Too many choices in Telluride...

I can't remember the exact content of the conversation- or when, where and with whom I was engaged in dialogue with. It doesn't matter. The point is at some space in time somebody brought up the fact that if you have a relatively complicated electrical system with one minut detail such as a single light behaves oddly that another simple action such as disconnecting the battery and then reconnecting it may very well correct the errant detail. We were probably sitting around a wood splitter or truck or a tractor shooting the breeze and sipping a brew after a days work. For whatever reason I stored that fact-random at the time- for many years.  

This winter was particularly cold. Very seldom would we travel any considerable distance without the assurance of our four-wheel drive truck. As a result the car stood idle while we were away. The first time we started it up after being away the "check engine" light stayed on. I did my due deligence. I check all the obviously things but did not detect any defects. The car drove like a champ and months went by before my brained recalled this past conversation. In two minutes I took out my Allen set, disconnected the negative terminal and waited. After a couple minutes I reconnected and started the engine. The light was off!

At that point a realization occurred. That is the reason I am so intrigued with his notion of homesteading. You just have to figure it out!  You draw on your past experience, gain perseptive and eventually you just kind of figure it out. Starting from raw land you are forced to figure out a lot of things.  

Priority in life is not placed on money. It is not placed on having fuel combusting toys and a big house with leather furniture. When technology comes into your hands it is out of a need. The necessity of a possession begins with the most hale of them all- food, shelter, clothing. After years of work and thinking things through electricity and water flow. The gardens produce more, daily chores become more efficient and then finally the finer points in life like can be entertained. 

But in this modern world- where even contemporary homesteaders watch films on a flat screen at the end of the day- What is the "simple life"?  Is it in the rural homesteads of America?  After all, this is a life full of all sorts of tools, trucks and large properties. Or dare I say that the "simple life" exists in the middle of New York City?  A place where residents have hardly any space in comparison yet never drive a car. Where everyone shares common sewage and utilities?  Does the "simple life" exist in both?  If so, what does this paradigm mean for the future of our planet?  

"The simple life Up North..."

We have the luxury of having mail box along Lake Superior. Every evening on our way home from work we stop and get the mail before turning up the hill to the homestead. This means that everyday we get out at the waters edge and feel the great energy of the massive inland sea. 

A couple of months ago on a cold late spring day a random letter from the Star Tribune- the preminant news publication of Minnesota- appeared at our waters edge mail box.  

At first I thought that "they must be getting desperate for subscriptions soliciting the likes of us way up here in the bush". We opened it nonetheless. The letter began "I don't mean to ambush you but..."  Typically that would have be enough- mail with that kind of lead would quickly find a home in the confines of a cast iron inferno. However this particular correspondence caught our attention. We read on. It turned out that a reputable journalist wanted to interview our family in attempt to gain a perspective of what it is like for a young family to "live the dream" and homestead the North Shore. 

At first we were reluctant. This is hardly within our realm of comfort. We are not the type to air our personal business- especially to such a large publication. We went back and forth contemplating whether to accept the offer. 

In the end we decided to agree to the interview. We felt that there was a story to be told. In the age of 24 hour news cycles, air conditioners and video games there is also the age-old dream of living the "simple life". A life where the news of the dinner table is what has flowered, which new wild game track appeared on the trail overnight, or what lake hasn't been paddled and fished for a while. 

So we met for an afternoon with the journalist and had a fine discussion. While we knew that there is no way for one to completely grasp our principles, intention, and true meaning we appreciate the article as a testimony to the trials and tribulations of a lifestyle that has somehow been largely forgotten. We are fortunate to attempt to live this dream of ours. 

http://m.startribune.com/?id=259461431

Clearwater Lake

The trickle of spring melt in the creek, the amused laughter of a toddler, and the chorus of migrating song birds in the spruce tops is among the most wonderfull melodies in the world. 

Another "light switch" moment

Thin wispy clouds glide past the waxing moon. A longstanding storm system that has delivered the first green shoots of vegetation clears out. Birds chirp with the dusk of night. Water trickles in the creeks along both ends of my periphery.  One hundred more red and white pine saplings have found their roots in new soil around the property.  A whippoorwill chants in the distant-spring is finally here!

It has been almost ceramoneous around here. In the last couple of weeks we have successfully installed a washer and dryer as well as a dishwasher!  In a way it completes a main objective of the project- to build a home from raw land to all the standard modern comveniances. It's funny- I think a lot about the "light switch" moment when electricity first surged through the outlets and lights. This enabled us to jump into the modern world of long lights painting and making wood cuts without a generator. We moved in and lived quite a while without running water. That in itself is something that most Americans find foreign. Oddly enough it didn't really impact our quality of life all that much. It just took longer to do the dishes.  Then came water. While the amenity of having warm running water at the turn of a facet was certainly convinient it wasn't nearly as sentinel as electricity is facilitating ease to our lives. The nicest thing then was the ability to take a long hot shower at home after a hard days work. It still wasn't a "light switch" moment. Even with water flowing from a faucet it took lots of time to wash the dishes- sometimes even more because it incentivized the use of more dishes. 

Then came the dishwasher!  This is the first time since we realized the full breadth of electricity that modern  technology revolutionized our lives!  We can now load it up an walk away- off to weed the garden, go for a hike, read a book, whatever. It doesn't matter- hardly any time is spent doing what had been a major daily investment of our time. The washer and dryer- all of a sudden we could dry that soaked pair of pants or perform an emergency cleaning of a toddlers soiled britches!  

Our time can now focus on some truly finer points of life. Another "light switch" moment...

Soft thawing ground, rushing water, long days and chirping birds engorge my senses. Coals from a burn pile that was ignited nearly two weeks ago still puff smoke into the air. Heavy, slushy snow falls as the apple trees in the orchard bud and rhubarb burst their brilliant rose red sprouts into the spring air.  Spring on the north shore...

Osier Creek is flowing.  Robins and northbound geese are in the air. The snow shoe hare have begun to turn brown.  Our apple and cherry trees show their first blossoms. 

It's a stretch

It's as if my body felt the warm spring sun from under our winter down comforter. I awoke to the chirping of the Chickadees at my front feeder and didn't spare a moment during my breakfast of coffee and eggs. It was simply too perfect of a well-deserved spring dayto stay indoors!

Outside in my baseball cap, hooded sweatshirt, pac boots and snowshoes I planned the day.  The main objective was to cut a few rounds of firewood to supplement our dwindling supply. We were burning an unprecedented amount of wood and needed to once again dwelve into our reserve stock of poplar.  

The problem was that the reserve pile was still under four feet of snow!  So I started digging.  After some time I was able to locate the tarp that draped the supply and began shoveling my way to a point where I was able to start lifting the tarp and exposing the wood. Slowly but surely I dug, chipped and lifted the tarp to a point where I was standing on the logs. Somewhere along the way my efforts shifted the weight of the stacked logs.

The feeling of success quickly diminished when I realized that my right foot was firmly lodged between a couple of logs that had shifted!  I was stuck.  My only hope for freedom was to untie my boot and try to wiggle my foot free. However, Every attempt to get my hands within reach of my boot laces failed by less than an inch.  Simply put- I was not limber enough to get my hand down to where my boot was and untie the knot. Worst of all I was home alone, without a phone in my pocket and the neighbors were no where to be heard!  The only thing in reach was a thermos of hot coffee. Not bad- but out of reach was a chainsaw, shovel, splitting maul and jacket. All of which I could surely benefit from in such a predicament as this. 

I soon realized that I had few options. The simplest variable to change in order to help my circumstance was the fact that my body couldn't make the stretch to reach the boot laces.  In te back of my mind was the fact that I didn't even know if I did get my foot out of the boots that I would be able to get out. It was my only option. 

So I started stretching.  I did every back stretch that I could think of.  I would stretch for a few minutes, try to reach, fail, rest, sip some coffee and stretch. At least it wasn't thirty below!

Finally, after an hour or so my fingertips could reach the loop of my knot!  I stretched a few more sets and was able to get my had into the hole and started to fenagle the knot undone!  It worked!  My foot slipped right out of the hole. Hopping on one booted foot I gave the logs a few bangs with the splitting maul and extracted my misguided boot.  

Clearly a little shaken from the experience I hobbled my way back inside, stoked the stove, brewed another pot of coffee and put my phone in my pocket!

The only visible light is low.  Large snowflakes gently fall.  Balsam fir boughs droop under the weight of a early spring snow fall. The greying waning light darkens the background into black. 

Four feet of snow cover the forest. More than a foot has already melted. Snow has consistantly fallen for four months. The temperature has bitterly remained below freezing. The first freeze thaw did not occur until a week ago.  As a result the snowpack accumulated as one homogenous layer of deep powder. There are times when one would fall through the entire depth of snow from the top to the bare ground while wearing snowshoes!

Now, because of the first freeze thaw cycle, this incredible base of snow has encased itself. It's now a four foot tall platform rising above the forest floor that one can swiftly snowshoe or ski. 

The deer have congregated along the shore where the steep warm spring sun has exposed the steep southern facing patches I grass.  They nimbly maneuver the steep rocky outcrops nibbling whatever remotely edible swatches of vegetation that have flung on tithe talus through the winter. 

There's a full moon rising under a warm march night. 

I wish I was a painter; attempting to find a tone and hue

For each and every fading flash of light. 

Winter Descent

Breaking trail in March is a good thing. For one it means that you are headed Into terrain where only critter have been in months.  Most of all, however, it means that you will trample a fresh trail. In the case of today's trail it meant five feet of uncomprosmised adventure down one of the north shore's steepest yet under-explored canyons.   

We live in the north. Our backyard gives away to nothing- just endless wilderness. This has been a real winter. Our daughter looks out this window, spots the snowblower and goes"geeeeer"; imitatating the only means of carving our way into town. 

The winters here are long.  We spend much of our time biding our time: streaming acoustic ensembles that make Jerry Douglas and Steve Earle cry, cooking food that folks pay fifty bucks a plate for.   Have you ever tried grilling a piece of chicken theigh at thirty below?  It takes a while bit It's all worth it.  We're just waiting to cash in on the next glorious wilderness mile that awaits us down our trail.  Why- because that next mile will most likely glide on by tomorrow.  Accessibility, just like possession, is everything. 

If you look close you can see the advancing lake ice working it's way west against the western winds.  

Despite its northern geography, Lake Superior rarely completely freezes over.   Yet the prolonged arctic weather that has characterized this winter has fostered the unrelenting advance of lake ice.  Prominent westerly winds leave the north shore of Minnesota the last to freeze. Stiff winds and a deep basin result in a longer period of time (and/or colder temperatures) it takes for the north shore of Minnesota to freeze.  Nonetheless this winter weather has prevailed to accomplish such a feat!

With a dying population of wolves on Isle Royale, the hope was that the lake ice could provide an opportunity for "mainland" wolves to cross the ice andix up the genetics of the current dewindling pack.  Unfortunately that road goes both ways. One of the last remaining fertile females was found dead on theainland after an apparently overwhelming crossing back.  

Digging into the "reserve" wood pile.  

By most indications this has been the coldest winter in 35 years.  My depleted wood supply coraborates that fact.  A few weeks ago (with temperatures thirty below) I packed a snowshoe trail up to my reserve stash of dried firewood.  Digging it out of four plus feet of snow took another hour or so but I finally got into into and was able to cut another few weeks worth of wood. I intend for this extra bit to supplement our supply in the upcoming spring.  

It has been a particularly bitter winter for the deer.  With five feet of snow in the woods and more nights twenty below zero or less for almost four months the herd has certainly been thinned.  At night they will bravely eat out of the bird feeder at our window. They are basically relegated to walking roads and snowmobile trails.  The snow banks along the driveway were taller than the deer above. 

A southern breeze blows.  Trail miles have been hard to come by. It has been a few days since the last snow and frigid temperatures have locked up the packed trails into an uneven and slippery surface.   Still the high spring-like sun is beginning to melt the southern facing roads!  

Lake effect snow quietly falls on the first day of February.  Thus far it has been a relatively harsh winter. Temperatures have barely breached zero on the last couple of months.  There is roughly four feet of snow in the woods. 

Still in the mornings we are greeted with the song of the black capped chickadee. The sky holds enough light to get out sledding or skiing after work.  There is no doubt a couple of months remaining before spring yet my mindset has clearly seemed to have turned a page.  For now we are embracing the cold and snow. 

Elongated sunlight persists through spruce forest as I glide down hill. Woodsmoke wafts fluidly amongst the conifers. Dismounting my skis I quietly end my journey in the same place I began: my front door.  Cheeks bright from the subzero end descent I gather the night's firewood supply of poplar and birch and duck into the warm, snug cabin. 

                            Flight 

Lesson Learned

One of my favorite times of the year is  midwinter when I can get home from work just in time to make a lap around our ski trail before it gets dark.  The middle of January is pushing it but a good headlamp with fresh batteries is all that is needed to make the final descent into the homestead at dusk. 

The first half of the trail is modest climb. On this particular day I was feeling strong and a bit overconfident. I had just returned from a backcountry ski trip and had been laying down a respectable number of trail miles all winter.  Either way you look at it I was plowing down this trail and clearly more focused on the trail one mile ahead than what was below my skis. 

I scurried up the initial ascent at an unprecedented pace. I kicked hard knowing that my next move was the first and one of the few technical sections. Carrying built inertia I leap into the steep hill with skis spread in order to dig the edges into the packed trail and provide the traction to defy gravity.  My overzealous herringbone was abruptly interrupted when my left ski caught a tree.  My legs stopped.  I was instantly starring straight down. My torso continued it's inevitable faceplant when a muted gray object in the trail caught my eye.  Woven with deer fur my mind quickly recognized it. My face was heading straight for wolf scat!  A shot of adrenalin miraculously relayed the unpleasant outcome to my hands just in time for me to catch myself. My face was mear inches from the steaming pile of poop.  I was close enough to smell the putred half digested deer kill. 

Shaking the snow off I pulled myself back together and laughed at the lesson I just learned:  overconfidence only leaves one faced with shit for outcomes!

My pace slowed and I finished the trail under a gorgeous bright full moon. 

January sun along the trail. 

Long, low angles of disappearing light. Prolonged cold air settles the trail to a glacier creep.  A stiff breeze rattles the naked hardwoods and leaves them clanging out the only sound I hear during this frozen foray through the backcountry. 

Symmetrical snow etches 

Basic Malfunction

Another sub zero day.  Wary of the vast cold Lake Superior; thousand foot freighters gingerly plow through the churning water within site of the shore.  Steam from the relatively warm water condensates into the air.  Winds funnels the vapor and whip it into tornadic steam spouts that twist their way across the frigid expanse of the largest lake in the world.  Simultaneously (and yet in complete contrast) this same vapor reflects the yellow, green and orange sunlight rays of sun dogs that dance across the frozen sky.  Today, much like most in the past month, the thermometer won't reach zero.  Tonight the temperature will plunge deep into the twenties below.  Wind will make the air feel like forty below- cold enough to freeze uncovered flesh in minutes.  Forecasts are predicting the coldest air in decades to hover over much of North America for the next week.  Wind chills will most likely reach a dangerous 60 below zero! 

Nothing wants to work in this weather.  As a result the homestead and it's inhabitants are in a state of basic malfunction.  The cold has frost heaved the patio up to the sill of the front door.  Every opening is a struggle to lift and push the door to an acceptable width in order to accommodate the poor soul and their baggage who is hoping for passage.  All this effort just to step into air that makes the vapor in your lungs instantly freeze and leave you coughing.  A slow leak in the truck tire has been exacerbated into a flat.  The old battery looses it's charge overnight.  The valve on the main shaft of the air compressor contracted into a substandard seal and it now simply blows air into the air.  Fortunately the snow blower putters to life.  A critical point due to the fact that we have already received as much snow as a typical winter!  Any water pipe that is less than perfectly insulated freezes nightly.  Worst of all: for some reason the well pump isn't getting power and thus leaves us without running water.  On top of that we are all sick with a respiratory virus and struggling to keep the wood stove stoked -not to mention clearing the driveway of the ten inches of snow that fell last night! 

It all goes to show that life is not always glamorous on the homestead.  With that said, however, there is nothing like hearing wolves howl under a northern light draped sky.  Or strapping on a pair of skis at your door, breaking an empty trail through some of the most beautiful, rugged, remote terrain in the lower 48.  The reality is that this has begun as a particularly brutal winter.  It's a winter that makes northerners "earn their stripes".  It reminds us how fortunate we are when we're healthy, have working equipment and a warm shower.  As difficult as these times can be they're essential...