More country tales
May. 1st, 2008 09:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snousleThe difference between urban and country living is greater than I had expected. I figured, well, this isn't real country living, since this place has all the amenities, and it's hardly going to be any different. Um, wrong. Which is fine - I like these changes, and the sense of purpose that goes along with them. In the city, nothing really seems to matter, so everyone ends up rattling around in the cage of their own ego. Here, everything matters, so questions of image and style seem relatively trivial. It's a more externally-focused life, which is difficult, yet calming at the same time.
It's become absolutely mandatory to carry a walkie-talkie, a leatherman tool, and a small flashlight at all times. You don't think you'd need them at any given moment - but if I don't have any one of them I end up regretting it the minute I step outside. This, in turn, is going to require a belt sometime soon. The radio is particularly convenient, since it's always-on and just pressing the button pages someone back at the house. Not to mention essential for safety. You wouldn't believe all the crap that happens out here. A sidearm, I'm still holding out on, in part because I haven't yet heard a fully rational explanation of what it might be used for. But then, if I had to justify the leatherman tool under the same terms to myself just two months ago, I'd probably be equally inarticulate. It's the "unknown unknowns" that get you.
To wit - just yesterday Bill jumped off the road up onto the embankment, and promptly strained his calf. It's going to be a couple of days before he can walk properly again. Good thing it happened in a convenient location. I don't think he fully appreciates that he's not a 20 year old paratrooper anymore, and getting back into the swing of hard physical work is not something to take lightly.
I've been worried about falling into a kind of funk over the immensity of work to be done. Even working part-time from home, it's been hard to keep on top of things, because even small amounts of essential work suck away motivation from inessential things, like getting going on the finish carpentry. A good rule of thumb is that most tasks take about three times as much work as one could reasonably imagine. For example, hooking up the telephone. I figured, well, one call and it will be done. But no, they had to come and fiddle with the cable for a day first, and then they informed us that we must place the line in a conduit buried two feet deep. That, in turn, required renting a ditch-witch, which in turn required renting a full sized pickup to tow its trailer.
Just because it's powered doesn't mean it's easy to operate. The thing bucks like a bronco, while the wheels have barely enough power to propel it up the hill. Hand digging is out of the question - the earth here is like cement, and is full of huge stones. Even with this beast, we often had to stop to pry out foot-wide rocks, and much shovel work was involved to clear out the trench after the machine had finished. It took half the day to prepare a hundred feet of trench.
Nature continues to astound. One morning, I found this moth on our porch:
It was five inches across, by far the largest one I'd ever seen. And so pretty! Again, I wonder how much our presence is disrupting the local wildlife. Can this moth survive in a place with artificial lighting? The answer may well be "no".
Even single footsteps can change the landscape. I was climbing up the arroyo the other day when I came to a particularly beautiful pool, ringed by large rocks and driftwood. I sat down, rested a foot on a stone, and with just a tiny push, accidentally tipped it over. Sploosh! There was a sound of rushing water, and within seconds, the beautiful pool had drained away. Though it had formed under an overwhelmingly powerful torrent of water, it took only the tiniest force - a distinctly human force - to destroy it.
Fortunately, there are other pools, and in time, the landscape will surely adapt to our depradations. In the meanwhile, I feel like a bull in a china shop.
Though the water is temporary and will soon leave us, it is beautiful. There are few animals in the arroyo other than some water striders, frogs, and tiny fishes, but the flow of water creates an environment of remarkable cleanliness and aesthetic purity. The resulting mini-landscapes are precious, and maddeningly difficult to photograph.
Maybe that gives a sense of it. I could stare into this water for hours.
Off to town now, to return the "ditch bitch", which of course must be cleaned before returning it. I was hoping to spend an uninterrupted week here, but with Bill out of commission I must regrettably face civilization for a few hours.
It's become absolutely mandatory to carry a walkie-talkie, a leatherman tool, and a small flashlight at all times. You don't think you'd need them at any given moment - but if I don't have any one of them I end up regretting it the minute I step outside. This, in turn, is going to require a belt sometime soon. The radio is particularly convenient, since it's always-on and just pressing the button pages someone back at the house. Not to mention essential for safety. You wouldn't believe all the crap that happens out here. A sidearm, I'm still holding out on, in part because I haven't yet heard a fully rational explanation of what it might be used for. But then, if I had to justify the leatherman tool under the same terms to myself just two months ago, I'd probably be equally inarticulate. It's the "unknown unknowns" that get you.
To wit - just yesterday Bill jumped off the road up onto the embankment, and promptly strained his calf. It's going to be a couple of days before he can walk properly again. Good thing it happened in a convenient location. I don't think he fully appreciates that he's not a 20 year old paratrooper anymore, and getting back into the swing of hard physical work is not something to take lightly.
I've been worried about falling into a kind of funk over the immensity of work to be done. Even working part-time from home, it's been hard to keep on top of things, because even small amounts of essential work suck away motivation from inessential things, like getting going on the finish carpentry. A good rule of thumb is that most tasks take about three times as much work as one could reasonably imagine. For example, hooking up the telephone. I figured, well, one call and it will be done. But no, they had to come and fiddle with the cable for a day first, and then they informed us that we must place the line in a conduit buried two feet deep. That, in turn, required renting a ditch-witch, which in turn required renting a full sized pickup to tow its trailer.
Just because it's powered doesn't mean it's easy to operate. The thing bucks like a bronco, while the wheels have barely enough power to propel it up the hill. Hand digging is out of the question - the earth here is like cement, and is full of huge stones. Even with this beast, we often had to stop to pry out foot-wide rocks, and much shovel work was involved to clear out the trench after the machine had finished. It took half the day to prepare a hundred feet of trench.
Nature continues to astound. One morning, I found this moth on our porch:
It was five inches across, by far the largest one I'd ever seen. And so pretty! Again, I wonder how much our presence is disrupting the local wildlife. Can this moth survive in a place with artificial lighting? The answer may well be "no".
Even single footsteps can change the landscape. I was climbing up the arroyo the other day when I came to a particularly beautiful pool, ringed by large rocks and driftwood. I sat down, rested a foot on a stone, and with just a tiny push, accidentally tipped it over. Sploosh! There was a sound of rushing water, and within seconds, the beautiful pool had drained away. Though it had formed under an overwhelmingly powerful torrent of water, it took only the tiniest force - a distinctly human force - to destroy it.
Fortunately, there are other pools, and in time, the landscape will surely adapt to our depradations. In the meanwhile, I feel like a bull in a china shop.
Though the water is temporary and will soon leave us, it is beautiful. There are few animals in the arroyo other than some water striders, frogs, and tiny fishes, but the flow of water creates an environment of remarkable cleanliness and aesthetic purity. The resulting mini-landscapes are precious, and maddeningly difficult to photograph.
Maybe that gives a sense of it. I could stare into this water for hours.
Off to town now, to return the "ditch bitch", which of course must be cleaned before returning it. I was hoping to spend an uninterrupted week here, but with Bill out of commission I must regrettably face civilization for a few hours.
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Date: 2008-05-02 07:05 am (UTC)