Tag Archives: outside

Cabin Life – #50

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Snow
The tea kettle is warming up on the stove so I can have the first of many, many cups of tea today.  There’s cough drop wrappers strewn about the table and all of my handkerchiefs are in the laundry basket.  I hate being sick.

The worst part about this particular cold is that I finally took a day off from work and had to spend it lying on the couch doing nothing.  It was a beautiful day yesterday, with the first real snow of the year settling on the ground.  Being in a snow belt, I got a few more inches than most people and if there was any possibility of being able to breathe through my nose, I would have loved to go out for my first cross-country ski of the year.

But instead, I stayed inside and read, did a little shoveling and basically just drifted in and out of consciousness all day.  It was nice to look out the window at the winter scene that is my yard, though.  The pale blue sky played against the blinding whiteness of six inches of snow.  The sun created sparkles all over, always changing as the trees swayed in the wind.  This is my favorite part of winter.

It was about this time last year that I started writing the Cabin Life series, and believe it or not, this is the fiftieth essay I’ve written about living off the grid in this little cabin.  I’ve talked about the weather and birds, family and depression, difficulties and joys.  The outhouse, Upper Camp and Pico.  I like writing this way, about whatever happens to pop into my mind when I sit down at the computer.  I like that I have to wear a headlamp to write on my laptop.

After over a year, I do not regret moving out here.  I miss hot showers.  And on days like yesterday, it would have been nice to lie around and watch whatever nonsense was on TV.  Other than that, I don’t miss anything I used to have.  I lived in a nice two bedroom townhouse three blocks from the ocean when I left Jacksonville.  I liked being near the beach, but feel that the only thing I really gave up was the stress and endless hours of work necessary to afford that life.  I worked two jobs for five straight years.  I know lots of other people have done this, but I don’t have kids or a mortgage.  I did it to keep up with the Jones’, so to speak.  And after simplifying my life and wants and needs, I realize that I don’t care what the Jones’ are up to.  The best part is that I won’t ever again care what they are up to.

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Cabin Life – #49

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It’s Thanksgiving week, and there’s no snow on the ground.  There’ve been some heavy frosts, and I’ve had to scrape my windshield most days in the last week.  Right now there’s a heavy frost covering the apple trees and the sun is coming up over Whiteface.  I really wish my camera battery was charged.

When I was growing up, I had a running bet with my grandfather that there would be snow on the ground Thanksgiving morning.  We always hosted dinner, sometimes with more than twenty people, but Grandpa would always walk in and give me five bucks and not say anything to me.  I would grin and pocket the money, happy in my ability to predict the weather.  Of course, most years, there was already snow on the ground before Thanksgiving, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that I had a pretty good streak of winning that bet.

And then one year when I was ten or eleven or twelve, I woke up Turkey Day morning to the sight of no snow.  I had what should be described as a very easy childhood, and I assumed that Grandpa would ask for his money, but not really demand it.  I did not know Grandpa as well as I thought.

He came walking in the side door of our house on Fifth Ave in Gloversville.  There were a few steps to walk up into the kitchen, and when he crested the third step and saw me, I inherently learned the phrase “sh*t-eating grin.”  It was a very clear lesson.  He was getting his five bucks and he was going to enjoy every single second of it.

Grandpa was, by any definition, “old school.”  He had a large leather recliner, everyone else got the couch or the floor or a folding chair.  And it was his remote.  His and his alone.  We stayed at the dinner table until plates were clean.  There was absolutely no wrasslin’ in the house.  But he was gruff in a way that told you how much he cared about  you.  Just don’t tick him off.

As I grew up, and even after he passed away, I got to know Grandpa better.  He would have liked that I was living out here.  There’s no way he would do it, but I’m sure that he would have some stories and old woods tricks to share to help me along.  I remember the way he smiled, and his eyes would get all squinty.  It’s a trait that I inherited, and when I smile I usually think about him, which just makes me smile more.

 

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Cabin Life – #48

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A reader recently asked me what a normal day out at the cabin was like.  Unfortunately, most of my days consist of getting up, going to work, and coming home to go to bed.  But on the weekends and when I’m not working, I’ve settled into a nice routine mixed with plenty of different chores.  No, not chores.  Activities.

Pico or Ed usually wake me up on the weekend, so I get to sleep in until about six.  After ignoring them for an indeterminate amount of time, I relent and get their food.  Then Pico and I take a walk up the Right Trail to the Upper Camp.  I check the log cabin that’s another quarter mile or so into the woods.  I live in the middle of nowhere, and Upper Camp is even closer to the center of the middle of nowhere.

Upper Camp was built by the previous owners and is a pretty big log cabin.  Not huge, but more than twice the size of my place.  When people see it, they ask why I don’t live there instead of in my little shack.  First, there’s no way I could get someone to plow it.  Going to Upper Camp is at least three-quarters of a mile from the road.  Second, because it is so big, I would need a lot more wood to heat it.  And the main reason is that Upper Camp is the “weekend getaway” for my landlord.

After I make sure no windows are broken and no trees have come down on the place, Pico and I bushwhack off to the east towards the Left Trail.  Sometimes we go a little further into the woods and partway up the hill out back, but mostly we just cut through to the Upper Field.  This is essentially a big, brush-covered extension of my yard.  If I’m lazy (Pico never is) then we just head back to my cabin.  Otherwise we’ll make our way to the Left Trail and then head back down.

Once we’re back at the cabin, I grab a large pot and go to the little stream.  I put the pot on the wood stove to get some moisture in the air.  I also recently started keeping the tea kettle on the wood stove, which seems like something I should have started doing a year ago.  I’m still learning how to do this whole off the grid thing.

Then I’ll usually take the chainsaw and head off to cut some dead trees.  I buck them up into manageable pieces so I can carry them back to the yard.  I like to block them up and split the logs right then, so my pile of wood for next winter gets bigger all year long.  Sometimes I’ll go work on the trails that haven’t been used much (most of them), I’ll go clear brush and try to open the trail a little bit.

I guess mostly though, my life off the grid is a lot like most people’s.  I have to wash dishes and brush pets and bring wood in for the stove.  I cook and sweep and do yard work.  Sure, I have to put in more than the usual effort due to the lack of running water, but other than that, I’m pretty normal.  You know, normal for a guy with no running water.

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 – #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 -#37

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I love lying in the hammock.  There’s a cold beer on the upright log next to me and Pico is lying on the other side.  Shamelessly, I use Pico as a push off to swing the hammock.  He weighs enough to absorb the push, and seems to be content with the petting.  Luckily he hasn’t attempted to join me in the hammock yet.

There are a couple of spider silks strung between two branches, and the afternoon light is glinting off of them.  When the light breeze blows, they disappear and then reappear as a shimmer in the middle of nothingness.  I can’t see where the silks tie into the leaves, but the suspended middle of the strings is visible more often than not.

Even when I’m not tired, the hammock seems to lull me into a state of pure apathy.  Especially with the heat we’ve had this summer, the feel of the breeze encompassing my whole body is very relieving.  Whatever book I’m reading inevitably ends up on the ground, and I have no qualms about spending an hour in semi-consciousness while hanging out in the hammock.  Even Pico seems to relax when he’s there, only getting up to chase a red squirrel or chipmunk up one of the pine trees.  He hasn’t gotten hit by a pinecone yet, but it’s not for a lack of trying on the squirrel’s part.

I push off of Pico again and run my hand lightly down his back as the hammock swings away.  It’s a small price to pay for having such a reliable and useful partner.  Lying in the hammock not only relaxes me, but brings back lots of memories from growing up.  My grandparents had a summer camp on the Sacandaga Reservoir, near Vandenberg’s Point.  The camp was set up on a hill, but it was just a short walk down to the beach. 

They had a flight of wooden stairs that went down from the camp through the blueberry bushes.  Halfway down the stairs, there was no railing on the right side, and that’s where the big, classic, white cotton hammock hung.  It was low enough to the ground that an adult could put their foot down and push off.  I just belly flopped onto the thing, shoved my arm through the netting and pushed off of one of the big knotty roots with my hand. 

It was one of my favorite things about spending time at camp.  The place was pretty close to home, so we would go up there a lot.  There was no hammock at home, though, and the one at camp always seemed special.  Maybe it’s because I shared it with so many of the important people in my life, but I don’t think I got lazy when I lay in that particular hammock.  I just got happy.

Cabin Life -#34

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I like bees.  They really don’t bother me that much.  It’s not like I want to get stung, but they tend to leave me alone, maybe because I don’t freak out when they fly near me.  I understand those who are allergic or just don’t want to get stung, though. 

I remember vividly the first time I got stung by a bee.  It was at our house on 5th Ave in Gloversville, and I was already strapped into my car seat in the back.  Mom was locking up the house or grabbing something from inside, and when I shifted in my car seat, the bee stung me right on the butt.  I don’t know if I started screaming (I couldn’t have been more than fifteen at the time) and I don’t remember the aftermath, but the sting itself is clear as day.

At work there is a window air conditioner.  I was mowing the lawn and noticed a lot of bees around near the a/c unit.  I stopped to watch, mainly to see if there was a ground nest nearby.  Watching the bees for a minute, I realized that they were going to the ground under the a/c to drink, not because their hive was down there. 

With the ridiculous drought going on, I’m not surprised that the bees are hanging around a reliable source of water.  It’s fun to sit a few feet away and not really be in any danger of getting stung.  As long as I don’t get too close or let Pico run through them, I figure it’s safe to hang out and watch.  I won’t bother them if they don’t bother me, and the feeling so far seems to be mutual.

Cabin Life – #30

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I was slapping myself stupid trying to get all the mosquitoes.  There was a nice breeze coming off the lake and the fire was helping keep them down a little, but I was still getting eaten alive. 

I threw another piece of wood on the fire.  It was some leftover wood from last year’s hurricane that had blown down during the storm.  The red pines that came down around here were huge old trees, but growing in sand a lot them just tipped over.

Back in the cabin, the woodstove hasn’t been used in months.  I think back to all the winter nights when I really would have liked to see the fire.  But my stove doesn’t have any glass in it, just a big black box.  A little bit of light is nice when the sun goes down at five in the afternoon.

Most nights this summer have too hot to bother with a fire, even outside. The heat coming off the fire mixed with the stagnant humid air is just not too enjoyable.  The only thing making up for it is the late evening swims to cool off before bed.  And that’s a far cry from getting up three times a night to stoke the fire.