Tag Archives: outside

Cabin Life – #19

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I found an old set of horseshoes in the lower field the other day.  It has been a nice addition to recreational life out here at the cabin.  I had some friends over to play, and according to Adirondack rules, each participant had a beer in one hand.  No setting it down to throw, no cheating with non-alcoholic “beer.”  And of course, upgrading to whiskey or tequila gets a nod of approval from the fellow participants.

Even though I am very secluded out here, I’ve found so many pieces of evidence of the continued presence of humans that it’s hard not to think about how others have lived on this particular piece of land.  I only found the horseshoes because one of the stakes had a faded orange flag on it.  When I went to investigate, I found the shoes, and it took a little while to find the other stake because the field is overgrown.

On the way up the driveway on the left, in the woods, there is an old bus and some other assorted rusty pieces of metal, no doubt left over from an old camp.  It reminds me of my childhood.  Relatives of mine had a hunting camp in Wells, and there was an old school bus out there.  When I was young, I convinced myself that there must be a ghost in that old bus.  That was enough to make me stay away, which is good, mainly because I’m sure that there were skunks or porcupines living in there.  I don’t think there are ghosts out here, even though my radio does occasionally turn on by itself.

There is what appears to be an actual hitching post right outside my door.  No doubt prior owners had horses.  Based on the condition of the crumbling old stable near upper camp, it seems likely that the horses were used for work, and not for transportation.  The rock walls that criss-cross the property are huge, often thousands of feet long and several feet high.  It speaks to the amount of time that people were out here trying to work this land.  These walls were not done in just a season or two, but were labored over what had to be generations.  The rock walls are a great navigation tool, since if I get lost, I can just follow a wall back towards the cabin and I will eventually hit either the driveway or the big field.

There are piles of rusty metal randomly scattered about.  I’ve found two old hand-dug, rock-lined wells, along with the old plow out front and some farming implements out back.  Nothing about this place leads me to believe that I am the first one to live out here “off the grid.”  But back when the others were doing it, that was just the way life was.  No other options, no going to a friend’s house for a hot shower or TV.  And as far as I know, no writing about this life either.

There is a part of me that really likes history and research, and I’d love to dig into the past of this property.  But I don’t think I will.  Something about the mystery of forgotten lives and being able to imagine how hard those people had to work makes me think that I’ll leave the story unknown.

Snow, rain, sunshine, hail…

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The weather has been a little up and down lately.  There was about four inches of snow on the ground for the last few days, and then yesterday it melted, only to be replaced by a half-inch of hail.  The flowers don’t know what the hell is going on….

 

 

 

 

Cabin Life – #18

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The afternoon sunlight slants against the birdfeeders, giving them a golden glow.  It’s hard to believe that it’s almost seven at night, when it was not that long ago that the sun was going down at about four-thirty.

During the really dark parts of the winter, it was hard not to go to sleep at six PM.  With only candles and oil lamps, night was difficult to fight off, and more often than not, I fell asleep on the couch with a book on my chest and my headlamp still on.

Now that it’s light so late in the afternoon, I am actually having a hard time filling the days.  Not that I’m just sitting around doing nothing, but I feel like I should be working until six or seven.

It is nice to take a break and realize that it’s dinner time, though.  The wood I cut over the winter is drying nicely, the deer have been coming back to the yard, and luckily there hasn’t been any sign of bears.  The chickadees have been using the feeders less and less, but the squirrels are still hitting them pretty regularly.

My focus has definitely shifted from cold weather preparation and existence to outdoor projects.  The compost bin is complete, and so is a small cold-frame I put together from scrap around the property.  The leaky porch roof now has a rather large hole in it (my fault) and is in dire need of repair, so that’s the next big project.

I’ll probably have to move a generator from Amy’s house up to the cabin to charge batteries and run a saw for the roof project.  It’s weird to think that other than charging my phone in the car, this will be the first time that I’ll have electricity at the cabin.  October to April with no power at the house seems like a long time.  But it went by pretty quickly.  I did go through a lot of 9-volt batteries powering the clock radio.  I also burned about three shoe-boxes worth of candles, as well as a gallon or so of lamp oil.

I’ve burned about four cords of wood, but the stove won’t needed much longer.  The two and a half gallons of gas I bought for the chainsaw is just about gone, and I finally added a gallon of gas to the four wheeler.  I really wish that the four wheeler would start in the cold, but now that it is running, I’ve been having a lot of fun just driving it around.  Unfortunately, Pico can’t come along on these rides, because he’s continually trying to bite the tires, and that’s no good.

The bugs are out, but nothing is biting yet.  A friend of mine saw some mosquitoes, but he said “they were too stupid to bite me.”  Let’s hope they stay that dumb all summer.

Cabin Life – #15

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Pico and I went snow shoeing for probably the last time today.  I wanted to get out before all the snow is gone, and I think there’ll be enough left to ski on tomorrow.  But the snow is going fast, almost as fast as it came.

In the last two weeks, I’ve gotten about two feet of snow out at the cabin.

Black Capped Chickadee

The plow guy had to come three times in four days, after having been out here only three times in the last three months.  But now it’s about fifty degrees, and the forecast calls for warm for the rest of the week.  It’s starting to look like winter might really be over.

I missed this part of the Adirondack spring last year, as I was still living in Florida.  I missed opening the windows and letting that clean-smelling breeze roll through the house.  I missed seeing people’s super white arms emerging from t-shirts for the first time in months.  I just plain missed the change in the seasons.

Jacksonville, FL is far enough north that there is kind of a “winter,” where it does get cold for a couple of months.  The palm trees stay green and you might need a hat and gloves in the morning, but that’s about all you get out of the change of seasons.  There’s really only two seasons:  Hot, and not as hot.

The lady bugs have been proliferating around and on the big window.  I keep catching glimpses of them out of the corner of my eye, and thinking that someone is coming up the driveway, but that’s not really all that likely.  Now that it’s warm, the snow is melting, and there are brown patches of dead grass peeking out, I can’t help but feel some sort of satisfaction.  Back in October, I thought that living off the grid for the winter would be a huge challenge.

It has been.  But not one that has broken or defeated me.  If anything, I am stronger, both mentally and physically, than when I moved out here.  This winter was an experiment in self-reliance.  Not that I haven’t gotten help along the way, but being way out here is something that you have to experience to truly understand.

And really, isn’t life all about the experience?

Cabin Life – #14

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A rusty screen door in the wind.  That was the sound I heard earlier outside.  But the sound was coming from the woods, far from any door, or even any human-built structure.  I wondered what it was, but the big MagLite didn’t provide any insight, and the most likely culprit was some tree creaking in the breeze.

The snow has started again, and it looks like the next couple of days will be spent shoveling and digging out.  I really don’t mind.  It’s good

Snowy Birch

exercise, outside, with tangible benefits.  I’ve always loved running the snow-blower and driving a plow truck, and shoveling is something that I’ve gained a renewed appreciation for.  Two storms ago, I shoveled an area big enough to park a few cars in.  The plow guy was impressed, and that’s a pretty big compliment.

One thing that I’ve always loved about living in the Adirondacks is that people come together when they really need to.  When there’s no emergency or major event going on, I’m sure that neighbors have their regular squabbles, but when the fit hits the shan, people here look out for each other.

A few weeks ago, my plow guy got stuck in the driveway and it took us a while to dig out his truck.  The next plow was on him as thanks.  The time after that, we had a big storm, and he hadn’t heard from me, so he came up to plow the driveway and make sure I wasn’t stuck in here.  He said he was glad when he didn’t see my truck.

It was the same thing last spring.  There were massive floods all over the North Country and my first three days of work were spent filling sand bags.  We dropped them off all over town, to the city hall, motels along the lake, and at people’s houses.  Most of the day, it was just a bunch of us state workers who had gotten corralled into the job.  But soon after school got out each day, a stream of parents and kids would come into the town garage and ask what needed to be done.  They brought us food and coffee, as well as fresh hands and arms.  Filling, tying and loading a couple hundred thousand sand bags gets tiring.

But you know what, it’s not just in times of hardship that the people come together up here.  Winter Carnival is one of the greatest parties you could imagine.  An entire town celebrating the successful fight against cabin fever with a parade, concerts, and yes, even a Women’s Frying Pan Toss.  Carnival is great.

The feeling this type of camaraderie creates is one of belonging to a community.  Whatever their petty differences, people do what they can to help each other out, and in the process forget about the nonsense that most of us consume our lives with.  If I had a neighbor and heard a creaky door sound day after day, I’d probably get upset after a while, and would eventually sneak over there and hit the hinges with WD-40.  But since the sound was coming from a tree, I’ll just let it go.  Having such a simple existence in this cabin has made letting the stupid things go a lot easier.

Snow’s going fast

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The snow is melting fast.  It’s been warm and sunny or warm and rainy for a couple of days.  Early spring this year apparently.

 

Cabin Life – #12

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Logging by hand has to be one of the most pointless and inefficient activities I have engaged in so far.  I have been “cleaning the woods” as it were, dragging out large limbs and cutting dead trees to get wood for next year’s fire wood supply.

This year’s supply is large, but the quality of the wood is not that good.  When we moved here in the fall, my then-roommate and I didn’t have the money to buy fire wood, and since we had fifty acres at our disposal, we figured we could cut, haul, and split our own wood.  Luckily, we found a pile of logs that had been cut three years ago, but the bark was left on, so they had started to rot.  Also, it was mostly soft woods like white pine, spruce, and poplar (aspen).  But it was free and dry.

He's not smiling. He's laughing at me.

We were able to mix in a lot of hardwood from scrounging and an existing supply of wood left by the previous owners.  Trust me, ten year old hard wood burns really, really nice.

I’m not sure if I’ll be living out here next year, but since I have lots of free time, I decided to comb the woods, finding nice pieces of downed or standing dead hardwoods.  I got lucky with some of the wind storms we’ve had this winter and I’ve dragged cherry, maple, beech, and a little birch out of the woods.

On nice days, I usually take Pico and go for a walk around just to check things out.  It’s on these rambles that I find the wood.  If it needs to be cut up into smaller, more manageable pieces, then I take Pico back to the cabin and grab my chainsaw stuff.  Some of what I cut is pretty dangerous, with dead limbs, lots of weight pressure, and pressure from other trees that the dead stuff is leaning against.  Luckily, I have lots of experience running a chainsaw in difficult conditions so I feel comfortable doing this kind of cutting.  I also always wear cutting boots (steel toe, Kevlar all around), Kevlar chaps, and a cutting helmet with face guard and ear muffs.

Once the logs are cut up into four or five foot lengths (depending on diameter, the skinny ones I leave longer), then the real grunt work begins.  I grab Pico again and start walking out to where the wood is.  Today, it was about a quarter mile away, and Pico and I made at least ten round-trips.  That’s about five miles of walking, half of it carrying logs that weigh anywhere from five to fifty pounds.  Even Pico was panting on our last couple of trips.  And other than moral support, he was no help at all.

After I get the logs back to the cabin yard, I block it up into firewood-length pieces (16” or so) and split any of the bigger pieces.  There are still some monster logs out in the woods that I’ll drag out once I can get the four-wheeler going.  Or maybe I’ll buy a horse.

My shoulders are bruised, and there’s no way I could lift my arms over my head right now, but at least I’ve got a start on a better wood supply for next year.  Yeah, dragging all those logs out by hand is dumb.  So I’m dumb.  Dumb like a fox.

Cabin Life – #11

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There’s a half dozen black capped chickadees hanging around the cabin now.  They finally found the birdfeeders, though the blue jays have been scarce.  One of the jays was hanging out in an apple tree this morning, but I haven’t seen them at the feeders in a few days.

I was recently asked why I decided to live off the grid.  Long story short:  It’s free and I can’t afford to pay rent.  But when I really think about it, this has been a long time coming.

            The idea of being self sufficient has always appealed to me.  I just couldn’t afford to buy a piece of land to do this on, and until this winter, I had never been lucky enough to have someone just offer to let me live in a place for free.  When Amy asked if I wanted to stay out here, I didn’t even think about it.  I just said yes.

I’ve usually moved around a lot, mainly because I get restless, and the grass is always greener somewhere else.  In 2006, when I moved to Florida, I was in desperate need of a change.  I had battled depression most of my life, and Jacksonville seemed like a good escape.  Eventually, I manned up and sought help for my depression.  And part of my therapist’s plan was to help me realize that I could do what I want with my life and not be afraid of the consequences.  After all, it was my life to screw up.

The more I thought about this new, happier phase, the more I knew that I couldn’t keep living in Florida.  I gave up two jobs, health insurance, vacation time, a pension, lots of friends, and agreed to a long-distance relationship all to move back to the mountains and work a seasonal job with no benefits so that I could hike and play with Pico.  I knew that I would be broke and I didn’t care.

I think that’s why I am adjusting so well to living off the grid; because I’ve been mentally preparing for it for years.  And now that I’m actually doing it, I couldn’t be happier.  Sure, I’m broke, single, and have to ask friends if I can take a quick shower at their houses (They always say yes!) but what could be better than having an adventure like this?  When I look back twenty years from now, I know that this time will have been a major turning point in my life.

The experience I’m having is already shaping the future me.  I’m making plans for a cabin of my own, looking for land, and reading and taking classes on farming, homesteading, food preservation and draft horse handling.  I’m not shy of hard work, and when I can afford some land, I plan on building a log cabin and living off the grid.  But, since I’m not the Unabomber, I will also have solar panels, running water and indoor plumbing.  Plus I’m pretty sure that he didn’t have a blog.

Cabin Life – #9

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I like sitting at the table in front of the big window and seeing the wood smoke drift out towards the driveway.  Sometimes the smoke catches the sunlight and throws a blast of light into the cabin, sometimes it casts a shadow.  The blue jays haven’t been around much lately, but the nut hatches are getting closer and closer.

I’ve seen some black-capped chickadees (yes, I’ve learned the difference) in the apple trees.  They always seem to hang out in the trees where there are no rotten apples still clinging to the branches, but in the barren trees.  I figured they would want to pick apart the apples and get the seeds, but I guess not.  Maybe they have enough food without going through all that work.  That’s what I love about nature, you never really know.

I’ve been hearing a moose near-by.  Not too far from hear, on Normans Ridge Rd., was where some of the first confirmed sightings of moose were back about ten years ago.  My “neighbors,” who have not been seen since hunting season, supposedly captured the moose on their game camera.  It wouldn’t surprise me if they were near the cabin.  They tend to like heavily wooded areas, and except for a few acres of cleared land right around my cabin, it’s pretty wooded up here.

The forest is really nice.  I like all forests, but the land here is just amazing.  There are tight clumps of evergreens amid huge, open stretches of hardwoods.  The rabbit tracks dart from evergreen to evergreen, and the birds hang out in the bare hardwoods until Pico and I walk by.  Then they scramble to hide themselves among the green boughs of the white pine, red spruce and eastern hemlock.

There’s definitely been some very cold snaps, even for this mild winter.  Twenty below zero hasn’t been all that uncommon so far, and when it’s that cold, even the trees have a hard time staying alive outside.  Maybe that’s something that most people don’t think about, that trees and plants are living things that are subject to the same survival scenarios as any wild animal.  Day after day and night after night, they stand against the cold, the wind, the weight of the snow.  And sometimes, just like people, they snap.  The weight of the world tears them down against all odds, and then some puny human like me comes along to cut up and split their remains for next year’s fire wood supply.

Cabin Life – #8

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My hands are beat up.  I guess that shouldn’t be much of a surprise, but the combination of old scars and new wounds (fine, they’re more like boo-boos, but whatever) represent the bulk of the physical hardship of living out here.

The quarter-sized scar on the back of my right wrist is courtesy of the wood stove, as is the small scab on the back of my right thumb.  Next to the burn on my thumb are two little marks where large splinters were pulled out.  The back of my left thumb knuckle got skinned the other day while cleaning the chimney.  And my left middle finger got nailed grabbing wood out of the shed.

One of the apple trees

There are also the pre-cabin scars like the one on my index finger from where the first knife I owned folded up on me while I was up in the apple tree at my parent’s old house.  Plus the one on my right palm that ended with seven stitches after jamming my hand into a pile of broken glass at the bar during work.

There’s no doubt about it, my right hand takes the brunt of my abuse.  I just read “The Old Man and The Sea” and that had a similar theme, but the old man thought his left hand was weak and stupid.  He relied on his right hand and never had any doubts about its usefulness.  I don’t think my left hand is useless, and in fact I have to admit that if I was going to lose a finger, I would prefer that it came from my right hand.  I need all the fingers on my left hand to play guitar.

One nice thing about the mildness of this winter, so far anyway, is that my feet haven’t been as frost bitten as I thought they would be.  I developed frost bite on my feet years ago.  Cramming my feet into ill-fitting and stiff down hill ski boots and skiing over one hundred days per year pretty much sealed my fate.  I should have chosen boots that were comfortable, but I wanted racing boots even though I sucked at racing and was only on the team to get the free skiing.  The tables have turned now, and since I no longer get free skiing, I no longer get frostbite.  Truth is, I’d rather hit the slopes and deal with the frostbite.