs in the wood stove and the small waft of smoke that escaped is mixing with the aroma of the black beans I’m simmering on the stove.  It’s a nice night to be out here in the cabin.

Ed’s curled up next to the computer and his tail is leisurely hitting the back of my hand.  Herbie’s asleep and snoring on the foot stool near the woodstove while Pico is contentedly laying on the bed.  The temperature is supposed to go up a little in the next few days, but for now, it feels like winter.  If it does warm up, it will be a nice treat.

My parents came up this weekend to help stack the wood in the shed.  Four cords are in there, along with the other four stacked outside under tarps.  It’s nice to be all set with heat for the winter, bringing a deserved sense of satisfaction in having taken care of that one aspect.  When you live in nature, like most Adirondackers, you try to control what you can, knowing that you can’t control it all.  No one knows what type of winter it will be, but we can get ready the best we know how, and in the spring take pride in the fact that we made through another one.

As I watch the candle light flicker against the wood paneled walls, I can’t help but think about the path that brought me here.  Fighting depression, anxiety, stress, and self-loathing, I ended up in this little shack in the middle of nowhere.  I have no neighbors but wild animals.  I have to go outside to use the “bathroom.”  I force myself to have contact with the outside world, otherwise I’d be a little afraid of what I might do or become.  I do not want to be the Unabomber.

I do want a simpler life though.  No life is free from stress, but ensuring that there’s a fire going is usually the biggest worry of the day.  That, and the temperature of the seat in the outhouse.  That’s a big concern.  I once heard someone say that depression is like a train that comes barrleing along, and the only thing you can do is hold on as best you can.  I think that’s an apt metaphor, and one I relate to well.  The nice thing about being out here is that I haven’t heard that train whistle in a long time.  And I now have the confidence to know that I will be able to hold on the next time it comes around.  Trust me, that’s a stress reliever if I ever knew one.

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Cabin Life – #46

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There’s snow flying around in the air.  It’s been snowing on and off all day, with some sticking to my car this morning, but there’s none on the ground.  I noticed the slightly silvery coloring of the pines and hemlocks from snow sticking to the branches, though.  I’m glad it’s not sticking on the ground yet, but it won’t be long, and even though it’s been cold, we’ve been lucky that the snow didn’t start flying a week or two ago.

They say that this is the remnants of Hurricane Sandy, which at the cabin turned out to be a whole lot of nothing.  We had a wind storm last winter where I could hear trees coming down with a fair amount of regularity, but this past Monday night didn’t add up to much.  There was one branch down on my road, so it turned out I didn’t need to bring my chainsaw with me.  But I guess it’s good that I was prepared to cut my road clear to get to work.  Or maybe it’s not good.  I don’t know.

The one thing that struck me about Sandy was that everyone was preparing for the worst.  They were prepared to not have power for days or even weeks.  And I realized that the phrase “Oh no, the power might go out” really doesn’t enter my day-to-day conversations any more.  I bought some extra food just in case Sandy became another Ice Storm like in 1998.  That storm is my reference for everything now.  I always say to myself that I better be prepared for these storms just in case it’s another Ice Storm.

I have nothing but sympathy for those who were actually affected by the storm.  I can’t imagine being stuck in New York City with no power.  But for the northern Adirondacks, it was just another storm with lots of rain and not so bad winds.  I wasn’t that worried about it for the obvious reason that power outages don’t affect me.  Just one more way in which my life is simpler out here.  And it’s one more way in which this type of life is easier to handle.

Cabin Life – #45

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The silence out here can be both comforting and disconcerting.  It’s not that there’s no noise, because there can be a lot.  But often, it’s just the wind in the trees.

There was one neighborhood in Jacksonville where I heard sirens every night.  For two years.  A woman had her purse snatched in broad daylight, and she was a cop.  I heard gun shots a few times and more domestic diputes than I care to remember.  I heard kids crying for hours on end and guys blasting rap at four in the morning.  There was a lot of noise in that place.  The apartment I got after that one was a few blocks from the ocean and on Sunday mornings, when everyone else was at church and Pico and I played firsbee, I could clearly hear the rolling sound of the ocean.

But out here, I’ve never heard sirens.  I saw flashing lights one time, when the fire department came to put out my chimney fire, but that’s it.  Occasionally I can hear a big-rig downshifting on Route 3, but even that is a quiet rumble in the distance.

I have one flashilight that is amazing.  This thing is basically a light saber.  After dark, before I let Pico out, I go out first and scan the fields with the big light to see what animals are hanging around.  Usually there’s a bunch of deer (nine the other night) and that’s it.  I let the screen door slam and they take off into the upper field, where Pico won’t see them and give chase.

Last night though, I went out and checked around.  About halfway up the Upper Field, I saw a set of eyes glowing green in the dark.  I waited and scanned around, thinking I would see some other eyes to confirm that it was just some deer, but no other eyes showed up.  I slammed the screen door and watched the eyes.  They didn’t move at the sound.  As I stood there in my slippers watching the eyes, they watched me back.

And then a thought entered my mind.  What if this was the bear that I’ve seen so many signs of?  There’s almost never just one deer hanging out by itself, and the non-plussed attitude displayed at the sound of the door slamming made me think that maybe it was the bear.  He was too far away for me to see clearly, but it was clear that he was not taking off just because some door closed.  But when I slammed the door again, the head came up and I caught a good glimpse of a doe standing near the upper edge of the field.

My tensions relaxed, I went and got Pico, comfortable in the fact that the deer was far enough away that Pico wouldn’t take off after it, and that it was not a bear.  When Pico’s tags jingled, the deer took to the woods.  I could hear the low bass vibrations of it bounding away.  Pico sniffed around and I watched with the light saber pointed not directly at him, but off to the side.  I don’t want to blind him.

It was quiet and calm, with only an infrequent rustle of leaves to fill the void.  And then I heard the low bass vibrations of a moving animal.  I shined around and saw no eyes, but the upper field hasn’t been mowed in years and the shrubs are getting big, providing great cover for whatever it was I was hearing.  The sound grew louder and I looked at Pico to see where he was.  He was at least a hundred yards away with no clue about what was running through the field.  I couldn’t tell where it was coming from or what direction it was heading, but my immediate thought was “bear.”

I glanced at the clueless Pico once again and just then six set of eyes came into view.  It was a doe and two fawns, apparently hidden in my first inspection of the field, taking off in the opposite direction.  I relaxed then and shut off the light.  I could see Pico trotting back towards the cabin in the moonlight.  Just then a shreik came out of the night.  It took my brain a moment to process that it was an owl, and it scared me.  Bad.  Stupid owl.

Cabin Life – #44

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The nights are longer and cooler and the daily high temperatures are lower than the summer lows.  I’m glad for the solar lights strung around the cabin.  They cast a pleasant blueish glow without being blinding.  Wearing a headlamp literally all time last winter really got old, and it’s nice to be able to see without one.  Now I can find my glass of Maker’s Mark without burning batteries.

Ed got another mouse last night.  He can never get them during normal waking hours, only in the middle of the night.  So, after work, I didn’t do anything that could be called “chores” or “work” or anything like that.  I sat on the boulder that serves as my front step and played guitar.  I let all the animals out to enjoy the warmth of the afternoon sun.  Pico ate grass and layed around, Ed went out hunting, and Herbie was somewhere doing whatever it is fat cats do.

Soaking up what may be the last of the warm days for the year is as precious to me as almost anything else.  I like every aspect of fall, especially those little nuggets of warmth and sunshine that make random appearances throughout the season.  But they also remind me that the time for getting the cabin totally ready for winter is at hand.  Firewood is going into the shed, the lights are strung up and the chimney is cleaned and ready to go.  It’s gotten pretty cold on a few nights, but I needed to get a new chimney brush and clean it before getting a fire going.

Cleaning the chimeny is hands down my least favorite activity that living out here requires.  I don’t mind walking to the outhouse or having to haul jugs of water in.  But I really dislike cleaning the chimney.  I’m not afraid of heights, but I’m also not a fan.  The roof isn’t very high or steep, but climbing up there is always an annoyance.  And of course, I inevitably forget something down on the ground, so it’s never just a one climb chore.

Then, once I’m up there, the process of actually sweeping the chimney begins.  Handling the two sections of fiberglass pole that wave twelve feet in the air above my head is not hard, but also not pleasant.  I shove the brush end down until it’s inside the woodstove, then pull it all the way back out.   Even though it’s not a long chimney, I usually break a sweat doing this process three or four times.  And on top of all this, Pico is on the ground barking at me and trying to climb the ladder.  If he ever figures it out, I’m going to be in real trouble.

But I think I’m lucky in that the chimney is the only chore I really despise doing.  Checking on the Upper Camp and clearing the trails gives me a lot of satisfaction, plus Pico can come along on those treks.  I like living out here.  And I do like that I have to work at it.

Cabin Life – #43

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I had a great trip to South Carolina last weekend for a friend’s wedding.  Shorts and flip flops all day was a nice change from the jeans and sweatshirts our weather has required.  And for some reason, this trip has caused me to think a lot about what it means to live off the grid.  Maybe it was all that time spent on planes breathing recycled air.  I’m not sure, but I do know that I consider myself off the grid with no running water, electricity or even indoor plumbing.  But I have cell phone service and my blog has a Facebook page.  How off the grid is that?

As I think about shaping my experience, which in the near future means buying land and starting to build my own cabin off the grid, I’ve begun to wonder if living off the grid means giving up modern ammenities.  Should you be able to drive right to your house, or hike in?  Can you live on a major road and listen to traffic all day, or do you have to be isolated?  Can you buy imported foods or do you have to suffer a life without Guiness?

I’ll tell you one thing:  there is no way that I am spending the rest of my life without indoor plumbing. I don’t think off the grid means no hot water for showers, but is it too much to ask to have a hot tub?  What about a wood-fired hot tub that only burns wood taken from my land?  Is that still off the grid?

One of the things I’ve learned in this whole experience is that I don’t mind living simply.  I know now that I can live without a lot of things that many people consider neccesities.  I’ve often read about other people who live off the grid, but seem to give up nothing.  They have every modern convenience, along with a room full of deep-cycle batteries that everntually become hazardous waste.  I don’t know if that’s right or wrong, and I think it’s up to each person who decides to live this way.

I know what I want out of living a somewhat unconnected existence.  I like being able to keep in touch with friends and family and don’t want to be disengaged in that way.  What it means to me is that I try to be as self-suficent as possible, while not becoming the Unabomber.  I want to get some land that can provide the logs for a small cabin, one that will have a nice bathroom with hot water.  I want to raise most of my own food and rely on wood, solar and wind for the meager electric and heating needs I will have.  I also want a hot tub.  I’ve always wanted a hot tub.

Cabin Life – #42

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Bizarro World.  If you’ve never heard of Bizarro World, then you didn’t read Superman comics as a kid.  Well I didn’t either, but I learned about it in an episode of Seinfeld.  I am in my own personal Bizarro World right now, flying about thirty thousand feet over the country on my way to South Carolina via Chicago.  And I can’t think of any place that could be more different from my normal lifestyle.  This is as far from simple as you can get.

The guy sitting next to me has commandeered the armrest, which I guess is alright since we’re in an exit row.  You have to take the good with the bad.  I’m also pretty sure he is reading this as I write.  It’s ok for you to keep the armrest; I have the aisle, and that’s a fair trade.

It has been simple lately out at the cabin.  The leaves are gorgeous, and I hate to break it you if you’re not in the Northern Adirondacks, but peak leaf season is just about over.  The red carpet of leaves on the trails is so bright it almost hurts your eyes, and the yellows, oranges and golds overhead create the appearance of a nice bright day even when it’s overcast and rainy.  But those random shafts of light that penetrate the trees bring out so much color it’s a wonder to behold.  This is what I missed while I was in Florida.

There’s a bear lurking around out here, and the evidence is obvious, even though I haven’t seen or heard him at all.  There were a few old logs lying by the outdoor fire pit which were turned over, revealing what no doubt was a huge horde of bugs.  I also found the remnants of a ground hive that the bear must have dug up.  It was apparently a huge hive down in the lower field, since the hole that was excavated was about the size of basketball. 

There was leftover honey comb at the mouth of the hole, but not very much.  I don’t know how much honey ground bees produce, but I am jealous of what the bear got.  Not that I would have gone in after it like he did, however, I give him kudos on taking the hit to get his honey.  The bear must be hurting for food with the lack of berries this year, but he hasn’t tried to get into the cabin, so I can’t complain about his presence too much.

Yup, the guy next to me was reading.  He just said “Thanks” as he put his arm on the rest between us and tucked a pillow under his head.  He closed his eyes and leaned the seat back.  Now he’s asleep and snoring loudly, but his arm has fallen off the armrest.  Like I said, you take the good with the bad.

Cabin Life – #41

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The nights and days are cool, the leaves are bright and the fire wood is getting stacked in the shed.  The field is turning brown, even with the fall rain, and neither of the streams are running.  It hasn’t really been that cold, but it is coming.

Ed crashed around last night, and I thought he was going to have a mouse.  He didn’t, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.  There was a mouse turd on the table though, so the mice are definitely trying to move in for the winter.  I checked the small hole in the floor where the sink drains out and the steel wool was gone.  I shoved some more in there to try and keep them out.  I don’t have anything against mice per se, but I don’t want them in my food or on my bed or on my table.  Or in my cabin, actually.

I think it’s going to be a rough winter.  Seems like it’s much colder than it was at this time last year.  I’ve got myself set up better for this winter with solar lights and radio, and the cabin is a lot cleaner than when I moved in.  There’s less furniture and more room.  The animals are happy here and so am I.

But the weather is worrying me. I cut and split wood well into October last year with nothing more than a light flannel on and no need for a jacket.  I took a ride on the four wheeler today and my hands were stiff for a while.  It’s not looking good for those of us who were hoping for a late start to winter.

Don’t get me wrong, I like winter.  I like to ski and snowshoe and enjoy the general quietness.  But an early winter means burning more wood, plowing the driveway more and spending a lot more time in long johns.  Nothing against any of those things, I just wish they would start when I want them to.  Like in December.  Oh, and the snow should be gone by the first day of spring.  That’s not too much to ask, is it?  I’m afraid this year it will be.

Cabin Life – #40

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I’m a traitor.  I went to Vermont to go hiking this week.  A friend and I hiked Elmore Mountain to an old fire tower.  The fire tower was open to the public even though it was decommissioned, which is a big change from New York.  Most of the fire towers here have had their first two flights of stairs removed, with the small, obligatory “Warning” sign attached somewhere. 

When I went over Sunday afternoon on the Port Kent ferry, the overwhelming view of both Vermont and the Adirondacks was still green.  The shoreline of Lake Champlain on both sides of the lake showed little sign of the cooling temperatures of mid-September. 

I met up with Mike in Montpelier and followed him to his house somewhere in the middle of nowhere.  It was well after dark by the time we got there.  We had a small fire and a couple of beers while Pico and Mike’s dog Sadie wrestled with each other and barked at the coyotes howling in the woods, not too far away.  We could hear cows mooing on a neighboring farm and a heavy dew started settling in while the fire died down.

When I woke up the next morning, I glanced out the window to see a gray sky and a fire red maple.  The feeling of waking up on an overcast day with a hike planned was somewhat offset by the brightness of the tree.  The window was open and the coolness made me both wide awake and reluctant to get out of bed. 

I knocked on Mike’s door to wake him up for the hike, but he and Sadie were already awake.  After a beautifully fatty breakfast with a lot of coffee, we headed north to Elmore State Park to climb the mountain.  It was a nice trail, and because it was Vermont, basically everyone else we saw had a dog, so Pico and Sadie had plenty of butts to sniff along the way.

When we were done with the hike, we headed back to Mike’s place so I could go home and he could drive down to New Hampshire for a three day hiking trip.  I got back on the ferry in Burlington, and soon realized that the boat was going backwards.  Or, more accurately, the cars were facing backward. 

As the ferry left Vermont, I watched as the lake gained in size while the buildings and boats shrank.  Camel’s Hump and Mt. Mansfield stood idly by while we went west across the lake.  I got out of the car and turned around.  Looking at the Adirondacks from the ferry with Vermont at my back, I realized that I while like the vibe of Vermont, it’s not the Adirondacks.  And I love the Adirondacks.

Cabin Life – #39

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It’s a writing in the hammock kind of day.  The sun is shining, but the pines are giving me enough shade to stay cool.  It is that particular brand of fall day when it’s a little hot in the sun and a little cool in the shade.

Herbie the Fat Cat is what’s on my mind.  The middle child of my pets, both in age and in size, Herbie is a great cat.  He doesn’t do anything and it’s wonderful.

I got Herbie almost ten years ago, mainly as a friend for Ed.  I was travelling a lot and Ed was pretty wound up back when he was around two years old.  So when my friend said she had a big lazy stray that she had taken in, I went and met Herbie.

I don’t know if it’s just me, but when I go to “meet” a potential pet, I know that I’m going to take him home.  It’s not even a question.  When I got to Lorena’s house, there were five cats.  Her mom already had a few, which is why they needed to unload Herbie.  He was lying under their dining room table and let me scoop him up.  He was (and is) grey striped on top and white underneath, almost like someone held him and dipped him a bucket of white paint.  They had had Herbie de-clawed, which is something I would never do to a cat, but I have to admit that it’s kind of nice.  I’ve never had money taken out of a security deposit because of Herbie.

The humans chatted and Herbie smelled around his new carrier, finally going in to eat the treats I had tossed in there.  When I got home with Herbie, Ed made his disapproval clear.  It took two whole days for Ed to forget that Herbie was an intruder and the two of them started tearing around the house together.  I had hoped that having a lazy tub around would calm Ed down, but it had the opposite effect.  Herbie was almost as wild as Ed.  He lost a couple of pounds in fat within six months.

The Big Guy goes by many names, most of which revolve around his weight.  He isn’t really fat, he’s big boned.  Seriously, he is.  Herbie has now mellowed out a lot and seems to be taking to middle age nicely.  He and Ed still wrestle, but the unabashed free-for-alls have dropped in number (Pico has filled that hole with all his might).  When Herbie sleeps in bed, he doesn’t lie on the pillow or move around all night like Ed.  When he jumps on the table, he doesn’t lay on my keyboard or book like Ed.  He doesn’t bark or jump on you like Pico does.  And he’s content to lie in the sun for hours on end.  He’s my fat cat, and he’s the best fat cat I’ve ever known.

Cabin Life – #38

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Pico was just digging in the ground, making a cool spot to lie down in.  After the rain we got last night, the disturbed ground had a nice, earthy smell to it.  A week ago, it would have been just dust, floating up into my face and choking me.  Now it smells good.

This is my favorite time of year.  The leaves are starting to change color and it’s not due to the drought this time.  There are bright yellows and orangeish-reds.  Most of the trees are still green but that just makes the few that are changing really stand out.  They look striking even though I have to see them through red, scratchy eyes most of the time.

The road is covered with dead leaves that blow around on the dry days.  The good news is that since there are dry days now, it also means that there must be wet days.  The rain we’ve gotten isn’t making up for the summer yet, but at least it is raining once in a while.  We needed the water, but it’s also nice to get a free car wash now and then too.

I’ve always liked fall the best, and after this ridiculously hot and dry summer, the cool nights and warm days are a huge relief.  Just cool enough for a long sleeve shirt at night.  The mosquitoes are starting to die down and there’s a noticeable difference in the amount of daylight we’re getting.  I’ve seen some geese heading south and even with no water, the few apples that made it are ripening up.  I guess that’s what I like about fall.  All of the above.