Friday, December 30, 2011

Random Observations from Recent Walks

Mis-read: Wearhouse. Clothing you can live in? That'd be great for homeless people. Or long-distance hikers!

Interpretive sign along the trail in Coeur d'Alene, ID with a quote from a 30s era hobo:
A hobo is a migratory worker;
a tramp is a migratory non-worker;
a bum is a non-migratory non-worker!
-Oklahoma Slim
(nice to know at least I'm not a bum!)

Overheard from a frustrated Greyhound passenger regarding any future travel: “If I can't fly, walk, or ride a fucking Big Wheel, I ain't going!”


Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Gone for a Walk, 12/28/11

Okay, I'm trying something new – I've discovered that some of the “Catalog” computers at the library are available for word processing, which should allow me to write posts without using up my internet access time limit.

I'm going to change the use of this blog a bit. Originally I started it as a way of getting feedback on the book I wanted to read and therefore found myself writing! Life has shifted quite a lot in the last six months, and this blog is going to shift as well to serve some other functions. Primarily, to explore more of the walking I've been doing!

So – what exactly have I been doing, you wonder? (Even if you haven't wondered, I'll tell you anyway. Reading this blog is your choice after all!) To be perfectly honest, I'm trying to figure that out myself!

The executive summary is that I have moved from Maine to Washington. Inland, in both cases, so not *quite* all the way across the continent! I am house-sitting for a friend until March, and considering several different options for the time after his return. Right now, the leading idea is to head into the woods. Literally.

This area (the Inland Northwest seems to be usual designation) is blessed with an abundance of wild lands: National Forests, National Parks, wilderness areas, State preserves of assorted varieties, as well as BLM land. There are more hiking trails than you can shake a trekking pole at, but I'm tempted to try! But until at least March, I'm based in Spokane, which has been very fun to explore.

I started with the Centennial Trail, which is a multi-use path that largely follows the Spokane River through town. It terminates at Riverside State Park in the west, and goes to the Idaho border in the east, where it continues on through Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. The place I'm house-sitting is spectacularly located near the center of town just a few blocks from access to the Centennial Trail. The first couple weeks I pretty much spent on the trail! While I did not get all the way into the State Park (it's 9 miles one way from the bus stop to the end of the trail), I have taken it into Idaho to about 4 miles from its eastern terminus (and then caught a Greyhound back to Spokane). I believe the trail is about 60 miles all told, about 2/3 in WA (this is where not have internet access while writing is annoying). As a multi-use trail, it is paved for bicycles, but with wide mowed shoulders that runners have made foot paths along as they seem to do. Although not so much on the last 5 miles before the Idaho border – demonstrating where running use is minimal. It's pretty flat, which makes it great for getting back into hiking, something I never did enough of while living near the White Mountains.

Now I'm ready for some hills again. Spokane isn't the prettiest city around, but they are awesome about sidewalks, which I have been dutifully pounding! Last week I took my first foray up South Hill. Sadly my camera batteries were dead, so I'll have to go back and see if I can get some pics looking up Freya Street – it's a pretty impressive rise! The city's bus service is as awesome as their sidewalks, so I do a lot of initial exploration by bus and scout out interesting places to walk, or just how to get from A to B, as in the case of grocery shopping!

Today's plan was to explore Manito Park, which looked quite promising from the bus window. Sadly, Manito wasn't nearly as neat-o as it might have been, but on my walk there I went through tiny Pioneer Park, which was awesome! Can you say Geology?! I actually did a bit of rock scrambling up one of the paths, since the weekend's melted snow made the trail mud pretty slick. Eager for more, I checked my city street map, and plotted a route over to High Bridge Park, another one I had passed on the bus. I think I found where all the doctors live, just north of the Hospital district – some really cool houses in that area. But getting down to High Bridge park wasn't straightforward – I thought it was named for the railroad bridge that really is UP there, but the roads are pretty far up as well. The park follows Hangman Creek (another use for high bridges?) that flows into the Spokane River, but there's no real access to the park other than from Riverside Ave near the water junction. But hark, there's a *huge* green area slightly west of there, Palisades Park! And that does promise to be a rewarding venture on a day that I get there more than a half-hour before sunset. For today, I did just a quick out-and-back on one of the apparently many trails threading that park.

The weather has been extremely mild – I have no idea if this is usual or not. It did snow on Saturday, big fluffy flakes that stuck around for those wanting a white holiday Sunday, but today it was 50*F+! In December! My Minnesota-raised mind boggles. This feels more like southern Indiana, but with shorter days. I'm actually about 5* latitude further north than I was in Maine, and am acutely aware of the short daylight hours.

So yeah, what I've been doing is “gone for a walk”! Which is pretty darn awesome. So the blog will now come with random trip reports as well as sustainability experiments and minimalism explorations. All part of my search for a satisfying life. Enjoy!

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Why Off-Grid

People are forever aghast that I want to live off-grid. What, no electric? How could you live like that?! I hate to break it to you folks, but not only do millions (billions?) of people live without electricity this very day, a mere hundred years ago most of the people in the US didn't even have electricity! Yet another case of what I refer to as “thank god humanity managed to survive long enough for technology to save us from ourselves!”

The assumption seems to be that if someone lives without electricity, they are automatically doomed to a live of miserable squalor. Tin shack shanty towns with sewage in the streets, beggars on every corner, bellies inflated from malnourishment, and so on.

Stop and think – what do we actually *need* electricity for? (On a personal, not social, level – think homes, not hospitals.) Lights are usually the first thing to come to mind. With many people, the second thought might be a toss-up between television and refrigeration. Vacuum cleaners, dishwashers, clothes washers, computers, alarm clocks, cordless phones... the list seems nearly endless. But I have to wonder – how many are truly needs, and how many are simply wants? And is there a better way to fill some of those needs and wants?

With the ready availability of cheap electricity (and before you groan about your latest utility increase, consider either your [probable] wage increase or compare your utilities to your shelter or food costs and which you think is cheaper), we are freed from giving serious consideration to our consumption. But what if you *had* to consider your consumption? Do I run the dishwasher or do I vacuum? Would you then be more inclined to wash dishes in a dishpan or use a carpet sweeper or broom instead? That kind of awareness of consumption, of sustainability, is one of my underlying goals.

Long ago I heard a tale about the first woman in town who got a new device to each her housekeeping duties – a vacuum cleaner. With it, she no longer had to periodically haul her rugs outside, struggle to hang them up, and then beat them to get the dirt out – she simply left the rugs in place and used her new vacuum. At the next bridge club gathering at her home, she showed this marvel to her friends. Awed by its ease of use and ability, they also acquired their own wonderful new tools. As the demand for the modern invention increased, the manufacturer built a plant in the town to increase the supply of vacuums. The soot and other emissions from the plan soon filled the town and covered the rugs of all the women. But it wasn't anything a daily application of the vacuum cleaner couldn't handle. And when it broke down from frequent use, no problem – there were plenty of new ones being made by the factory right there in town!

I don't have anything against conveniences or electricity itself – I have something against mindless consumerism and its unintended consequences. From periodic rug beating to daily vacuuming. From personal effort to a machine that breaks down and has to be replaced, adding the broken one to a landfill (in somebody else's backyard, never in one's own backyard). From removable rugs to wall-to-wall carpeting. Exactly whose life was improved by this wonderful invention? And how many other inventions have stories that follow the same arc? And how often do we, as individual consumers, question our assumptions of improvement?

Surely there must be a better way to fill our needs and wants. Perhaps beginning with questioning those needs and wants in the first place?

Friday, December 2, 2011

I’ve (finally) Gone For a Walk (again)


I find it ironic that I walk much more in urban areas than in more scenic rural ones.  Apparently, it’s a proximity issue.

Living in rural New England, the closest town was 10 miles away.  The necessity of a motorized vehicle was unavoidable.  (Although there were two eccentric fellows who biked everywhere, it wasn’t something I felt capable of.)  I was lucky that when my vehicle stopped working this fall, I had someone willing to share one of theirs – nearly identical to the circumstances I found myself in last fall after an accident destroyed my vehicle of that time!

Motor dependency was only one of the issues that finally prompted a change – for many reasons, it was time to move.  To move on, to move forward, to move elsewhere and explore someplace new. 

The drive from Maine to Washington is quite lovely, especially when timed to visit friends over a holiday!  And thus I find myself exploring Spokane, enjoying the walk.

The last day of November was my first day in town.  After returning the rented moving truck, I explored parts of the downtown area, took an unofficial tour on the city bus, and explored just a small segment of a 60 mile trail that winds along the Spokane river.  The first day of December found me wandering through several neighborhoods on route to the weekly indoor farmers market I had seen advertised at the library the day before. 

So I am car-free once again, with all vehicular burdens removed from my mind.  It’s an incredibly freeing feeling!  While I am apprehensive about living in an urban area again, I am enjoying the different benefits that it offers.  Both urban and rural areas have their own benefits and drawbacks – perhaps by occasionally swapping between the two, I will better appreciate each one.  But for now, I have a smile on my face thinking “I’ve gone for a walk!” 

Monday, August 15, 2011

Solar Showers


You’ve been working hard all day, sweating up a storm, and it’s finally time to relax and prepare for the good nights sleep your labors promise.  You’re tired yet feel good about the progress made by the day’s efforts, and now it’s time for a small indulgence – a solar shower!

A lot of the tools I use for minimalism and sustainability come from my camping and backpacking days.  The solar shower may very well be my favorite.  While I’m working up a sweat on a sunny day, that same sun is heating the water in my solar shower bag.  It’s quite a simple yet ingenious device – a plastic bag that is clear on one side and black on the other.  It has a handle and a filling hole near the top, and a short tube with a sprinkler-type nozzle at the bottom.  Fill with water, place the clear side towards to sun to heat, hang above you when ready to shower, and operate the nozzle to turn on and off the flow.  A basic solar shower bag is about $10 anywhere camping supplies are sold, although you can get fancier models with temperature indicators and mesh pockets for soap and whatnot for up to $40. 

It takes surprisingly little water to feel I’ve had a very effective and refreshing shower.  Maybe a gallon at most!  I credit the short hose the nozzle is on for much of that – being able to direct the water exactly where I want it requires considerably less volume than the conventional 2gpm (gallon per minute) drenching shower head.  I suspect the directability also compensates for the low water pressure allowed by such a short drop.  I’m also a fan of being able to see, through the clear side of the bag, just how much water I’ve used and how much remains.  I have a firm belief that the ready availability and lack of quantity reference of standard taps contributes, and almost encourages, our wasteful use of water.  Even though the areas in which I choose to live are rich in water resources, I don’t feel that gives me (or anyone) permission to use resources mindlessly. 

You could hang the bag indoors to shower, but for me the real decadence is showering outside in the woods.  My latest arrangement includes a black plastic pallet to stand on to keep my feet out of any mud.  My bag is hung on a cat’s paw (a style of small crowbar) across the top rungs of my worksite stepladder.  The stepladder also makes a handy towel rack.  I’ve strategically places a citronella torch nearby to dissuade any bugs from their own evening indulgences!

I used to have a smaller 1-2 gallon solar shower that I used when backpacking.  That one I could simply hold over my head.  The most deluxe arrangement was when I was camping with a group of about 20 people on the Manitoba prairie during the Winnipeg Folk Festival in the late 90s.  The camping area was a walk-in location that didn’t have many trees, so the engineers of the group rigged up a tall triangular frame of 2x2 wood wrapped in tarps.  We used pulleys to ease lifting the shower bags to the top of the frame, which allowed plenty of standing room underneath.  Because of the size of the group, we had 4 or 5 shower bags and had pitched in towards the cost of a collapsible cart that used to haul the bags to the water spigot daily, and also to haul gear in and out before and after the festival itself. 

When I first came out to Maine in 2002 to help the owners start construction on the main house, I introduced them to the solar shower concept.  We simply placed the bag on the cab of the pickup, and enjoyed warm showers instead of a cold hose-down from the new well.  In 2010, I had the opportunity to introduce another friend to solar showers while helping him with some cob construction.  There we used what is probably the most typical situation, and simply hung the shower from a tree branch.  Use your imagination and ingenuity to arrange your own solar shower! 

It is quite possible for the solar shower to get too hot, so some attention is required.  You have to remember to fill the bag, set it in the sun to heat, but also pay attention so it doesn’t heat past your comfort level.  Or give it an opportunity to cool down, perhaps in the shade or simply as the sun sets to where it’s no longer striking the bag directly.  On the plus side, your water won’t rapidly change temperature when you pause the flow or someone else uses the toilet! 

I suspect this attention is something most Americans would consider onerous – we’re so accustomed to being able to simply turn on a tap and fine-tune the mixture of hot and cold water, that the idea of having to plan ahead is nearly unthinkable.  But this is exactly what I see as being a leading cause of our excessive consumption of world resources – we want everything to be immediate, convenient, with little need for thought and foresight.  Microwaving instead of retained-heat cooking is another clear example.  Living a satisfying and sustainable life requires attention, planning, and an attitude shift to finding joy in that mindfulness.  Many people have learned to combine their errands to reduce fuel consumption; what other things could you do mindfully in order to live a more sustainable life? 

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Surprise!

I shouldn’t be surprised, yet I am.

Do you ever have those days where you think you’re going to do one thing, but something entirely different actually happens?  I don’t mean externally, like running errands turning into a visit to the auto mechanic; I mean internally, where you conscious and subconscious seem to go in opposite directions.  This phenomena frequently plagues homeworkers – your conscious mind says I’m going to work on X assignment, but before you even realize what’s going on, your subconscious had moved you to clean the kitchen and catch up on laundry, possibly with a couple games of free cell or sudoku thrown in the mix.

If only it were that simple.  Nope, I had to discover that my conscious and subconscious were pulling in dramatically diametrically opposed directions.  The surprise was realizing that my subconscious had won the tug-of-war when I didn’t even realize the battle I had thought resolved was still raging. 

But I believe (maybe? hopefully?) that this time, the war truly has been won. 

The war was between my desire for an independent, self-sufficient (or more accurately, community-sufficient) lifestyle, versus my desire to be a nomadic life student.  I really did believe that I had finally settled down in one location, where I could carry out long-term projects like planting food trees and permaculture gardens around my personally designed and built cabin, to happily live out my days in the type of woodlands that are so dear to my heart and sense of well-being.  That was my conscious decision and life choice. 

But it never quite got there – insufficient attention to the gardens, insufficient focus of time on building.  And now I finally know why – my subconscious still battled to retain my nomadic tendencies, my love of exploring and learning new things and new situations.  My desire for minimalism conflicted with the accumulation of “just-in-case” supplies.  I’ve lost weight, but hung on to too-big clothes in case I gained it back.  I have materials for hobbies I might go back to, once I “find” the time.  And I still have far too many interested to devote my time and effort to just a few. 

This battle, this war, was all brought to light by a recent simple question. 

The owner of an animal shelter I volunteer at asked if I would be interested in becoming a resident caretaker.  It doesn’t pay in dollars, but offers free room and board and more importantly, an esoteric education across a broad array of topics.  Everything from animal care to landscaping, engine mechanics to road and trail maintenance, from dealing with a board of directors to dealing with state and federal regulations, including their inherent contradictions.  All this, taught by a life-long philosopher with a near-photographic memory. 

I leapt at the chance, confusing me as well as those around me.  How could I give up everything I had been working towards?  The real answer is that I’m not, exactly.  Yeah, construction of my own home has been put on hold and I’m sleeping somewhere else now.  But the true core, a sustainable and satisfying life, is still driving me.  Some of the details are necessarily changing (no room for a woodstove here!), but many will not (plenty of sky view for a solar oven and eventually solar panels).  And I’m finally acknowledging that my constant craving for new learning opportunities will likely move me on again in another few years.  I guess I’ll adapt a travel trailer as my cabin instead.  Surprise! 

Thus, I am reviving an old nickname with a new tag-line:

The Curious Nomad: will trade labor for learning

Monday, July 25, 2011

Finding Instead of Growing Food

Ah, the bliss of mild temps after a week of sweltering heat! I swear Mother Nature throws us these loops to enhance our appreciation of “normal” weather!

I have been very busy doing instead of writing lately, which is exactly why I had chosen September as my submission goal even though back in May that had seemed so far away. One thing I have learned over the years is that everything takes twice as long as I think it will. And that's without interruptions or distractions, of which there have been plenty lately.

I find it ironic that there has been progress on several fronts that are *not* construction, which I had intended to be my primary focus this year! But I'm never one to argue against progress, intentional or otherwise, as long as it is still working towards the basic underlying goal.

A third adult has joined to homestead here, bringing some valued skills along with the chaos such a move always entails. The most exciting from my perspective is probably her love of gardening. While I adore the idea of raising my own vegetables, the reality is I attend to animals much better than I do plants. I often joke it's because the ground is so far away, way down there under my feet! But in truth, I think it's the endless nature of weeding, which never seems to have an end point the way feeding animals does. I get far more satisfaction watching the animals grow than I do the weeds! Plus plants don't make the demanding noises that hungry (or just greedy!) animals do.

A couple weeks ago I attended a community lecture at the local town meeting house titled “Native Plant Knowledge”. The title has two interpretations – a knowledge of native plants, but also the Native knowledge of plants. It was less a how-to than a why-to, which surprised me, but the talk certainly did fire my enthusiasm to learn more about the resources that already surround me.

Another of my recent distractions was taking an on-line food storage class. A lot of information was packed into a few short weeks, and I'm still digesting (can't decide if the pun was intended or not) much of the information. It did convince me to finally invest in the Excalibur Dehydrator I have wanted for many years, which is also motivation to harvest, not just eat, wild (and cultivated) foods.

I enjoyed grazing on the newly ripened raspberry bushes for breakfast this morning. I intend to harvest some to dry with the goal of mixing the dried berries with meat to make pemmican. I am not a jelly consumer, so no need to bother with trying to can any. This is what appeals to me about Forest Gardening – the idea that I could encourage perennial plants to give me food with little need for ongoing seed starting, transplanting, watering, and weeding. Perhaps Forage Gardening would be a better term – encouraging naturally wild edible plants to grow in an accessible (and identifiable!) area.

Blueberries are also in season in this area, although I am not aware of any here on the property and will likely have to resort to a u-pick-em type source. The few wild strawberries went straight into my mouth without any pretense of saving some! Soon the blackberries will be ripening as well, but their quality varies considerably from year-to-year so I don't anticipate them as much as the dependable blueberries. Now I just need to learn and find some wild vegetables to go along with the berries. After all, woman cannot live on meat and berries alone! Well, okay maybe I could, but I'm a fan of variety – venison, pork, beef, lamb, chicken, turkey...

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Construction Update, 7-21

The tractor's tire rim is bent to the point the tire doesn't hold air. The chainsaw starter cord broke. The chipper is jammed. I lost Tuesday to helping someone butcher a cow, and tomorrow I'm helping butcher a horse. The loppers have several chips in the blade I need to file (or grind, but I don't have a grinder) out.

Construction? What construction?

Saturday, July 16, 2011

The 80-20 Rule

The 80-20 rule, also known as the Pareto Principle, comes from economics. 80% of the work is done by 20% of the people; inventions are 20% inspiration and 80% perspiration; and so on.

Probably my favorite application of the 80-20 rule, however, was in conservation. When I volunteered with a country park system back in Minnesota, I learned they had a policy that 80% of the resources were left for the plant and animal inhabitants, and only 20% was developed for human use. They created a system of bike trails, public beaches, picnic and play grounds, and the like for human use, but on only a small percentage of the land. This allowed and encouraged people to visit an area largely left in its natural state within a developed metropolitan area, in the hopes of connecting the human inhabitants to the natural world that preceded and surrounded them.

One of the benefits of renting land is that I will never be able to afford as much acreage as I would prefer to surround myself with. I want to be able to lose myself in the woods (figuratively speaking, of course!). The acreage I'm privileged to find myself on now allows that. Most of it is in “tree growth”, with only a couple acres designated for human development. I sometimes feel guilty for taking another area, some distance from the main house, away from the wildlife, but far more than 80% of the property is still left to them, so it is well within the principle I adopted from the aforementioned county park system. As much as I wanted to build deeper into the property, nearly a half-mile from the road, the spot I fell in love with would have been difficult to get materials (imported or locally harvested) to. I also had concerns that developing access to that remote spot would be taking to much of the land away from its other inhabitants. So I am building closer to the neighbors than I would have preferred, and saving that special spot as a hike-in camping location.

I've written before about my efforts to convert the old skidder trails, which the forest is reclaiming, into hiking trails, but a comment made at a presentation the other evening has me wondering about the wisdom of doing so. One slide of the presentation had the quote “Take only pictures, leave only footprints.” I smiled in recognition, having grown up with the Leave No Trace backpacking principle, and was shocked when the presenter emphatically stated his hatred of that quote! He then went on to explain that such a policy, while appropriate in heavily used areas, has expanded to the point that people *never* leave the trails, don't really interact with nature, viewing it from the trail similar to viewing animals in their pens at a zoo. They see it, but don't connect with it. Images started flashing through my mind – backpacking as a young child, admonished by my parents to stay on the trail; later fears of being attacked by plants (poison ivy or poison oak) or animals (bears or rabid raccoons) if I strayed from the designated path; the awe I had at my Indiana neighbor's willingness to thread through the underbrush, always knowing where his was despite a lack of reference trails and trail maps; a reminder of my own realization years ago of how well I had been trained to stay on the trail, to color within the lines, to avoid deviating from accepted and expected behavior. Well, okay, I've done a fairly good job of throwing over that last one! Or have I? That'll be a different topic for later exploration. The point here is, are we allowing trails to limit us, to limit where we go, what we see, what we might otherwise interact with? With the 80-20 rule, are we still separating ourselves from, instead of connecting with, the natural world around us? What are the true ramifications of seemingly beneficial restrictions?

Friday, July 15, 2011

Terminology: Crunchy, Sustainable, and Self-Sufficient

I've been thinking about the crunchy-granola term, and some of the responses I've gotten to it. Plus I've run into another couple definitions that seem related to the topic, so here are some additional thoughts:

Heeding a recommendation from Michelle, I borrowed the book titled “Self Sufficiency for the 21st Century” (Dick and James Strawbridge) from the library system. In it, they explore the distinctions between sustainable and self-sufficient.

Sustainable is described as “using no more than our fair share of the planet's resources to meet our needs” while self-sufficiency is “a way of life where you endeavor to produce all you need from the resources that are available to you”.

Perhaps the term “crunchy-granola” refers to someone who attempts, in at least some aspects although probably not all, to be sustainable. Self-sufficiency largely encompasses sustainability. So there appears to be something of a progression. I think it is important to realize, however, that the progression is likely to be at different levels in various categories. It seems like it'd be (relatively) easy to be self-sufficient in food, growing and foraging your own crops and raising fodder or hunting for animals, but clothing is more easily sustainable, through purchasing used or ethically produced items, rather than producing all you need yourself. This is my impression of how villages used to work – most people were self-sufficient in food but had a specialty craft, such as spinning and weaving, leather working, and so on, with which to trade sustainably with other crafters. As Carla Emery points out in her tome “The Encyclopedia of Country Living”, one person can do any of the skills described therein, but one person cannot do all of the skills simultaneously! Best to choose which interests you the most, possibly becoming self-sufficient in that area, and choose which you will trade (time, labor, or money) for, striving to be sustainable in that area.

Given my consistent gardening failures, I'm starting to think self-sufficient food may be an exercise in frustration for me, and perhaps simply striving for sustainability (eg buying from local organic growers) would be a more reasonable goal. This would free me up to focus on other areas, such as self-sufficiency in water (rainwater collection and processing), heat (woodlot management), and power (largely through elimination of needs but also a small solar array for communication tools). This would also allow me more time and energy to develop a trade craft (or three!).

Perhaps it isn't a grammatical accident that one of my pillars is sustainable rather than self-sufficient, despite self-sufficiency being an important driver in my goals!

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Crunchy-Granola

In 2000/2001, my husband and I were living in an apartment next door to his office. It was the very antithesis to the rural explorations we had been doing, going from a 1 hour to a 1 minute commute! Meanwhile I was still experimenting with sustainable living skills, fully expecting to return to a more rural existence. This included using an indoor drying rack for my laundry.

A friend of his stopped by one day, and commented “Wow, she really IS crunchy-granola!” upon seeing the laundry drying on the rack in the apartment. I wasn't there at the time, and when the comment was later relayed to me, I felt puzzled. I didn't feel I qualified for the crunchy-granola set; I didn't buy organic foods, I ate meat and wore leather, and although I had long hair, I didn't wear it parted in the middle hanging down straight. And I've NEVER like eating granola! So the first part of the confusion was a difference in defining “crunchy-granola”. The second part was how air-drying laundry could be considered crunchy-granola. It saved a whole lot of quarters, I didn't have to keep running up and down the stairs to the laundry room, and it was a natural substitution to the clothesline I previously used in the rural rental house. I mean yeah, I used the rack in part because why use gas/electric when you don't need to, it is more sustainable and friendlier to the environment and all that, but crunchy-granola?!

As I was hanging up some laundry just now, still using that same rack, this story came to my mind. I still miss the clothesline, and you can be sure my permanent house will have one. But if I was crunchy-granola back then, what am I now with my plans for wood heat and root cellars? I grin, thinking of what the reactions of the people who knew me then would think of me now. I suspect they'd just shake their heads. That's okay, I'm shaking my head at many of their choices as well. It's not what other people think, or what they label us that matters; it's what WE ourselves think that matters.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Balance

I lost my sense of balance this past week, and I'm just now recovering it.

One of my favorite quotes is “Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time”. I saw this on a paperweight ages ago, with no author attribution. I always found it amusing that presumably the paperweight would be used to hold down the papers you might be working on if you weren't otherwise “wasting” time on something enjoyable.

Balance between work and play, self and others, has always been hugely important to me. It's a large part of why I reject the rat race. I participated in the race years ago, didn't enjoy it, and found it pointless and unbalancing. So I declined to continue participating. By lowering my needs and tempering my wants, largely by practicing some form of minimalism, I effectively moved the “ends” to make those ends meet more easily. But like minimalism, balance is a goal that is not statically achieved, but rather continually strived for. If you've ever stood on a balance board with a rounded bottom, you understand the physical analogy to the philosophical concept. Life is not a steady balance beam upon which one can perch motionless; it is constantly rocking, requiring continual readjustment.

Work on my book was one of this week's casualties during this latest act of balance readjustment. In fact, the interruption of such a rewarding project was an excellent indicator of just how far from balanced my life was shifting! The amount of time I spend reading fiction (mostly sci-fi), is another indicator, as reading is one of my primary stress coping mechanisms as well as just plain enjoyable. The amount of reading time required to balance the external stress, however, left no time for other projects. I would feel guilty for having wasted so much time reading, except that I enjoyed it, therefore it was not wasted time! But having identified the external stress (and the magnitude based upon the required quantity of anitdote reading!) I can now take actions to modify it, which will temper the reading antidote needs, and allow me to return to a more balanced state, including returning to other regretfully neglected projects.

No wonder more people aren't happy! How many people realize that happiness isn't a steady-state, but an oscillating one, and that dampening the oscillation swings requires ongoing attention, awareness, and action?!

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Cob Construction

I've had two different experiences working with cob, after having read about it over several years. I enjoyed Ianto Evan's book “The Handsculpted House”, especially his challenge to visitors to estimate the square footage of his and Linda's home. I was also intrigued by the method Linda used to determine the size of her kitchen space – stand in one spot and swing her arms around slowly. Talk about everything being within reach! Ianto also introduced a term I have found very useful – desking. Primarily used as a verb, desking is quite simply those tasks generally done at a desk – writing, paying bills, reading (mail, magazines, whatever), and so on. Many people will use their eating table (usually, but not always between meals!) for these activities, but it is an activity to take into consideration when designing your home. Personally, being the information collector that I am, a desk space is one of my top priorities. In fact, the desire for a larger desk (and more shelves!) was one of the motivators for building a larger cabin. Plus I miss having a comfy chair to curl up in with a good book, something I could not manage in the 8x12 since I had no loft to stash my bed in.

But the primary impact of this book was kindling my interest in cob construction. So when I heard of a volunteer-based cob house being built a little over an hour's drive from where I lived at the time, I leaped at the opportunity to experience hands-on training.

There was a small river near the building site where the clay was mined. The property had a well and electric. In discussion, I learned the hardest part was sourcing the straw, which is not to be confused with hay.

Straw and hay are two very different things. Straw is the stalks of plants from which the seedheads have been removed. It might be wheat, rice, rye, or another grain. Hay, on the other hand, is usually grasses, ideally with the flowers or seedheads still intact. Straw had little to no nutritional value, whereas hay is specifically harvested for its nutritional value. It is straw that can be a valuable building component (it is also used for animal bedding and roof thatching). Although really anything long and fibrous could probably be used to bind cob, you really don't want animals nibbling at your walls!

I never had clarified what their trouble with straw was – local farms not producing it, the cost of the straw itself, or possibly the logistics of transporting a large quantity of the bulky bales. Availability, cost, transportation – important considerations in any project!

The basics of cob construction are incredibly simple. Make a slurry of clay and water (depending on your clay, some sand to temper it may be needed), add a binding agent, usually straw, and mix well. Mash lumps of this mixture into a wall, let dry. Repeat. Cover with a roof with adequate overhangs to prevent direct rain contact with the walls.

Many people think cob can only work in dry areas, similar to adobe, but it has been widely used in the moist environments of the UK and Pacific Northwest of the US. Cob seems to shrug off humidity, but does last longer with protection from direct rain.

My first experience cobbing was a group of largely college students in shorts and t-shirts, stomping barefooted in the mud, arguably the best way of getting an even consistent mixture. It was then scooped into buckets and hauled to the building in progress. I was astonished and dismayed at the amount of water the endeavor required! It seemed an impossible task without a well.

My second experience with cob was on a much smaller scale, where I helped a friend build a cobwood shed.

Cobwood is a variation of cordwood masonry. Both methods use firewood type logs, whole or split, cut to a standard length. Cordwood masonry uses concrete between the wood pieces, whereas cobwood simply uses cob.

On this project, the owner had cut the wood from standing dead and down trees on the property, dug the sand near the mixing site, but brought in clay from a construction excavation site a reasonable driving distance away. He also had to haul in the straw, and according to his research rye straw would be best, a little more challenging to source. Being only a two-person crew, we mixed much smaller batches, and accordingly used less water. I began to see how the size (and speed) of the project affects, and is affected by, the availability of resources. The water for this project was simply rainwater collected in 50 gallon barrels, the rain being sufficient to keep up with the smaller and slower pace.

Each of these experiences left me with some interesting insights, some not even my own! The fellow in charge of the house project laughed about forgetting they could use garbage materials in the middle of the cob walls. I gathered crushed aluminum beverage cans were common fillers! He ruefully noted that this house probably had the purest cob walls of any. Had they thought to use filler, be it cans of river stones, that would have been that much less mixing needed.

On the shed project, the owner concluded nearly the opposite – the firewood displaced much of the cob needed for the structure, but unless you already have a surplus of cut logs, it would have been just as easy to make a pure cob structure. The additional labor of felling, limbing, and cutting the trees didn't strike him as a beneficial trade-off.

I really enjoyed my cob building experiences, and for quite some time had expected that when I found my place, I would also build with cob. Alas, my place turned out to be in an area of sand and glacial till, and what little clay is available is of very poor quality. It's a good thing there are many different ways to build a home!

Monday, June 27, 2011

How I Write

It occurred to me that people might be interested in learning how I write.

I started out with (and still use) a list of topics that I basically brainstormed in a single session. Topics that emphasized the 'why' as much as the 'how', including things that I, and therefore probably others, have struggled with. From the outset, I wanted this book to be as much about the trial and errors as the successes, to be stories that people could relate to rather than be awed by.

A few weeks into the project I sorted the list into something resembling a table of contents (TOC), to help ensure I covered topics I may have missed in that original brainstorm session. As additional topic ideas occur to me, I add them to the list and try to figure out where they might fit into the TOC.

I look at both of these fairly often and see what jumps out at me, what triggers ideas or stories, and ponder them throughout the day, sometimes for several days. Because my goal is to have a sample chapter written by September for submission to the publisher I'm hoping will be interested in this book, I've been largely focusing on the shelter chapter, which covers not only building but living comfortably – thus the sections on staying both warm and cool. Plus it's the area most of my energies are focused on right now anyway, as I disassemble the 8x12 to make room for something a little larger.

After letting the ideas percolate, I sit down each evening and write. Longhand. I actually got the idea from an Amish woman whose column I read in the local paper some years back. She wrote her column longhand and mailed it to the paper where they typed it up. I do a little editing while writing, but most of it is just a word change here and there, the gist of the section having already drafted itself in my head. So with pen in hand, by the light of an oil lamp, with the sounds of birds chirping, frogs trilling, and depending on recent rains possibly the river at the edge of the property flowing, the words seem to tumble out onto the paper. Except for that week of writers block, where I was attempting to force out words that weren't ready yet! I'm still both frustrated and amused that what seemed a most basic concept resisted communication at that particular time! Okay, lesson learned – the right words will flow when they're ready.

Rather than have someone else do my typing, however, (which I did consider) I have discovered that I can sometimes better clarify an idea as I translate ink to electrons. I also sometimes write notes to myself in the margins to verify something that emerged from the recesses of my brain when I have internet access – usually a book title or author.

Most mornings, after feeding the pigs and other homestead chores, I sit at my desk in the main house and utilize the net access there to type and post the previous evening's writing. The past several days, however, the internet has not been cooperating, and some days I just plain run out of time to get a post submitted! So while there may be some days where nothing new appears, fear not. The ideas are still percolating, and the pen (third one actually!) is still flowing. I'm just wondering what will happen if and when the book is technically finished!

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Women as Builders

I wish I recalled where I read the story, but a Michigan fellow went to Mexico where his son (or grandson?) was marrying a local gal. In conjunction with the wedding, I do not recall if it was before or after, he observed the locals building a home for the newlyweds. He described the making of roof tiles, shaping the wet mud over one's thigh, then setting them out to dry in the sun before placing the tiles atop the adobe structure. Sure, several of the tiles would break, during as well as after drying, but even those shards had useful applications elsewhere. By the time the fellow was due to leave, the newlyweds had their own home, with no mortgage, effectively built by themselves and their community.

Another unremembered source indicated to me that in many Southwestern Indian/Mexican cultures, the home was the domain of the women, not only in the keeping but also in the construction. At a friend's house recently, I watched a television show about current-day Russian reindeer herders who used poles and hides to erect tents much like the Tipis of the American Plains Indians. These too are built (assembled?) by the women.

So why does the current culture feel that building is something only a strong man can do? Doubtless the differing standards of construction has much to do with it. In many areas codes no longer allow for the types of structures women have built and lived in for countless centuries, instead requiring commercial materials that are not as easily handled by a single or group of individuals. I fully believe any woman can build her own home, whether using older indigenous styles or more modern methods. Allow the code to guide you past mistakes they were written to address, but don't be afraid to suggest uncommon methods to an inspector if you must deal with one. When my grandmother built their retirement house, she used modern methods with some adaptations. She couldn't handle half-inch thick drywall herself, so she used two layers of quarter-inch instead.

Many tools and adaptations exist to allow someone to build solo. Panel lifts, whether for drywall or sheathing, are just one example. (Book reference: Working Alone: Tips and Techniques for Solo Building by John Carroll)

One reason I enjoy working (and living) along is being able to work at my own pace, on my own schedule. I would probably get more done and more quickly if I had someone commenting when I stop to watch the clouds rolling by, or sneak off into the woods to see if that noise might be the porcupine I saw the week before, but it's those exact moments that I savor, that are my rewards for the effort I've put into redefining my life according to my own goals and expectations. I will admit to missing having that special someone to share these things with, but I doubt I will ever miss those days where one wants to be 'productive' and the other wants only to relax!

Most of all, have confidence that what you're doing isn't actually unusual. For eons, humans, just like birds and beavers, have built their own homes. It is only recently, relative to the lifespan of humanity, that we have come to expect others to build our homes for us and be indebted for that service. There is a long history of not only people, but women, building their own homes. You can continue that legacy!

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Why I Love Tiny Houses

-They're so darn cozy!
-Everything is within reach, or just a few steps away
-They encourage minimalism, discourage consumerism
-Cleaning is fast
-They use fewer materials and resources – in both construction and maintenance
-Easier to heat and cool
-Lot of natural light
-They can make great “pocket communities” http://pocket-neighborhoods.net/
-Or leave more land to nature
-You don't need an intercom system to find other occupants
-Multi-functional rooms mean less wasted space. (A living room *and* family room? Dining room *and* eat-in kitchen? Really?)
-Less costly to buy or build
-Less costly to furnish
-Because smaller quantities are needed, higher quality materials become more affordable http://www.notsobighouse.com/

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Writer's Block

I've had writers block for the last week. I remember listening to Lois McMaster Bujold (probably best known for her delightful Miles Vorkosigan series) talking about writer's block. She said her characters would occasionally stubbornly sit down, go on strike, and refuse to follow her intentions. Finally she would understand what the characters themselves wanted to do, and the words would flow once again.

It sounded very odd to me at the time, and yet that's pretty much how this past week has felt. I have the bullet list of points I wanted to make under Cooling Options Parts 2 and 3, but the words refused to flow. I made attempts, forcing the words out, but they were stilted, jerky, and refused to stay on topic, constantly veering off in barely-related tangental directions. And these are simple ideas, not even complex characters! What sort of rebellion, or strike, can this be?

I caved, I admitted defeat. I threw my hands up and said fine, I won't write about you, you obstinate stubborn cooling options! Obviously now is not your time. Who would have thought that simple living alternatives were such prima donnas, refusing the stage because they weren't ready yet?!

So who knows what the next topic will be. For now, I'm going to read a book instead of attempting to write one. And eventually I will understand just what it is my characters, er, topics, want to do next!

Friday, June 17, 2011

The Pelt Concept

I recently read a wonderful book (it happened to be post-apocalyptic, a genre I enjoy, but it was actually recommended to me by a wolf expert for the realistic portrayal of wolf behavior), and there was one passage that really struck me. So much so I had to borrow the book again to get the exact text:

“Again he fell into the habit of wearing the same amount of clothing no matter what the temperature was, and being more or less indifferent to whether he needed warmth or was too hot – except that he stowed the leather jacket away. Also, the daily habit of shaving he had resumed briefly at the pass was forgotten. His beard once more was full and black. It was almost as if his clothing had become his pelt, as Wolf's pelt was his; and there was no reason to think of making changes in it simply to adapt to small changes in temperature.

So he let his beard grow and lived in his clothes. These things were unimportant.”

Wolf and Iron, Gordon R. Dickson


Imagine if we did not have cultural expectations, importance, to change our clothing daily or sometimes it seems even hourly! If we were able to wear something that was comfortable for whatever the activity, and that “small changes” of 10, 20, possibly more, degrees made little difference to our overall comfort. I have often envied animals for their ability to lie in the snow, stand in the rain, whatever the situation, with no apparent discomfort. Haired animals that thicken their coats for the cold of winter, then shed them for the heat of summer, but not constantly shrugging in and out of layers on a daily basis.

It could be argued that they may prefer to be able to change and simply aren't able. I'm inclined to believe they simply don't need to, and that humans, amazingly wonderfully adaptable creatures, have taken adaptability a bit too far and seriously limited our own comfort range.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Cooling Options, Part One

Cooling Options, Part One

After I brainstormed a list of cooling options, it appeared to me that they fall into three broad categories – the environment that surrounds you, personal habits that can be adopted, and methods of cooling the body itself. Somewhat like moving from a macro to a micro scale.

Broadly speaking, the environmental category has much to do with your shelter choice. The first is geography. If you hate heat and humidity, you may not want to live in the Southeast US. Likewise, if you detest any kind of heat, both the Southwest and Midwest are probably poor settlement choices. I choose to live in the more northern latitudes in large part (but not entirely) due to an aversion to heat. Higher altitudes also have the same general effect. (There is a conversion between altitude and latitude, but I don't have the specific numbers off-hand. A quick Google search indicates one potential conversion rate is 1000' of altitude is equivalent to 300 miles of latitude, but don't bank on that without further research.) Such a move need not even be permanent – many people migrate seasonally. Retired “snowbirds” are usually the first to come to mind, but it wasn't all that many decades ago that mother would take the children to a summer house during the school break, with father joining them on the weekend. Many American Indian tribes had similar seasonal nomadic tendencies – summer fishing camps and winter hunting grounds. (This is one of the countless reasons Indian reservations were a foolish concept.)

In a permanent residence, cooling considerations used to be, and still can be, critical design elements. The courtyards of the Middle East and Mediterranean are designed to provide open yet shaded areas. The decorative grillwork on windows allowed light to enter, while limiting direct solar gain. Thick masonry walls changed temperature much more slowly than thin modern ones. Sometimes this can backfire however, as seen in Chicago's brick bungalows. Once they heat up, they tend to stay hot, leading to unnecessary deaths during periodic heat waves. Another building options is sizing the roof overhang or installing shade canopies. The main house of the property I live on uses a couple of these techniques – the thick concrete block walls resist penetration of summer heat, while the roof overhand was calculated to block the high summer sun while inviting entry of the low winter sun. There is a drawback to this fixed system, however – the concept of Thermal Lag.

Thermal lag refers to the time delay between insolation (basically sun penetration) and temperature change. We see this in the summer, when the sun reaches its maximum in June (my apologies to those in the Southern Hemisphere) but the temperatures don't reach their maximum until July or August. The same thing happens in the winter – the solar minimum is in December, but the general temperatures keep dropping into January and February. A fixed solar-blocking system can easily be calculated to limit July and August's insolation, but with the effect of also blocking April and May's, spring months where the additional solar influence may be desired. This is where adjustable systems may be preferred instead, canvas awnings for instance. These I have no experience with.

The daily, as well as annual, changes can be utilized as well. Opening up the house at night, encouraging cooling evening breezes, then closing the house during the day to retain the milder air. This is most effective in areas with significant day and night temperature changes. I'm always surprised more people don't do this, but it does require more awareness and action than simply setting an AC thermostat. I for one enjoy taking an active role in my environmental management, of feeling aware and connected to the world around me.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Seasonal Sleep Patterns

Summer arrived rather emphatically this week – 90s and humid! Of course, I picked the two hottest days of the year to deconstruct the temporary cabin. At least I'm *hoping* they're the two hottest days!

Accordingly, I have shifted to a summer sleep schedule – up early, then a mid-day siesta. Unfortunately the crows also shifted to their summer schedule – up earlier than me, disrupting my last bit of sleep. Thanks guys.

So my plan for Wednesday had been to be up and moving by 6am, three hours earlier than my winter schedule of 9am. Note that's up and moving, not just awake. Very different concepts here! I enjoy my leisurely mornings.

I woke up around 4am, and observing the brightening sky, bemusedly noted that without the daylight saving change, dawn would be around the time some of my friends seem to finally head to bed! Ah, I can sleep another hour or so, yay! Wrong. The crows started their show at 4:30. I'm not sure if it was a drama or a sit-com, but it was very noisy and lasted almost exactly one hour. At 5:30 I was allowed to drift back to sleep, and it was nearly 7 by the time I was able to get up and moving! The best laid plans...

Despite the “late” start, I actually got quite a bit done. I had expected to take most of the afternoon to work on indoor projects at the main house, and was surprised to find it already well after noon when I felt I'd had enough of the heat. I then went back to work for a few more hours in the evening. I did get my siesta nap though!

Much like the semi-annual clock change, it'll take me a few days to get used to the earlier, and less leisurely, mornings. But by mid-day, I'm more than happy to stop working in the heat and enjoy a delayed leisurely awakening from a siesta nap.

This is just one of the many methods I use to deal with heat. I have a whole list of them I'll be sharing with you over the next few days. Stay tuned, I'm sure the crow show will be back right after the break.

A cool lighting alternative

A friend of mine sent me this link, figuring I'd be interested. It's a really cool low-cost way to bring daylighting into the interior of a building. I don't see needing to use it myself, but others may have a dark room they want to lighten up:

http://www.wimp.com/lightbulb/

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Root Cellar Dreams

Since I don't plan to have electric (or only very little to recharge batteries for various radios and flashlights), I don't expect to have a frig. At least not in the modern Western sense. (Don't worry, I'll explore both of those concepts more later!)

As I was brainstorming my Wall O Jars concept, I also listed things I'd like to keep in the root cellar. For doing sizing math I decided to use banana boxes, although I don't expect they'd be the best choice for all produce varieties.

My initial estimate of root cellar inhabitants (see below) was about 40 boxes. Banana boxes are 16”wx10”hx20”d. Using the same math as for the canning jars, I got 40 x 16” / 12” per foot = 53.3 linear feet. If I figure 8 foot shelves, that'd be 6.7, or 7, shelves. Wanting a bit of wiggle space between boxes, I'll only plan 5, not 6, boxes per 8' shelf. That also leaves wall and insulation space if I'm making an 8' outbuilding.

So. Figure an 8'x8'x8' square box of a building/structure/cave/what-have-you, put 20” deep shelves down both size, and you'll have a spacious 56” aisle (or less, depending on walls and insulation.) If the shelves are spaced 16” apart (although I'm more likely to make variable height shelves) you can fit 6 shelves on each side. 6 shelves x 2 sides x 5 boxes per shelf = 60 boxes. Awesome!

Good, because I was a little worried about reading that Sharon Astyk's family store 15 bushels of just apples every year! But they also have a lot more people eating them than I do. Plus I also had items on my root cellar list that can be stored inside a cool (50-60F) house too, like pumpkins and squashes. Hmm, maybe I can “rent” out extra space to neighbors! Now I just have to figure out where and how to build the darn thing.


Apples: lots, variety
Potatoes: some, few
Onions: lots, few
Garlic: lots, few
Squashes: lots, variety
Cabbage: many, few
Carrots: many, few
Rutabagas/Turnips: few, few
Beets: few, one
Whoops, forgot parsnips: few, one

Monday, June 6, 2011

My Dream Kitchen

I think it was Elliot Coleman who described his ideal grocery store, filled with only real, whole, unprocessed foods. That inspired me to envision what my ideal kitchen will look like. I started brainstorming, and honestly was surprised at the length of the list I came up with!

I'm picturing a Wall O Jars, mostly home canned (gotta order some of those Tattler reusable canning lids!), supplemented by some commercial ones (familiarity, convenience, and because I don't necessarily want to spend ALL my time growing and canning!) I like the idea of having a lot of healthy ingredients readily available to throw meals together with.

As I was making my list, I also made two columns for depth and width of storage. Depth indicates the number of them I would want to keep on hand regularly while width indicated the variety of that item. For things I use many of (like pasta sauce), there would be secondary storage outside the kitchen. For those I use few of (like pickle relish), the jars on the kitchen shelves will be sufficient.

Prepared meals (chili, stews, soups): many jars, many varieties
Pasta sauce: many jars, few varieties,
Canned meats: many, many
Canned veges: many, many
Canned fruits: many, many
Canned diced tomatoes: many, few
Jelly: few, few
Dehydrated eggs: few, one
Dehydrated meats: many, variety
Sprouting seeds: few, few
Condiments (pickle relish, ketchup, maple syrup): few, one each
Kimchi (?)
Nuts: few, few
Peanut butter: some, one
Salt: many, one
Sugar: few, few
Honey: some, one
Alcohol (drinking and preservation): ?
Rice: few, one
Tea ingredients (herbs): few, variety
Spices: few, large variety

Yoikes! That's about 50 jars wide! Okay, some quick math: a box of 12 quart jars is 12”x16”; pint jars are 11”x15”. So figure 4” per jar (if well stacked with no space between them). 50 jars x 4” wide = 200” linear inches. Divided by 12” per foot = 16.6 linear feet. Divided by the 6' shelves I have planned for the kitchen = 2.8 shelves. Hey, that's not so bad! Of course the spices will be in their own space – I have a ungodly number of those tiny jars!

(shorthand version: 50x4”/12” per foot/6'shelves=2.8

The other way of looking at it is: 6' shelves holds 18 jars wide. Three shelves gives me a capacity of 54 jars. How many of each flavor depends on whether the shelves are 12” or 16” deep. I'm inclined to go 16”, but we'll see when I actually have the room built how that feels.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Construction Choices

I have enjoyed drawing house floor plans for as long as I can remember, and have long dreamed of building my own house. It must run in my family – my mom also enjoyed drawing floor plans, my uncle built at least three of his own houses that I know of, and my grandmother did the majority of the work on my grandparents retirement house (she once described it as the shop class she wasn't allowed to take in school, being forced to learn cooking and sewing in Home Ec instead).

I always figured I would build something alternative, and took many opportunities to learn some of the various methods. I attended a hands-on timber framing workshop. I volunteered on a cob construction project for a homeless family. I worked with various Habitat for Humanity chapters, one of which was erecting a passive-solar straw bale house, the others using conventional stick-framing. I helped some friends build their surface bonded (as opposed to mortared) concrete block house, and with another friend's cobwood (combination cob and firewood-size logs) shed. I studied Mike Ohler's “$50 and Up Underground House” book and the University of Minnesota's underground housing research. I pondered the Nearing's stone structures. I briefly looked into tire homes, rammed earth, and earthbag construction, although those styles don't appeal to me. I don't care for the look (and maintenance) of chinked log homes either, but I find scribe-fit style log home immensely appealing.

So I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that my permanent house is going to be conventionally commonly stick-built.

I don't have the skill or patience for timber framing. The clay around here is not conducive to cob. I don't like the aesthetics (or acoustics) of concrete or block. The fact that the Nearing's stone homestead in Maine was closed for mold remediation last year is a strong deterrent to using that method! And the trees I have access to are too small for log construction.

So stick framing it is. It will be my home, that I designed, that I built. Albeit with guidance from an experienced builder friend to make sure I get sufficient insulation and other details!

Dreams do come true! (Although not without a lot of mental as well as physical effort.)

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Finding Your Place

Many books have been written about finding and buying your place, whether in the country or in the city. But I think one option is too often overlooked – renting.

It can be scary to make long-term plans and goals for a property you don't own. But do any of us really own the places we live? A mortgage simply means you're renting from a bank. And a place owned “free and clear” is still subject to local government regulations and whims. Can a property where the owner is forced out by tax increases truly be considered free and clear? Or subject to eminent domain, a use change dictated “for the greater good”? I would argue that none of us truly own the places we live, although I will agree there are great differences in risk levels.

My then-partner and I rented a house on 10 acres in the late 90s. We thought we were renting 10 acres with a house; the owner's teen-age son thought we were renting the house and continued to use the 10 acres to host drinking parties. I learned to be very clear about what exactly I was renting!

When I lived in Southern Indiana, I “rented” the land there from a credit union. But when I lost my job, I couldn't make the mortgage payments and had to leave, letting someone else take on the financial responsibility.

It was while I was living in the Chicago area that I discovered a most interesting book – Radical Simplicity by Dan Price. He described renting a two-acre property for $100 a year! He discussed his intentions and proposal with the owners, and they agreed any improvements he made would not be compensated if and when he left. I had heard of farmers leasing fields, but leasing one you could build on was a novel concept to me.

At that point, I was spending a lot of time with friends in the Champaign area, and considering moving there. So I started exploring, looking for rural property I might lease. Instead of the tipi Dan Price started out with, I had figured on a travel trailer or truck camper.

As it happens, I came to Maine to visit a friend I had met back when she also lived in the Chicago area. I had been out on previous extended visits to help build her house on a large rural property near the area where she had lived as a child. We discussed the land leasing idea, and I told her about Dan Price's method. She invited me to do the same type of scenario here, and after hashing out some details (not wanting a repeat of the teen drinking parties) we reached a surprisingly easy mutual agreement.

Never could I afford to purchase a property like this. But I can afford to rent it. Having an already longstanding friendship helped alleviate a lot of the risk concerns.

Owning land isn't the only option, and it isn't even always the best option. When trying to find your place, be sure to think outside the box. Who knows, you might discover that your place is a boat floating upon open waters!

Friday, June 3, 2011

Minimalism

I am in the process of taking down the tiny temporary cabin in preparation for building a slightly less tiny permanent one in the same spot. It was an incredibly difficult decision, trading the desired remote and scenic location for one with easy access but with disappointingly close proximity to neighbors.

It's been very interesting observing how much more quickly deconstruction goes, knowing how long it took me to construct it! The many hours of measuring and fitting the blue board insulation was removed in only a couple of hours. The struggle to install the chimney pipe, so easily dismantled. But the thing that really amazes me is how much STUFF I've moved out in the last few days.

I would love to be a minimalist. I aspire to be a minimalist. I fail to be a minimalist. I'm arguing with myself what it actually means to be a minimalist.

A couple days ago I removed everything I decided I wouldn't need in the next week. What's left will go into the tent I'll be living in during the reconstruction process. I love the feeling of how much space is in here now! The cabin feels much more like what I aspire to with minimalism, and how I'd like my new house to feel. I'm already wondering what's in all those bags and boxes that I hauled out of here, that I previously felt was needed. A bunch of books. Most of my food. One of my hammocks (the others are still in storage). The tiny woodstove, and its attendant kindling, firewood, ash bucket, stove poker and shovel are gone now. The extra bottle of lamp oil. I know there's more, but for the life of me I couldn't tell you what right now.

This is something I have observed several times over the last 10 years as I search for my own personal minimalism. In the Great Downsizing of 2001 (trademark pending), I sold off nearly all my possessions in a late-summer garage sale. I thought that was it, I could now live a minimalist life. A few years later, I found had more stuff to get rid of - books I had purchased because I couldn't get them from the library, games I no longer played, clothes for jobs I used to have. Office supplies that are useful, but come in too-large quantities. Camping gear that had plain worn out and furniture that was displaced by an early inheritance. Materials for projects that never came to fruition. When I moved to Maine in 2009, more purging was required. I was shocked at how much stuff I still had to move.

It turns out that minimalism is a continuous process, not a one-time goal to achieve. Stuff has a way of sneaking back into our lives when we're not paying attention, and even when we think we are paying attention! Maybe minimalism isn't so much about how little you have or need, but rather about how consistently you cull.

I will never achieve owning only 100 items. I have too many interests which use various tools and materials. Besides, my idea of true wealth is plenty of spare food and lamp oil, along with a large pile of firewood! Thus the argument with myself about the meaning of minimalism continues, but really, I think understanding that it is a process, not a goal, is the true resolution. And I will continue to cull.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

True Independence

I wrote this about a year ago, but it's one of those questions that I think never really has a solid answer. The answer(s) shift as life shifts, and is something to be periodically revisited by those attempting to live a sustainable life.

As I was standing in the shower, feeling slightly guilty about using extra electricity to pump the well water into the propane water heater in order to let it pound my sore muscles, I was thinking about how to make a stable sustainable society. Okay, I was actually thinking about who makes soap.

Anyone can make soap, but no one can do *all* the things that anyone can do! There just isn't enough time in the day. (Carla Emery in her giant tome "The Encyclopedia of Country Living" warns that no one can do everything in her book, that to try would take a 200 hour day!) Yesterday I was doing some deconstruction and harvesting building materials. Today I was helping a neighbor with butchering. So there I was, indulging my sore muscles in an unusually long hot shower, and I noticed my soap bar is getting thin. I no longer have contact with the gal I used to get my soap from. Does this mean I'm going to have to start making my own soap? That thought led to all the other things that individuals really only need a few of - wooden spoons, cast iron cookware, the aforementioned soap, butchering of meat, weaving of fabric, on and on.

My conclusion was that in order to have a truly sustainable society, everyone needs to be food sufficient, largely by raising their own food either directly in their own plots or indirectly in coops (shared labor providing more flexibility), PLUS have extra skills that benefit the community. Dependence on external markets for your survival (which for me keeps coming back to food, but also shelter) keeps a person enslaved, but non-survival items have more flexibility.

The food-sufficient soapmaker isn't dependent on soap purchasers for the soapmaker to eat. And if the soapmaker gets tired of making soap, no problem. Perhaps they'd rather build houses or weave baskets instead. They have that freedom, IF they aren't dependent on others for their very survival. I'm still wondering about the idea that the only thing then a person can't quit, is raising their food. Somehow we still end up being slaves to our stomachs!

How much freedom do you have to say "Take this job and shove it!"? How free are you? And is this whole soap question about freedom or sustainability? Then again, is life without freedom sustainable?

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Pockets

At some point, I paid attention to the safety instructions they always recite at the beginning of each flight on commercial airlines. By paid attention, I mean I actually *thought* about what they were saying and potential implications, not just nodding and saying “yeah, yeah, let's get there already.”

In the event of an emergency landing, inflatable slides will automatically deploy out each emergency exit. Please remove your shoes and do not carry anything with you as you exit the plane.

Okay, so now you're in the middle of a field (if you're lucky) or floating in a lake clinging to your seat cushion wondering if it may or may not serve as a flotation device (if you're unlucky). You have no shoes, no luggage, no purse. Have you ever seen what happens to a woman who loses her purse? It's like she's lost her mind. No contact info, no ID, no money or credit cards, not even keys once you make it back to your home or car. Admittedly, I was never a big fan of purses anyway, but that droning recitation convinced me I should have all critical items on my person at all times, i.e. pockets.

Obviously I'm very strange in this opinion, since most women's clothing doesn't have pockets, or at best one maybe two. I've even seen jeans with no rear pockets – we wouldn't want to ruin the curve of a woman's body now! Baloney, to put it politely.

So I wear mens jeans and make full use of the pockets. I have also structured my life (for an assortment of reason, including but not limited to) such that it is always my choice, not someone else's, should I decide to, as I jokingly call it, dress in drag wearing girl clothes – always good for startling people used to me in jeans and don't realize 'I kin clean up good'!

Right front – lip balm, hand lotion, and a utility key ring with mini pocket knife, LED flashlight, mini compass, and hair binders. The flashlight is great for seeing in dark rooms and under desks. I started carrying a tiny compass when I lived near Chicago. Every time I emerged from the L, I would start out the wrong direction! The natives might be able to sense which way the lake is, but I used the compass until I better learned the surrounding landmarks. Something that gave me a vague sense of E vs. W was all I needed. The hair binders are due to the fact I don't bother with cutting and styling my hair, except to use the scissors on the pocket knife to trim split ends while I'm bored waiting for some one/thing.

Left front – cash, cell phone, handkerchief. I carry plain white mens kerchiefs, not being the lacy frilly type.

Left rear – card pack. I tried for years to find a thin wallet that didn't make me look like a dyke. Nothing against dykes, mind you, but people already mistakenly wonder if I am one, wearing mens style clothing as I do. For a couple years I found a heavy post office type rubber band worked well, but after the third one broke, I realized I really don't need one at all.

Right rear – lens cloth for my glasses, and documents pertaining to my current project. Usually note cards, or my passport if I happen to be traveling more than 200 miles from home.

Coin pocket – Lighter. I used to have a cool refillable pressurized butane lighter than was like a tiny torch. It was great for cutting and cauterizing rope, but it stopped working and I never could figure out why. The mini Bic I have now sucks for cutting, but it shrinks rope ends well enough.

Because I live in the country, I have two knives on my belt – one is a smooth blade folder, the other is a multi-tool. The folder is most often used for sharpening pencils and cutting rope, the multi-tool's primary function is to crush ticks in the pliers, thus its nickname Tick Killer.

One last safety tool isn't in my pockets, but around my neck – a ball-less plastic whistle. That one is a new carry item. For as much time as I spend in the woods alone, usually a goodly ways form the road, carrying a whistle is just plain common sense. After the Japan earthquake I stopped removing the whistle when not in the woods; now it only comes off when I shower. The ball-less type is what the water patrol required of boaters at a friend's cottage in Canada. For once, I've gone with the official government opinion!

Nearly all these items see daily use, not just in emergencies. What I can't figure out is: how in the world do nudists function without pockets?

Monday, May 30, 2011

Perfectionism and Procrastination

Hi, my name is Ellen, and I'm a recovering perfectionist. (All together now) Hi Ellen!

I have always struggled with the belief that if you're going to do something, you should do it well. Even if you've never done it before. My fear of doing something imperfectly often led to procrastinating any attempt. In fact, that's one of the biggest reasons I wanted to write about my experiences of my search for a satisfying and sustainable off-grid life – to assure others, as I wanted to be assured, that mistakes will be made, screw-ups will happen, and it's okay! Not just okay, but fantastic, because we learn more, and more quickly, from our mistakes than our successes. It seemed to me that most books are about the successes, and rarely address the failures encountered en route. Or maybe the failures were discussed and I just didn't notice, being too busy comparing myself to the successes?

Probably the best lesson I learned from the Guild of Metalsmiths back in Minnesota wasn't about blacksmithing at all. It was the concept of the learning curve. The most often cited example is a baby learning to crawl before walking, walking before running. (Except Teresa's son, who knew if he lifted his arms, someone would carry him where he wanted to go. One day Teresa told him he was too heavy to carry anymore. He shrugged and got up and walked instead, skipping the crawling stage entirely!) The Guild had an excellent teaching series, starting with just shaping metal – drawing out points, widening stock, punching holes, and so on. You weren't expected to make anything functional, let alone fancy, just explore the ways of shaping metal. (It was referred to as making scrap, the same way woodworkers make sawdust!) The next class built on those skills to make some basic blacksmithing tools – drawing out a firepoker, widening the end of a handle to attach a water can (used for fire control). Another class taught how to shape a hammer head, punching and shaping the eye hole to fit a wood handle. Now we're into functional but still not fancy. Eventually you gain enough experience, progress along the learning curve, to use these skills to make something that *is* fancy!

Studying college level biology taught me another important concept, that of the experiment. You develop a hypothesis (what you think might happen), design and implement an experiment, then gather and analyze the results. The results may not match your hypothesis of what you thought would happen, but that doesn't make the experiment a failure, quite the contrary. You have gained additional knowledge of what actually happened, and develop a new hypothesis and conduct another experiment based on the information of the previous one.

I have tried to apply the concepts of the learning curve and the experiment to my construction skills as well. Volunteering with Habitat for Humanity gave me a lot of the basic skills. How to hammer effectively, how to assemble a stud wall on the deck, then erect, plumb, and secure the wall upright. I also learned some slightly more advanced skills, such as how to untwist warped lumber, and why put extra studs across kitchen and bathroom walls (nailers for cabinets). Not everything I learned working with a group of people applied to working alone, which led to my own experiments on what would work while working solo or with one friend helping.

I built my first cabin in Southern Indiana and my second here in Maine. Neither one was perfect, but I learned a lot from each of them, both of what works and what doesn't, as well as gaining experience progressing along that learning curve. Those two cabins were my rough drafts, much as my blog posts here are the rough drafts for my (hopefully!) book.

As I get ready to embark on what is intended to be my permanent house, however, my perfectionism is rearing its ugly head again. Can I do this, should I even be trying? What if my floor plan isn't as functional as I believe? What if my insulation, despite having much more of it from the learning experience of the current cabin, is still insufficient? Doubts plague me constantly. But I am determined, and I refuse to allow my perfectionism to cause further procrastination!

Back in the mid-90s, I met a fellow who had a similar dream of an off-grid life. I quizzed him for information, looking for advice as to how I and my then-partner might achieve our similar dreams. This guy kept talking about “when circumstances line up, I'm gonna...” I sat back and looked at him honestly and thought “he's nearly 50 years old and circumstances still haven't lined up yet? I don't think they ever will, he's just allowing life to happen to him, and bemoaning his inability to bring his dream to reality instead of making it happen.” He was procrastinating, waiting for the perfect set of circumstances. It's like the Dear Abbey column where the woman is wondering about pursuing a college degree late in life, lamenting she would be 50 (or whatever age) by the time she graduated. Abbey replied she'd be the same age in that many years anyway!

I guess my point is, things will never align. You have to start from where you are, make mistakes, learn from them, and be willing to make more mistakes. Eventually you'll get the hang of it, whatever 'it' might be for you, or you might decide it's not worth it after all. But I encourage you, don't make that decision without giving it an honest go. Because 5 years from now, you'll still be 5 years older whether you try to follow your dream or not.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Heating Options, Part Three

In parts one and two, I talked about reducing heat needs and active heat sources. But as Anonymous pointed out in comments, there's also passive heat (I was getting there, really!)

For the most part, passive heat is best integrated during the design phase of new construction. This used to be standard practice until the wide-spread utilization of active systems. From the cooling courtyards of the Middle East and Mediterranean to the Pueblos of the American Southwest, the access (or avoidance) of passive solar heat was a primary consideration. Early American farmhouses were oriented to the climate effects of both wind and sun, but eventually the focus shifted to roads instead.

Many older homes can still utilize this advantage with strategic curtain use. In the cooler months the blinds are opened during the day and closed at night to keep the trapped heat inside. In warmer periods the process is reversed, blocking out the day's sun then encouraging cooling breezes at night. For several years I lived in an old brick bungalow that demonstrated the effectiveness of these methods quite nicely. Be careful of the chimney effect however – airflow along the windows behind the curtains can set up a cooling current instead of the desired heat retention. Thus the design of the magnetized edges of window quilts.

I knew a couple that built their home on the North Shore of Lake Superior in Minnesota who used solar awareness during their design and construction. The large South to Southeast windows captured much of the winter sun; in fact sometimes too much, necessitating opening windows and using ceiling fans to exhaust the hot air out in the middle of winter! During summers the overhang was designed to block the higher sun, and cooling lake breezes kept the house quite comfortable while the neighbors around the other side of the hill needed to use air conditioning units.

The main house of the property I live on now was also designed to be passive solar. The south side is nearly all patio doors opening to the black tile floor of the great room. In the summer, the overhang limits direct sun to just a few inches, while in winter it penetrates not only across the great room floor but even striking the back wall of the room! Unfortunately there is insufficient insulation below the slab, and as much of the gained heat dissipates into the ground below as into the room itself.

Quite possibly one of the most unique utilizations of passive solar is George Bernard Shaw's writing hut. It is a small 8x8 structure built on a lazy susan turntable! A simple push enabled the writer to utilize or avoid the sun as he desired. A door flanked by two non-operable windows are on one side, with one small operable window on the wall opposite. By turning the hut, he was able to optimize heat gain as desired; increasing the gain during cooler weather, or avoiding it during warmer weather. Minimal windows also translate to minimum heat loss, while the operable window opposite the door allowed natural ventilation. Being able to rotate the hut for natural light gain also reduced the need for artificial lighting.

The writing hut is also an excellent example of smaller spaces having lower heating requirements. Another example of this are the canopy beds frequently found in old stone structures. The heavy curtains closed off a small space better able to retain the heat exuded by the occupants. The raised sleeping shelves of the Inuit igloos served a similar function, as well as allowing the cooler air an area below the sleeping shelves to pool. And of course there are the three-dog nights, when the weather was so cold a person would bring three dogs to bed as personal heaters!

In a sense, utilizing passive solar is a method of reducing heating needs. But somehow it seems like more than just reducing – perhaps displacing would be a better word?

Friday, May 27, 2011

Heating Options, Part Two

The way I see it, active heating options come from three primary categories:
Fossil fuels: this includes natural gas, coal, and an assortment of refined petroleum products – heating oil, kerosene, and propane.
Electricity: generated at a distance from coal, hydro, or nuclear; generated locally from solar, wind, or micro-hydro
Bio-fuels: Primarily wood, although many folks are experimenting with bio-alcohols and bio-diesels. Dried animal dung (think Buffalo Chips, but don't confuse them with Buffalo Wings) is a functional substitute in woodless areas.

Since my concept of sustainability is not using a resource faster than it can be replenished, I have a difficult time justifying profligate use of fossil fuels when other alternatives are available. And yes, I feel guilty every time I drive somewhere. So to depend on kerosene or propane as my primary heat source is not something I can comfortably do – it doesn't match my dual guide posts of satisfying and sustainable.

Electric is an option, but a fairly expensive one. For someone on the grid, it might even make sense, as long as you're aware and comfortable with how it's generated. Most power plants fall into three categories – coal (with its mountain top removal mining methods), hydro (utilizing dams, radically changing the environment and occasionally obliterating species), and nuclear (even without meltdown concerns, they still haven't figured out what to do with the spent but still hot rods).

Off-grid electric, or micro-generation, I'm more comfortable with. The first one most people think of is solar (requiring high-tech manufacturing with limited resources), then wind (having trouble coming up with a complaint here – turbines have been built using scavenged parts, the ultimate in recycling!), and micro-hydro (sometimes dropped straight into the water, sometimes using piped diverted water).

Finally we get to the bio-fuels. Burning wood or other materials (can put particulates into the air causing local air pollution) and derivatives such as bio-diesel and bio-alcohol (the jury is still out on whether as much energy is produced by the fuel as is consumed to create the fuel).

Boy, I'm just a bundle of joy today, aren't I?

So not having sufficient funds, sun, or wind, I'm pretty much out of luck for electric. No consistently running water, either, but that didn't scan as well. There are some windy days where I really wish I had a turbine, but not enough of them to make a reliable source of electricity I could convert to heat when I need it most.

I don't have the mechanical and chemical aptitude to create derivative bio-fuels, so I'm left with wood. Which I have lots of! I don't even have to cut down trees – those windy days will often lay them down for me. I have no idea how many cords are laying around (many are slightly hung up so not rotting) waiting for me to harvest the fuel. Plus there are weed trees that if removed will allow its (former) neighbors to better live their lives. And lots of coppicing stumps from the last timber harvest. Here is a resource that seems to be renewing faster than I can imagine needing to use it.

It used to be that every farm had its woodlot that produced the firewood from year to year. In fact I know of at least one forest preserve in the Chicagoland area that used to be the woodlots for residents of the nearby village, and I wouldn't be surprised if some of the other forest preserves had similar histories. So historically even town folk, not just farm folk, had access to wood.

So my best choice seems pretty straightforward to use wood for heat. However I am planning to also have a backup system based on either kerosene or propane, in case for some reason I cannot maintain the wood heat (out of town, injured, what have you). My goal is to never need the back-up system, but one saying I believe in is “two is one, one is none”, something of a variation of not putting all your eggs into one basket. Everyone's circumstances are different, and I would never claim to have all the right answers; each of us need to consider our own situation and options, and choose how we best see fit.