Two Years Into Blogging

And counting.

I’m two years into blogging and I have a total of sixty-six followers.

Sixty-six.

I care and I don’t care.

care because I’m human and I have an ego. I want to be recognized and praised like most of us do. I haven’t yet reached that state of being where self-awareness and spiritual growth have rendered me immune to such needs.

I don’t care because I have discovered that I love to write. Whether or not I ever reach that tipping point where things take off, I’ll write for the rest of my life for the simple pleasure of it.

I still care whether or not my posts are well-written or entertaining. I’m still convinced I’m the worst writer on the planet but I have become immune to inaction for one reason:

Passion.

No one can stop me from feeling how I do about writing – not even myself.

I like the way I write and to compromise my style to satisfy someone else or worse – to not write at all – would be a terrible injustice to myself. Aside from room for improvement, I like my quirky poems about appliances, insects and dirt.  Ode To A Power Inverter

My eccentricity defines me.

Don’t get me wrong. I constantly strive to better my writing but I can’t wait for “perfect”.

Maybe my subject matter is boring. Maybe I’ll use the word “maybe” way too many times in one post. Maybe I’ll make dozens of grammatical mistakes. Maybe I’ll never hit that tipping point. Maybe I shouldn’t do ninety-percent of my editing after I’ve published a post.

Maybe – a lot of stuff.

The point is, after writing for two years, I’ve learned this about myself: I’ll be writing till I’m dead – even if I never make a dime or surpass sixty-six followers.

I write because I love to write. That’s all the reason I need.

Blast From The Past

About a year ago, I found a broken and rusty bracelet in the farmer’s dump on our hillside. It’s embossed with a boy’s name.

Bottles and jars are cool to find intact but whenever I’ve uncovered something personal, it’s always gotten me to thinking about the person to whom it belonged to and what life was like when they lived here so long ago.

Our property had not been occupied since about 1957 until we moved in. Back then, people threw their trash in dumps right on their land. Their trash is now my fascination – but back to that bracelet.

I wondered who this kid was and I figured there was a chance he might still be alive so I looked through the list of previous owners and did some additional detective work on the Internet and found him! He is 80 years old and still lives in the state.

I prepared a script before I dialed his number and he actually answered the phone. I felt a bit awkward but I asked him if he had lived where we are now and he confirmed it. I told him we had bought his family’s old property and I explained how I’d sifted through the old garbage heap on the hillside and found many items that were most likely deposited there by his family.

I told him about the bracelet with his name on it and asked him if he remembered it. He hadn’t, to my slight disappointment, but he was friendly and open to conversation.

I described the horseshoes, TV dinner containers, bottles, toys, and marbles we’d unearthed and questioned him as to whether or not he remembered them. He mentioned he had two older brothers who might have been the marble’s owners.

I told him I was using what may have been his Mother’s can openers and how what might have been her egg beaters were now growing into the side of a tree. He laughed and told me he was nine when his family moved here.

The call was very pleasant although, for him, it had come out of the blue. I said goodbye and thanked him for his time. Although he didn’t recall everything, I’m hoping he’d hung up the phone with some old memories rekindled.

It felt nice to make a connection with someone who had shared the history of this property with us. It once was his own.

I forgot to ask him if they had a well and where it was located. The privy too. Those are supposed to be treasure troves!

Two Years Ago Today

We left King County Washington; Destined for our new home on the range.

Tom Petty’s Runnin’ Down  A Dream played on the radio as the first hint of daylight tinted the eastern sky. We were driving a 1986 Ford F-250 my husband lovingly called Bridgette pulling a 2001 Jayco Light travel trailer with a very unhappy cat stowed inside. We were on the home stretch of Hwy 395 headed for Colville Washington.

That was two years ago today.

The space between that day and now has been packed with memories a person cannot make up; plenty of material for a blog. Survival trumped all else for the first year while we carved a place for ourselves amongst the Ponderosa Pines on the iron-rich bedrock.  Survival is still the main theme of daily life out here.

To be cliche, I have cried and I have laughed in almost equal measure during the past two years and things will continue to be tough until we finally build a real house. Water is coming from a spring we dug and we get our energy from two gas generators and a solar power system. I’ll be so glad when a glass of water and a shower no longer involve moving mountains.

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 We gained a new cat and relocated another feral one. We’ve learned a lot about setting up systems for everyday needs and making them work. We put up a huge portable shed and half-built another that’s coming down eventually. We’re still living in a fifth wheel but plan on building a small log home as soon as a deal we have in the works comes through.

I’m not looking forward to another winter of zero degree temps as the fall equinox approaches although we’ve kind of learned how to drive in the snow and have a fireplace to keep us warm.

We’ve learned to live with the wildlife for the most part and our garden is two years old and full of half-eaten tomatoes and squash. I’m growing a gigantic pumpkin that I’m proud of and we introduced morel mushroom spores to the side of our property where they were absent. We even discovered small amounts of fine gold after looking for two years.

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 Looking forward, we’re a lot wiser now but have an understanding that humility is a necessary state of mind out here. Never take anything for granted and never get overconfident.

Perhaps most remarkable is that we’re even starting to get along with the neighbors. That’s true progress.

 

Reading The Slingshot Balls

Decoding the universe through marbles.

I wrote a blog titled “I’ve Lost My Marbles” last year. It was about how searching for my lost slingshot balls put me into an almost altered state of mind. Today I once again found myself contemplating the universe while looking for the projectiles.

I took up ball slinging a year and a half ago whilst trying to shoot down a yellow jacket nest. I was bored. We didn’t have a lot of money and rocks were my ammunition. I kept it up, bought lots of balls, made a slingshot ball return device (which has now been decommissioned,) and kept practicing.

Although I’m on my way to becoming a crack shot (give it a year or two more) those balls still disappear quite efficiently in the long grass and pine needles surrounding my target. For some reason, the search for them; the wandering around with intent on my mind, puts me into a sort of contemplative state and I feel as if I see things differently.

Where each ball is, how it’s hidden, and how I find it is a clue as to how I believe the universe works. They’re all there but they aren’t. They’re gone when not observed. You can walk past one and miss it only to turn around and see it from a different point of view. It all depends on how you look at it.

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 Is the universe a single thing viewed from an infinite number of perspectives? Is everything connected in some way that is a giveaway of the underlying oneness? Has God created us to experience time and space through ourselves? Am I full of shit?

Symbolism makes perfect sense within the framework of recent scientific theory and has also been relied upon for thousands of years. I’m discovering that if a particular belief’s been around for a long time, it’s probably solid.

Think of Tarot cards for instance. A few years ago I would have laughed at the notion of cards being shuffled and their order revealing some sort of future outcome. Today, I’m not so sure. The same for reading tea leaves.

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 My daughter once said to me “if you want to know what’s going on in your subconscious, take a look around you”. That’s probably one of the most profound statements I’ve ever heard given the theory you are what you think.

On occasion, when I go outside, I try to see what the world is saying to me through nature. It seems logical that the natural world is the most perfect manifestation of creation; untouched by human will or hand. Why not pay attention?

I believe the universe, God, or what have you, speaks to us; communicates to us through connections. Intuition has led to some of the most notable inventions and breakthroughs in history.

Looking for my slingshot balls helps me to exercise that part of my brain that I believe has access to that space between the smallest space and past the boundaries of the universe.

If only I could find a practical application for this. Like coming up with a better garden tool or maybe I could do slingshot ball readings.

 

The Small Small Trailer

An essay in inadequacy.

I’ve been wanting to write more about the vehicle that was our home for over a year after we sold our house back west as it deserves honorable mention. We’ll never forget the time we spent safely tucked behind it’s half-inch walls. The trailer is a 20′ Jayco Lite with canvas pullouts on each end. It was designed as a camper trailer … the kind you take the family for a weekend campout in, not live in for a year. That was not our plan, I assure you.. it just happened as some things do.

When I spotted it in an ad, I was sucked in by the extra amenities and the price. Plenty of room for the job as I saw it at the time. It came with a TV, radio, almost a wood stove (renovations had been started for the project), an air conditioner, central heating and something else so appealing I’ve forgotten what it was. It also came with a badly rotted floor which I didn’t know about at the time. The rest was standard.

We spent a summer living in the thing expecting to find a property with a house. We didn’t, and ended up tubed in for a year too long. The single table inside was only big enough for my son and his computer so I spent a lot of time doing whatever in our bunk at the rear or in the shed we half-built. My husband even moved his TV and Xbox outside during the summer. Just too cramped.

The sink was too small, the bathroom was too small and the hot water heater was glitchy and it became an art form to pull a shower off in the approximately six minutes available if the water didn’t boil over first. The pipes froze solid during the winter and imagine doing dishes outside in zero degree weather at a makeshift table. It happened.

We managed to break not one but two windows and had to tape them up and when the freezing temperatures hit, we had a major problem on our hands what with the canvas walls of the pullouts. We were clearly unprepared. That seems to be the story of our lives.

We ended up putting rigid sheet insulation and plywood around the walls and over the roofs of the pullouts but zero degrees doesn’t care. The rain had a tendency of finding a way through all the tarp we put over it too. Wet mattress pads, sheets and pillows were the order of the day. I don’t know how we survived but we did.

Some time during the summer the rotten floor made itself apparent and we crawled under the contraption to shore up the floor with two by fours to prevent a “yard sale” while driving down the freeway at sixty-five miles an hour.

There isn’t much between the outdoors and the humans either in a canvas pullout. One night the roof caved in on my face. I could feel paws on top of me as my husband half slept. When I screeched at the cat, he said “are you sure it’s the cat?” Helpful. One night shortly after we’d set up camp on our new property, we heard something that sounded big scrape up against a trash barrel outside just feet from our heads. My husband continued to take the outside position in the bed.

Last fall we got a fifth wheel for a temporary upgrade, not knowing for sure when we’d be able to build a real house but our fifteen year old insisted that he didn’t want to see the Jayco go to waste. He’s a teenager and still occupies it’s space.

We were quite happy to say goodbye and move next door forty feet away. At least we no longer have to worry about Mr. Foot reaching his hand under the canvas wall and making away with my husband.

 

Meditation and Mushrooms

In my quest to better myself and my life, I’ve decided to take up meditation and in my husband’s quest for mushrooms, he stumbled upon a whopper. A Giant Western Puffball mushroom eight inches in diameter and weighing nine pounds. It looks eerily like a human skull.

I’ve known about puffballs for years and have collected and cooked them but I had no idea we had these enormous masses growing in the Pacific Northwest. They are edible and taste and feel much like tofu from what I’ve read.

We put it on Craigslist.

As for meditation, all I have to do is learn how to do it while the neighbor takes target practice a few hundred feet from me. 🙂

I’m keenly interested in rewiring my brain and like the growing base of knowledge of the science behind it. I like things I can wrap my mind around factually although I very much believe in the metaphysical and spiritual side of life. I always saw meditation as a sort of “hippy” thing to do. Sure, I’d like to be more peaceful throughout the day but when it comes to self improvement, I always look for the biggest bang for the buck. I like results – now.

Meditating never seemed like that bang until yesterday when I read an article about how it temporarily disengages your mind with the subconsciousness and all the preprogramming that comes with it. It gives your brain and mind a chance to breath, feel, and be without all of the garbage that self sabotages our daily lives.

Apparently, that time span while you’re disconnected allows for the old wiring to be circumvented; or so that’s what my takeaway is. Habits of thinking and emotion can be rerouted or perhaps eliminated synapse by synapse to be replaced with more positive attitudes and thinking patterns.

I’ve long compared our brains and their functions to computers with the running background programs representing our subconscious. I see the RAM as our cognitive awareness or “I” which we don’t use a lot of.

When the brain is in a state of meditation, my impression is that we are able to access more of our connection (Internet?) with the collective conscious. So off I go to “update” myself and commune with the Giant Puffballs. I’m going for five minutes this time while the neighbor reloads.

A “Nostalgic” Look At The Property

I have a really nice camera that has a sepia filter. I thought that setting might fit into the nature of the history of our property as it was last occupied 75 years before we bought it. There is a “farmer’s dump” here and we’ve found so many neat and wonderful things there!

With that said, here’s a look at the property in sepia.

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Marshmellows and Coffee

Five a.m. and I’m on my third marshmallow with the coffee brewing. Off to a good start.  Not the best food choice but I seem to be doing well enough for my age. Years of exercise.

We decided to roast marshmellows for Easter this year. Twenty minutes family time is what we managed to squeeze out of the teenager. Incineration was the preferred cooking method. Who doesn’t like a carbonized shell with a gooey dirt magnet underneath?  I couldn’t whittle my stick thin enough so every time I tried to force a mellow onto it, about ninety percent of it would be displaced, leaving nothing but shreds.  Surprisingly, our son suggested we roast again the next day.

Dusting off the lawn chair.

Speaking of food choices, my husband will eat anything.  He finds tortillas especially useful and would put a trout on one only he doesn’t like fish.  Yesterday, I saw him crammed into the pantry from the waist up, looking for a snack. Later I caught him ladling the last night’s hamburger gravy into a sourdough bun he’d hollowed out. Not so bad except he was eating it cold. I’m grateful he recently discovered cooking with Chef Ramsey.

We always have sweets around but so too do we have fresh fruits and vegetables. It’s tick season so we keep the garlic out on a cutting board. Every day we slice it up and eat it on bits of cheese or tomato to help it go down. Garlic can make you nauseous if taken alone. My husband and I smell but that’s the point. Thankfully, we cancel each other out.

We could eat healthier and exercise more but our coffee and marshmellows aren’t going anywhere.

 

The Wild West

This morning when I opened our front door, my eyes were greeted by a skunk rummaging through the bag of garbage we forgot to take to the enclosure rather than three inches of new snow but nevertheless, it’s a sure  sign we ain’t in Kansas anymore.

Our family moved from the “burbs” to the outlying areas of Stevens County Washington almost two years ago now. We didn’t plan it perfectly, maybe not even fully responsibly, but here we are still although I sometimes wonder if we did chew off more than we could handle.

The differences are cultural on top of pragmatic between the burbs and the country. Here there’s a palpable attitude of “buck up” although I often wonder if that’s really necessary. My preferred “trail mix” is not overly-done PC with some buck up added for good measure.

We aren’t super liberals nor super conservative. You wouldn’t catch me dead wearing Birkenstocks, wool socks and a denim skirt nor will you ever catch me posing with my latest kill. Each to their own with no judgement. We are in the middle on most things and for us, a moderate approach to life works.  We love this area and the people though, and are grateful for the breath of fresh air that is eastern Washington.

Yesterday, we had the pleasure of listening to another of our neighbors taking target practice on the upper property. After a few hours of it, I decided to look up the laws of the state and county as it was close and a bit unnerving. It didn’t help that the title of the county’s official welcome pamphlet was The Wild West and had the same “get used to it” tone. Is it possible to live in the sticks without this?

State law clearly precludes any shooting within five hundred feet of a house or any structure and an earthen berm is required to absorb the impact of the projectiles. The neighbor was shooting from about three hundred and fifty feet with no berm.

Sigh. I decided if they make any habit of it, I’m on it. I’m not letting someone with little respect for other’s safety put me or my family at risk. Don’t get me wrong.  My husband loves firearms and I don’t really have an opinion except are you gonna shoot me on accident? They are shooting from the hillside where some dumbass almost shot one of us when we first moved in.

In the meantime, we are looking for property in the same area but with a much bigger buffer between ourselves and other humankind.