0116

12/31/1999 As I walk down to get the mail, I see Wayne in his garage, putting some bales of hay down in front of his Ranger and Pat's Taurus. What the...? My curiosity compels me to walk over and check it out.

"Hey, Wayne, what's with the bales of hay?"

"Oh, hi, Jerry. I'm just getting ready for Y2K. That's tonight, you know."

"Yea, I know. And...?"

"Well, they say that it could affect computer chips anywhere, even the ones they put in cars and trucks nowadays. If that's true, and either my pickup or Pat's car rolls over to a 1900 date tonight, I might get up tomorrow morning and find that one or the other has turned into a horse and buggy right here in my garage. I figure the horse might need a little something to eat, so I'm putting some hay down now, just in case."

Wayne smiles. OK, I get it. The jokes on me. But two can play at this game.

Wayne continues, "Maybe you want some hay for your pickup? I've got plenty here. Happy to share." His smile widens, but he hasn't started laughing yet.

"No, that won't be necessary," I reply, "but I'd better go make sure I have some rice in the house. If not, I might be back to borrow some from Pat."

"Rice??"

He bit. "Remember, Wayne, I drive a Toyota. If it rolls over to 1900, I won't have a horse & buggy; I'll have a little man pulling a rickshaw. He'll want rice, not hay."

Now Wayne laughs out loud.

---

OK, maybe I kinda invented that story; the actual day is quite inauspicious. I try in vain to start working on wiring in the kitchen, but am inexplicably full of confusion and am barely able to install one junction box in the ceiling, and then drive to 5:30 Mass for the Holy Day.

0115

It was nice enough on Friday to wash laundry and dry everything outside before driving to town for errands, and Christmas with Lenore.

Cold but clear and dry this morning, so I bike to 10:30 Mass. Afterward, I get drafted to sing some cantor things next Sunday and at Easter. Larry and I chat for awhile after Mass, and he lends me a library book about masonry wood-burning stoves. So, after biking back home and making myself a nice dinner, I peruse it for some pretty nifty ideas. Something to noodle about possibly doing.

0114

I rise nearly 2 hours before dawn, and don't bother making a fire, but dig right into the southwest bedroom's south wall. A break at dawn for Lauds and breakfast. Then cut the studs, frame for the replacement window, and install it. Things are closed and weathertight by dusk, then start a fire, and pray Advent Vespers.

20 hours with no fire, and with a big hole in the wall, so my water containers are all freezing over by this time. But in a couple hours, everything is warmed up again, and I'm eating a hearty supper, with piping hot water for my bath. A productive day - thank you, Lord.

0113

Despite howling cold at night and daytime highs in the single digits, I've been able to keep the house fairly comfortable with just one wood burning stove, very encouraging. The warmth percolates upstairs, too, and I can go about my business anywhere in the house. The basement is chilly and damp like a root cellar should be, but clearly above freezing, so I bring my root vegetables back down there.

Concerned about my bees, so I go out and put my ear up against their hive box. I can hear them buzzing robustly inside, so I guess they're doing OK as well.

I spend today writing lots of letters and bills, and cut up and cook a few more pumpkins for pie.

0112

Turned cold last night, and windy, with a little snowfall as well.

I want the window I just bought to go in the south wall of the southwest room upstairs, so I go to work removing sheetrock from that wall. Tear into the kitchen wall below as well, in preparation for replacing the old decrepit door there with a window.

In between the morning fire and this evening's fire, I remember last night's stove pipe incident, so I tie the stove pipe back with some wire, so it can't come loose again.

Now, too late, I'm thinking this may not be the best day to expose uninsulated walls, as the wind continues to blow colder and colder. It hits 0° by early evening, and will likely hit 20° below or colder tonight, I'm guessing. Well, this will be the best test so far as to how well I can winter out here in this house.

Just in case the basement drops below freezing tonight, I bring all the potatoes and beets upstairs, and scatter the pumpkins around, too.

0111

It's snowing lightly, so after a light breakfast and a letter/card to Phyllis, I drive the truck to 10:30 Mass. The first non-bikeable Sunday since I've been here!

After Mass, almost half of this small parish joins in decorating the church for Christmas, including the use of some balsam firs from yours truly. A chile and hot dog lunch follows.

Then, calling ahead, I stop on the way home to pick up a used window advertised in the shopper. Home again, put the window in the garage, and get a fire going in the house. Without warning, the stove pipe comes loose from the chimney, but with gloved hands, I shove it back in with no further mishap. By the time I get the house warm and have some supper, it's dark, and I feel tired and a little headachy, so I turn in early.

0110

Guess I spoke too soon - it got very cold again last night, and I woke in the wee hours, forced to feed the fire.

I rise with a good energy level, and forge ahead with the door project, cutting an opening through siding and studs, then framing the door opening, and hanging the door. Today is still very cold, but so sunny and calm, that I'm comfortable working with a big hole in the wall - I even have to remove my cap & jacket for awhile, the sun feels so warm. But the sun's winter path is brief, and it turns quite cold again by the time I get everything closed up and light the fire.

Eating my supper, I notice that ice has formed in the kitchen water bucket. Well, thank God for wood, and a good stove.

I write a Christmas card to Mom tonight.

0109

The relatively mild weather has broken, and it fell to below 0° last night. All of a sudden it's winter. But the house didn't get any colder than usual; it's starting to look like this old house is pretty winter-worthy, even though only half insulated so far.

I quickly shovel the 2 inches of light powder from the driveway, then start on a new house project. The plan is to rearrange the kitchen, putting a better door where the south window is now. So i spend today on prep work - get the sill fabricated and set in place, do preliminary measuring and cutting, and salvage some siding.

I still have insulating to get done, too, but feel the need to construct something - and to take a break from the distasteful tedium of insulating.

0108

I have accumulated some oddball bits of stuff that can neither be composted nor burned, enough to fill a breadwrapper. So I walk it down to the road; give the Waste Management folks another shot at doing their job.

It's turning colder, and I'm a bit unsure of relying upon only wood for heat. So I take to the basement to try to fix the furnace which I screwed up back in September. I can get the pilot light to ignite, but I still can't get the wiring corrected so that the controls will turn the gas burners on. After a few futile efforts with various configurations, I give up and go back to insulating upstairs. Looks like I'll have to rely on wood heat alone.

I go down late afternoon to get the mail, and see the breadwrappered garbage still lying there. So much (again) for Waste Management.

0107

December in the north woods, and I'm surviving so far. Not that I know what I'm doing. In fact, I keep thinking that maybe that's the good news here: If an inexperienced rum-dum like me can do this, probably anyone else can, too. The implosion of the industrial house of cards will be hard at first, but folks will survive, if they put their minds to it.

I've been keeping busy working on the house: running new wiring upstairs while I have the sheetrock removed, then insulating (one stud space at a time) and then replacing the sheetrock, taping and mudding. I'm about half done on this phase with the upstairs rooms.

But today I direct my attention to seeds. Before I can even start, I have to clear off my desk to make room to work, a project in itself. Then I begin - shelling, husking, separating out most of the chaff, and organizing them for next year: tomato, cucumber, cantaloupe, sunflower, etc. Doesn't seem like it should be a big job, but it turns into an all-day affair. I'm not sure what to do with half a grocery bag of chaffy sunflower seeds - are they even worth saving?

Then I crush and bottle the dried chamomile and savory for kitchen use. By this time, it's evening, and the presidential debate is on the radio. Of course, the couple candidates that sound good are the ones least likely to be nominated (sigh).

There's still some tidying up to do, but that will have to wait for another day.

0106

The snow has stopped, and today is brilliant and sunny, with 8 inches of sparkling new snow on the ground, very picturesque. I take my lightweight (hi-tech plastic) shovel, and dig in. It's warm - around 40° - so the snow is wet and heavy, but I have lots of energy, and in 5 hours or so, I have cleared the circle around the pump house with paths to each shed, and the entire 300 foot driveway. I wasn't sure I had it in me. Then dig out the truck, and drive it into the cleared circle. I have to clear a path for it, as its 2-wheel drive and light rear end doesn't generate much traction.

Needless to say, all this leaves me tired & hungry, and I thoroughly enjoy my hearty pork roast supper.

0105

A sombre dawn, with light drizzle, which soon turns to snow. The forecast on the radio is for cold weather, and for an all-day snowfall. Winter. The grey sky confirms this, so I work indoors, resuming the slow task of insulating the walls.

The tedium lends itself to a mood of meditation. It begins by asking why I'm using such a laborious method to do this work. Of course, I remind myself right away of the Amish model. And further, I call back to mind my original motives for pursuing this whole way of life: The link between paying U.S. taxes and material cooperation with tax-funded abortion. The desire to seek, as much as possible, a non-consumerist alternative to the Culture of Death. There is a connection between all that and kneeling on a hard floor insulating one handful at a time the walls of an old farm house. I just need to occasionally remind myself, that's all.

OK, enough meditating. How about singing some old hymns, or Johnny Denver songs, to pass the time?

0104

Another beautiful day - sunny, breezy. I chop & stack the wood from the trees east of the strawberries. That should be enough wood for now, so I cover the stack, and take a short breather.

Late afternoon, I cut down the oat and sunflower stubble in the front garden, and spade up most of that patch. In the process, I find enough missed potatoes, beets, and carrots for supper, plus leftovers.

My new truck plates have finally come. At the mailbox, I see Pat and promise her a couple pie pumpkins - she seem to appreciate and make good use of whatever I offer (and is probably much more efficient in the kitchen than I).

0103

This morning dawns bright, fair, & warm. Right away I begin chopping more wood, finally cutting and storing the last of the old oak. Then I start felling a couple more trees east of the strawberries, and cutting them up. Up to 60° by now, and I'm in a T-shirt, when Lenore drives up with her friend Brenda. Time for a break, anyway, so I show them around a bit.

I don't need a real hot fire tonight, so I try burning some of the pine that I took from the big down tree west of the driveway. It doesn't burn well by itself; the old oak is much better.

0102

Seasonably cool today, and cloudy - even a little rain off & on. I fetch a few pumpkins from the basement - some are starting to spoil already - and bake 5 pies.

The cellulose insulation I've purchased is typically blown in. But that's a two-man job, so would necessitate finding and coordinating - with no phone yet - someone to help, plus at least two trips to town to pick up and return the rented blowing equipment. The deliberate preference for simple and manual methods make this a pretty easy decision. I will take my time (I've got all winter), and do it all myself, and by hand. The question is: how?

I take a length of rope, pass it through two old pipe couplings for weights, then tie the loop in a good knot. I go up to the southeast room, where I have removed the lower portion of sheetrock on both outside walls. I kneel by the first stud space, and feed the rope into the void until it bottoms out at the foundation wall. I mark the rope at that point, remove it, and throw a few handsful of cellulose down the void. Then lower the rope, using the couplings to tamp lightly, then more cellulose, tamp, etc. I've never done this before, but the pattern is familiar: slow, methodical, boring, repetitive work. Eventually, the void is filled, and I move to the next one. The best part is, I know that the void is completely filled, and that the insulation hasn't bridged, and won't settle. I'm learning to appreciate slow, methodical, boring, repetitive.

0101

Sunny & warm today as I bike to church, and am genuinely inspired by the Mass, and homily on the virtue of a grateful heart. Some interesting conversation afterward as well, including with Larry & Linda, who then invite me to their home. End up staying over 4 hours, a very lively and Catholic experience. People need people, and I'm glad to have a couple new friends nearby.

0100

Have made good progress in cutting up that pile of old oak logs. Some of it rotten, but I pick around that.

I wake up this morning with a little queasiness, make some chamomile tea, and break a jar in the process - not a good way to start the day. And, since I finish the bread at breakfast, I have to get 4 loaves kneaded & rising before I finally get outside.

Getting close to the end of the oak, and have over 2 cords of good firewood chopped and piled for burning this winter. After finishing with this oak, I'll have to cut up the new trees just felled, and then keep going, so I can get wood to season for next year, too.

Indoors at dusk for supper and a good fire. A little too good tonight... to get a fast start, I overload the firebox with corrugated and dry sticks, and soon the fire is roaring so hard that the stovepipe starts to glow red. I hurriedly damper, and things settle down. I'm learning, I'm learning.

0099

No Mass at St. William's since it's not a day of obligation this year. As I pray Lauds, the clear and mild dawn promises more fine weather, but by the time I have the first load of laundry washed and ready to hang, the breeze is picking up, and it's turning colder. The clothes dry quickly in the stiff breeze, and soon small branches are coming down here & there. I haul the big pieces of wood out from where I'd cut them Friday, and split & stack them in the shed.

After Vespers, I bake six pumpkin pies from the big pumpkin cooked yesterday. While they're baking, I cut into the southeast bedroom wall upstairs, to begin insulating. By bedtime, the wind is still blowing fiercely, and it's beginning to precipitate (snow? sleet?) a little.

0098

Another perfect day weather-wise, but mentally I'm out of it.

I have only vague ideas on how to go about moving the coop. I procrastinate, mixing & moving the compost pile, and checking the truck's points. Then I decide to try something. So I dig more around the coop's perimeter, then sort of wrap the base of the coop with large poles, snugged tight with wire. I put a log chain on this frame, and try pulling with the truck. First time, the engine stalls. Next time I give it more gas, and the wheels spin uselessly. The coop hasn't budged; I guess that old shed has grown roots or something.

I quit early, taking a walk in the south woods to familiarize myself more with the land back there.

0097

Chilly nights, warm days - close to 60° today.

I muscle the outhouse across to a spot behind the garage, and fill in the hole. It has been unused for so long, there's no odor. Patch it up a little; maybe I can store things in there.

Spend the afternoon digging around the perimeter of the chicken coop. Clearing stuff out, I find an old, dried-up skunk carcass inside; apparently, this was the skunk's home. I'd rather house a few hens instead.

This will be a bigger challenge to move. 8' x 16', and the inside walls are plastered (!), so there will be some weight to deal with. I won't be able to muscle it, but maybe with a little help from my truck (what was I saying about good vs. bad technology?)... anyway, I'm willing to give it a try.

Speaking of the truck, it seems to be in running condition now. I'll want to use it on the road as well as for moving small buildings, so I put the title and plate applications in the mail.

0096

No, I'm no Luddite. I keep coming back to the Amish and Mennonites as role models. Not a rejection of technology, but a careful, critical selecting of only the best technology, that which is truly beneficial, and not just more wasteful gadgetry. I would really like to wean myself from the internal combustion engine; there's an example of poor technology, extremely wasteful. But I don't yet have the resources to keep a horse or donkey, and I don't know how else to haul stuff around.

So, after splitting and stacking more wood this morning, I spend some time changing spark plugs in the 'new' 1983 Toyota pickup, to get it running a bit more efficiently and reliably. Then back to the firewood, finally getting all the wood stacked from those tress felled last spring behind the strawberry patch.

Get my grass blade and hack down the wild, unruly raspberries and other brambles surrounding the unused outhouse and chicken coop. I would really like to expand the garden into this space; I wonder if I can move these two little structures back out of the way?

0095

It has turned cold; clear, with a north wind. I spend the day cutting and splitting wood, and laying it up in the shed. Late afternoon, the neighbor kids come over for Halloween pumpkins, and after supper the boys come back up to toss the football around until dark.

Got a FedEx package the other day from my old co-worker Paul: a floppy disk, some hardcopy, and a request for me to look at a database anomaly. Tonight, Kathy from church drives up to ask if I can help reassemble her computer after her move into town. I agree to both requests. Kinda weird; here I am, thinking people must view me as a Luddite. It would appear that they still see me as a high-tech go-to guy. That's the weird part: maybe both monikers fit.

0094

A damp, cloudy, chilly day. I pull out tomato and pumpkin vines, and do a little digging to get a jump on next year's work.

When it starts to rain, I pick through the tomatoes in the basement, tossing and cleaning up after the rotten ones. Finish shelling out the bean seeds for next year, kinda time-consuming. Another example of applying little garden techniques to a big garden, and I may need to re-think this, to become more efficient.

Between sprinkle showers, I spade some of the oat ground. Notice some lettuce and scallions still hanging in there, so I pick some to have with supper, just for fun.

0093

Busy with miscellany the past several days. Have finished laying the vapor barrier under the attic insulation; I will need to add insulation there and in the walls - probably my early winter project. Also need to start cutting firewood in earnest; have taken just a couple dead trees so far.

Rained some last night. This morning is cloudy but dry, so I bike to Mass, and meet a couple new people afterward: Ken, a computer teacher, and Larry, a fellow gardener and recent convert. The rain has picked up again, so I stay awhile in the empty church, a little visit with Jesus in the tabernacle, then bike home in a light mist.

For my dinner, I start in on the all-natural beef just purchased from a local farmer, and open my own first package of frozen corn.

Upstairs, I find that my seed-drying table has been discovered by hungry rodents. I can't fathom how little mice could manage to jump that high, or climb upside-down to get to the table top, but they obviously have found a way. A highway, by the look of things. Sunflower seeds nearly a total loss, as well as all my best watermelon seeds and garlic heads. (I'm sure I just read from some credentialed expert that no other animals will eat onions and garlic, but humans only!) Is there nothing a poor farmer can do to protect his hard-earned livelihood? I will have to put all the remaining seeds into hard containers, and invest in some mouse traps.

0092

Right away this morning I turn to the tomatoes brought indoors - cut & cooked all the ripe ones, yielding 10 quarts of juice. Then a quick trip into town, stopping at church where the parish nurse is on duty today. She looks at my red, itchy arms and tells me that, whatever I have, it's not scabies, or anything like that. Well, I'm glad to learn that much - no apparent connection, then, to my constant grubbing in the earth. May just have to let this run its course.

More errands, phone calls, etc., and a stop at Lenore's for a burger, and to help winterize her place a bit.

Back home, I find 9 of the 10 quarts have sealed. I spend the evening installing an inexpensive ceiling fan to circulate the warm air in my main room. (My bed, stove, and desk are all in this 'dining room'; most of this big house stills contains little else but boxes, tools, and construction material.)

0091

It has turned cold, and frozen hard. The growing season is at an end.

I wake up cold in the wee hours, re-start the fire, and go back to bed until dawn.

Start the day's work by laying about 30% of the vapor barrier down under the attic insulation, a dusty job, moving the cellulose insulation to one side, then laying the plastic down, then moving the insulation back, in the cramped space of the attic.

I run out of plastic, and go outdoors, where the air is fresh and the day has turned sunny and warm - close to 60°. I dig all the rest of the potatoes and carrots from the south garden. Dig the 'experimental' potatoes, too - planted with seeds from a couple potato berries in last year's city garden. One hill looks like an interesting genetic combination - the potatoes are a soft, pink color. They're pretty small, but, having started from seed, they didn't have the good start that those planted from tubers had. I'll save these as seed potatoes, and see what they yield next year.

I put these and the carrots away in containers of sand, and lay an old door down on blocks to serve as a shelf for the green tomatoes to ripen indoors.

0090

Six months since I purchased this place -- am I glad I did? I survey the garden and consider how I've succeeded in harnessing this small piece of the untamed wild. The sobering news is that our industrial, Waste Management mode of consumerism is doomed to implode. The good news is that if an inexperienced boob like me can wrest a livelihood bare-handed from the earth, anybody else can, too. All that is required is proper motivation, which, I suppose, will be provided by the inevitable implosion. I'm a futurist of sorts; folks will learn to live the plain life when they have to so learn. And when the general implosion occurs, folks won't have to go solo like this; the whole society will be in the thing together, with each one able to contribute his particular talent. Not to say that it will be easy, but, after a few lean years, I think post-industrial life might be rather pleasant. (If I had a beer in my hands, I would now take a swallow, heave a sigh, and say, "Ya, ya ya".)

I finish pulling corn stalks in the south garden, chop the oat/grass area, and make a compost mound. Pick a few nearly-ripe tomatoes. Turning very windy and colder; a frost warning for tonight, but I don't believe it; it's too cloudy for frost, so I don't cover anything up.

Have washed clothes several times in the past week, a time-consuming task with the wringer washer and outside clothesline. And hot baths every night, with whole-body OTC scabies medication, trying to eliminate the itching.

Finally receive a reply from D.O.T. to register the truck, but there's a complicated fee schedule for farm vehicles, and something about getting a temporary plate first. Does this bureaucratic maze have a purpose? Makes a guy almost hanker for the implosion.

0089

Experiencing a lot of itchiness lately. Have I picked up something from working with the earth so much? I've been quite conscientious about bathing every evening, and washing bedsheets and clothes often. Anyway, today is a nice autumn day, so I wash laundry and hang everything to dry.

Spend the bulk of the day digging potatoes, washing them and setting them on a screen to dry before storing them down in the basement. Bring the laundry in when clouds move in, then back to digging. Cut up and cook a bunch of softening apples for sauce.

Wander about in the woods close to the house this evening. The fall colors fill the air with loveliness.

0088

Quite warm today - upper 60's, I think. I weed the strawberries a bit, and pick another box of green tomatoes to ripen inside. Pick enough green beans for supper plus 2 portions in the freezer, but many plants are dead now. The garden work finished, I install some wiring in the garage, including prep work for an outside outlet.

On the south side of the garage, the bees catch my attention. They're busy in this mild weather storing up for their winter larder. The incessant departures and arrivals from the landing board, like a busy airport. I make myself comfortable, content to just sit and watch their industry for awhile. But something else today. Those two bees appear to be wrestling! Is an intruder being dealt with here? I move closer for a better look. No danger of getting stung as long as I move smoothly and don't threaten the hive. I'm just another immobile object around which they easily fly.

The smaller bee is an ordinary worker. I slowly realize that the larger one is not exactly an intruder, but a drone, and this hive is his home. Or it was. Apparently, he's being evicted; winter is coming and all useless eaters must depart.

The drone is bigger and stronger than his adversary, but she has a tight grip on one of his wings, so that he can't escape, and her weight and tenacious hold is vexing him. She has managed to get him this far, outside onto the landing board, and is struggling mightily, tumbling him as best she can toward the edge. Finally she succeeds, and they drop down to the grass, still gripped in struggle. Up onto a tiny twig he climbs, clumsily and with great difficulty, but she tumbles him, and, losing his hold on the twig, they both fall. Up and down, tumbling and wrestling this way and that, she drags him one centimeter at a time away from the hive. Finally, he manages to climb up a blade of grass where another blade crosses over laterally. With tremendous exertion, he climbs upward, where the lateral blade blocks his opponent's path, and she is forced to lose her grip on his wing. In a flash, he's up in flight, and back into the hive, where, I suppose, another worker will serve eviction again, until he is finally gotten rid of.

Such pathos! Such tragedy and comedy! Such life-and-death drama!

(Sigh) Meanwhile, I have work to get done before I rest tonight.

0087

The signs were there, so I covered the good tomatoes yesterday. And it did indeed frost last night, enough to kill most of the squash, pumpkin, watermelon, beans, and unprotected tomatoes. 2nd planting peas still look OK.

I decide to tackle those plumbing vents. While on the roof to cut the hole and put the flashing piece in, the chimney and roof cry out for some attention. So I tuckpoint the chimney a bit, and black cement the worn-thru tabs on the south slope. Worse than it looks like from below; I should re-shingle soon, at least the south slope.

Before calling it a day, I gather some of of the nicest green tomatoes from the dead vines.

0086

It still hasn't frosted, so I've been getting a steady supply of beans, broccoli, and tomatoes to put up for winter. Have spent some time in the basement, too, getting the grey-water drains connected. I still have to put the plumbing vent through the roof sometime before winter.

Discovered late yesterday that my bike's front tire is shot. So, since I have to use the car to get to Mass today, I take a trip into town, attend 10:30 Mass at St. Francis, and pick up the crippled bicycle I kept at Lenore's place, to use in fixing the reparable one. I also pick up more plumbing supplies, and run into Clyde, who has a good used bathroom sink to sell. Clyde is also willing to come out and help me insulate (which I should do soon). Then I stop on the way back home to see about buying a 2nd-hand well pump. A pretty productive trip. Never like to drive to town for just one thing.

Towards dusk, I tramp back into my woods, and almost get lost again. I still don't know my way around back there.

0085

I don't think it got much colder than 40°, but there'll probably be frost before long now.

I need to lay up a good supply of firewood. Having already felled a couple trees with my ax, I'm confident that I can do this, and become more proficient with practice. But I should have good tools. So I drive into town, get some household supplies and plumbing fittings, and buy a good ax with a fiberglass handle, and a small electric chainsaw.

0084

The sun has come back out today, so I put thoughts of the furnace behind me (for now), and take to outdoor work. Dig potatoes, pick green beans, tomatoes, 2nd crop peas. Take most of the sunflowers to hang-dry inside the garage, but have lost over half the seeds to varmints already - just another thing that has gotten away from me.

Warm and sunny enough to make the rainwater almost bath-warm, but by late afternoon the temperature is plummeting, so I throw a tarp over the tomatoes by the garage, in case it frosts tonight.

By 9:30 pm, it's down to 46°.

0083

The monsoon continues - rained off & on all night, and continues today, so I'm in the basement tinkering with the furnace's electrical system.

I'd like to heat solely with wood this winter, but this is a pretty big house, and I'm not sure how well one stove in one downstairs room will work. My idea is that maybe I can override the automatic furnace controls and use its blower and ductwork to move warm air throughout the house. After studying and rearranging the wiring, I succeed in getting the blower to come on without firing the furnace. Then I put things back the way they were. Or, at least, I try. ("The red wire was attached to this screw, right? Or was this black wire connected over here? Oh, my.") Now I'm confused, and I can't get the furnace to come on automatically with the thermostat.

You know, maybe I was counting on this furnace more than I was admitting to myself. I had a few fires going back in April and May, but that was pretty mild weather. Goofing up my furnace like this kinda has me worried, to be honest. Can I do this? Can I keep this old house heated through a whole northern winter, using just wood and a single wood stove? Well, if I can't get the furnace running again, I'll be forced to answer that question the hard way.

0082

The old car is fine, and the Harvest Festival is a thoroughly positive experience -- a gloriously sunny day, I sell all my veggies except for a few pumpkins & squash, and net about $100. I even see lots of old Duluth friends, and make a few new ones.

Lenore comes with a friend, and then rides back to her place with me. We share a nice supper, and I drive back home after dark, by which time it's chilly and raining.

0081

Cool weather, no bugs. Work a long day, getting vegetables ready to take to Harvest Fest: dig & wash potatoes, beets, carrots. Pick a few cucumbers and summer squash, and even pick the rest of the 1st & 2nd planting of sweet corn. Most of this is too hard & dry to eat, so will become seed for next year, but a few may be salable. Pick underripe tomatoes, too, to save them from the gopher or whatever has been eating them, but will not sell them. The Tercel is packed & ready, hope she makes the trip OK.

0080

Rained all night, but cleared up right after dawn to another breezy day. I finish organizing the garage, and put the roof back on the pump house -- very pleasant to work outside and not be eaten by bugs.

I pick all the corn I can find and spend all evening cooking, cutting and freezing, over 20 pounds of kernels. Guess I'll be eating corn this winter.

0079

Spent Friday morning cleaning & organizing some more and baking some quiche and apple pie. Phyllis, Ray, & Mom came around midafternoon. Phyllis & Ray stayed in the Stockade Motel in town, while Mom stayed out here with me. Too wet & foggy for sight-seeing, but they seemed to enjoy seeing my old homestead and hearing of my plans for it, tramping through the woods, picking veggies, sitting around, talking about family & religious matters as well as farm life, a good family experience. On both Friday & Saturday night, Mom & I played rummy till bedtime. And not a word of complaint about my primitive accommodations; she's a humble lady.

Sunday, I drove Mom to town where we met Phyllis & Ray, then to Lenore's for Mass and french toast after. Then they drove back to Mankato with some veggies in their trunk, and I came back home, too.

Today I occupy myself with various things. Clean out the extra shed for some firewood storage. Start chopping up some of the old oak logs that have been lying outside for years, discarding the real soft parts.

Decide to open up the bee hive, and extract by hand a small amount of honey - about 3 pounds of nice, light honey. Should really find an extractor to do a better job.

Pick carrots and corn for supper, and freeze 4 portions of corn. The 2nd planting is starting to get overripe now.

0078

Picking stuff for my table, I find a couple more tomatoes damaged by a raccoon or skunk. This was rarely a problem in the city garden.

I cut away the leaky pipe joint, and re-do it with new fittings, then pressurize the system. This time everything looks good, so I go ahead and hook up the one-pint SeaLand toilet. Seems to work OK - for now, it's just running into a covered bucket in the basement. Putting in a composter will be next.

Phyllis, Ray, and Mom are still planning on coming up tomorrow, so I spend the rest of the day cleaning and organizing the house - as much as this construction zone can be cleaned and organized.

0077

Another beautiful day. After Lauds & breakfast, I patch the privy roof, then make a list of all my errands, and drive into town. I deposit the savings bond from Dad, and buy plumbing fittings and other supplies, then to Lenore's. I use my city bicycle from her place to run a few more errands, including to D.O.T. to register the truck. But walk-in citizens are punished (you have to pay an extra fee for them to take your money) and these Wisconsin employees refuse to disclose policy details, so I will have to do this via mail, I guess.

After lunch with Lenore, I use her phone to call about buying beef from a local farmer, and look into possibly selling produce at the Harvest Festival in a few days. Also pick the brains of a couple plumbing guys about the circulating hot water idea.

0076

Warm and breezy, a gorgeous autumn-like day, so I take to the strawberry patch to do some weeding, down on all fours. This is a very slow task, and I let my thoughts drift where they will.

I remember the John-Denver-like character we met in Kentucky a few years ago, and his story of turning from a career as an investment broker to become a plain Mennonite farmer. As neither he nor his family had been raised to the plain life, his deliberate aim was to retain a modicum of comfort via creative but humble means. With this in mind, he tapped into a natural spring on the opposite side of the holler, piped the water down to the bottom, where a ram pump pushed a percentage of it up to a tank uphill from his house, spilling the excess into the creek at the bottom. From the tank, he ran more pipes back down to his house, thus achieving water pressure in his house without running an electric pump. Then he ran a pipe through his wood-burning stove, and stored this hot water in an insulated tank in his attic. So, without burning gas or oil or electricity, he had hot & cold running water. I was quite impressed, both with the ingenuity of his system and with the reasonable principle from which he proceeded.

I can still picture him, sandy hair, wire-rim glasses, as he showed us the stove with the built-in water plenum. He had learned to be careful to temper the hot water with cold, laughing as he exclaimed, "Hot? Lemme tell you, son, that water'll blister yer hide!". He even sounded like Johnny Denver.

Newly inspired, I take a piece of scratch paper and start mapping out a fairly simple way to run some pipes to heat water with my wood stove in the winter, and with an attic (solar) tank in the summer.

Back to the garden. I pick green beans, chard, broccoli, and sweet corn, most of which I freeze. I plant a few apple seeds in the back yard and in the meadow across the driveway.

0075

Have been busy picking green beans, sweet corn, and other fresh veggies, sharing with neighbors, and freezing for winter. Also working on the house plumbing when I can fit that in. There are so many holes in the walls and ceilings that I rarely have to break more sheetrock to gain access.

Today it's cloudy and threatening more rain, so I'm making good progress. I finish roughing in the cold water lines (all soldered copper) and connect to my rigged-up pressure tank downstairs. I set up the large garbage can to draw water from, and turn the pump on, pressurizing the whole system. All the soldered joints appear sound -- except the least accessible one: an elbow or coupling near the floor leading to the bathroom sink. Try to re-solder, but that doesn't work, and I don't have enough fittings on hand to do it over. Aaaargghhh!

So I start to question myself. Why am I even putting plumbing in? Maybe I should just be humble and live plainly like the Amish, do it all the simple way. Wasn't that the ideal to begin with? Well, I'm not going to burn gas driving into town for a couple little plumbing fittings, so this project will have to be postponed (and maybe never resumed?)

The rain has stopped, so I go outside, and dig a nice mess of new potatoes for supper.

0074

The fog lifts mid-morning for a warm sunny day. I gather cucumbers, squash, and apples, and drive to the 4-Corners store. But now Tracy says he guesses he's not ready to sell vegetables. So I come back home, load the folding table and a few other things, and drive to the Duluth farmers' market once more. Apples sell well, other stuff so-so. I guess marketing this stuff won't be quite as easy as I may have supposed.

Back to Superior, distribute the remaining veggies free to Lenore, her neighbors, and Keith & Dave. Supper with Lenore, exchange books at the library, then back home after dark.

0073

Rained hard Sunday night, and kept it up most of the day yesterday and through the night again. I worked indoors, routing more electrical wiring.

Finally it stops raining this afternoon, the sun showing his face. I pick some green beans, and dig potatoes and carrots for sale at the corner convenience store tomorrow, and take some chard and broccoli for my own table.

Now it's foggy and misty again. Such a wet year!

0072

Have enjoyed sweet corn at its peak the past couple days. In addition to garden work, I've started to route new upstairs wiring through the bathroom floor while that's ripped up.

Awake this morning while it was still dark; Morning Prayer at dawn. Even though the sky is overcast, I ride the bicycle 18 miles to town. No rain, and it's a pleasant ride. I even have time to partially mow Lenore's lawn before attending 9:30 Mass with her at Cathedral parish.

Brenda, another new friend of Lenore's, joins us for breakfast. We have a leisurely visit, I finish the lawn, then Lenore feeds me lunch. I throw the bike into the back of the Tercel and drive back home, so now I have both vehicles here.

0071

I pull some more onions and do other garden chores, but it's threatening rain again. After some indecision (I'm certainly not the decisive executive type), I drive to town, buy some plumbing and electrical supplies, and buy the '82 Toyota. I leave the Tercel at Lenore's house, and drive the truck back home, without plates.

0070

Spent yesterday in town with Jack and Lenore, and, among other things, I looked at that '82 Toyota pickup, and am pondering whether or not to buy it. It won't get the same gas mileage as the Tercel, and that's an important consideration. But I've been hauling all kinds of stuff with the Tercel as if it were a truck, and I think its days are numbered. And if I need a truck to do what I'm doing, better a Toyota or Datsun than a big Chevy or Dodge.

Today is another chilly, dreary day, raining off & on all day. I bring some veggies to the corner store, they meet Tracy's approval, and he buys them.

The tomatoes are very thick and verdant, but are way behind schedule in producing ripe fruit. Oats growing nicely, but my methods for hand harvesting are very inefficient. Potatoes now ready to be dug en masse, sweet corn is almost ready to pick, green beans continue to produce well, several little watermelons getting big, and lots of pie pumpkins, including a few that appear to be almost ripe. Apples are ripening nicely, I should pull the onions and beets soon, and carrots any time... So the garden is entering the heavy harvest stage, with some successes and some disappointments.

0069

Cool & windy, and I have to bike hard against the wind to make it to Mass on time. Stop at the new convenience store on the way home to call Lenore. She tells me that our friend Jack from Milwaukee will be in town on Tuesday. Also call about a used bathroom vanity and an '82 Toyota pickup advertised for sale; maybe look at these items if I go to town to meet Jack. Before leaving, I ask Tracy, the store owner, about selling vegetables through the store. He's willing to give it a try.

Shortly after arriving back home, it starts raining heavily. Good timing. So I spend the day reading and relaxing, and retire early.

0068

The past few days comprise a life chapter, an event around which I will relate lesser happenings. Dad's funeral drew a vast throng of old friends, neighbors and relatives, including many joyful reunions between folks who hadn't seen each other in years. Heard and retold the story of Dad's sudden collapse just as he was about to go pick tomatoes. (At 91, Dad was still a farmer; his tomatoes have been bearing for several weeks already.) Except for a couple teary moments in front of his casket, I couldn't feel sad. Dad is still my main hero, and I'm as proud of the way he died as of the way he lived.

Arrived back home last night around dusk.

---

Dad appears to have carried out my little prayer request: a morning tour of the garden reveals no noticeable deer damage to corn, tomatoes, etc., except for maybe a few missing cucumber leaves. Looks like we got some weather here during the week, signs of plants tousled by wind & rain, but no damage that I can see, and today is cool, dry, and sunny.

I weed some here & there, and pick a wide variety of veggies for my table. Run more water through the test pump and pressure tank, and take another rainwater sit-down bath, back to my home routine.

0067

Cool, but sunny & dry as I bike to church and back home. Wayne, Pat and grandkids are enjoying the moderate weather out on their deck, the radio music wafting all the way up to my place. After lunch, I go out to pick raspberries, since I didn't do so before Mass. I'm almost done when I hear someone knocking on my back door. I hadn't heard a car drive up. I look up; it's a squad car. I holler from the garden, and walk to the house.

The officer greets me: "Mr. DePyper?"

"Yes."

"Your wife wants you to call her right away."

"Oh, geez, now what?"

"There's no message, except to call her... Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"No, that's OK. I guess I can call from the neighbor's phone. I know they're home."

The patrol car backs down the driveway and on his way, while I follow on foot, then cross the road. The radio has been turned off, and everyone is looking in my direction as I approach. I call out, "Say, Pat, could I please use your phone for a minute?"

"Why, sure, Jerry. Come on into the house."

Several faces still looking intently at me as I walk up the steps. Justin blurts out, "You weren't coming to complain about the loud music?"

"Is that why you're all staring at me?" I laugh as I see how it must have looked to them. "No, I didn't call the cops on you! But I do need to make a phone call."

Justin breathes a sigh of relief, and I'm still chuckling as Pat leads me inside, hands me the phone, then goes back outside. "Talk as long as you want," she calls back.

"Thanks." I dial Lenore's number, and wait for her to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's me. What's up?"

"Oh, your sister Phyllis just called me, because she didn't know how to get ahold of you. So I called the police; I know they do that sort of thing."

"Well, yes, you're right, and here I am. Now, what's up?"

A pause. "Honey -- your father passed away suddenly this morning."


"Oh."


Nothing much to say after that. No, it's better that I call Mom myself. Yes, I have a calling card with which to make the call. Yes, I'm pretty sure the Toyota will make the trip. And, can you be ready to leave right away in the morning? Then I say good-bye, hang up and go back outside.

Derek and Justin are throwing the football back and forth. I'm walking back toward the road when I hear Derek shout, and turn my head just in time to catch his pass to me. As I do so, Justin takes off and breaks to his left. I give him the perfect lead, and he catches it in stride. Now Derek breaks, and Justin rifles it to him. Justin asks what the phone call was about. I catch Derek's pass, throw it back and say, "My Dad just died."

"Oh."

I ride my bike to the public phone in the park and call Mom. Then back home, and pack a few things for the trip to Mankato.

---

It's a Catholic thing. I'm loathe to leave my garden untended for several days while I'm away. So, I call upon the most logical person for help - my Dad. This is where the Communion of Saints really comes in handy. Probably Dad's first prayer request:

"You know, Dad, how much I was looking forward to showing you my little farm. Well, here it is. Not much, I'll grant, but it's all I've got. And I need you to watch over it for a few days while I go to your funeral. Keep those pesky deer from eating all the sweet corn while I'm gone, OK? And -- thanks, Dad."

0066

Pick another pint or so of raspberries, and some green beans, then another little rainstorm, so I eat lunch and rest a bit.

Take the new one-pint toilet out of its box. I realize I need to ask a couple more questions about installing this before I start. The contrast strikes me again: this is state of the art stuff here. Like the Amish, I appreciate good technology, but reserve the right to reject the bulk that isn't so good.

Along with other veggies, I pick a few first ears of sweet corn for supper. Tastes yummy, but will be even better in just a few more days.

Another bath in the real tub. I could get used to this.

0065

After some early morning garden work, and experimenting some more with the rigged up pump, I start mowing the grass. First the grassy driveway, then the area behind the sheds, when it starts to rain, forcing me to quit (twist my arm, Lord, to make me stop mowing!), and come back inside around 3:30. Early supper, then struggle with the bathtub drain, and actually get it all connected this time with no leaks.

A break in the rain lets me go pick a few peas, which I have with some new potatoes for a late meal. Then carry some sun-warmed rain water up to the tub, and take a real sit-down bath. And at a flip of the lever, the water runs out and down to the drain field. With no leaks. More progress!

More thunder and rain after dark. Is it just me, or is this an especially rainy summer?

0064

Time to wear a new hat; today I'm a retailer.

I pick raspberries, potatoes, beets, carrots (from thinnings) and green beans. Clean these up a bit, pack them along with the small folding table & chair, and drive to the afternoon market in Duluth. Deb welcomes me warmly, and introduces me to the market format. A pleasant afternoon of comradery with the other growers and the fluctuating stream of customers. I sell everything except six beets and most of the potatoes. Not bad for a rookie.

A stop at Lenore's, give her the beets and some of the spuds, mow her lawn, and have supper with her, driving home after dark.

0063

A cool morning, heavy dew, as I pick 1½ quarts of raspberries and pollinate two more pie pumpkin blossoms. Watermelons are swelling nicely.

After a quick potato-and-egg lunch, I tear into the used well pump purchased for $10 over a week ago. It's seized solid with rust and non-use, but I manage to get it freed up. Rig it up with a bucket in the basement, and run a bunch of water through to clear out the rust & crud. I'm satisfied with this small progress -- now I should be able to install plumbing and pressure test the water lines. With luck, the rust may eventually clear up, and I may even be able to use this to pump from a well and provide house water pressure. And all from a castoff piece of salvage. I do take pride in reclaiming old stuff; this whole farmstead is another example of that.

Use a little insulation and good ol' duct tape to mend the $20 freezer, and start it up. Blanch 4 double bags of green beans, and put them in to freeze, plus this morning's raspberries, a big double bag of apple slices from windfalls, and a handful of blanched broccoli.

A soft rain has been falling all evening.

0062

Pick more beans after church, then a quiet day, resting and reading.

The other day, Pat mentioned that she thought Delia used to have asparagus growing next to the house, on the east side. In the cool of the evening, I go out to stretch my legs, and look. For several years, Wayne has used his riding mower to keep the lawn from getting too wild. But he never mowed up close to the house, so it's now a mass of tall grass, taller than me, unruly bushes, and other stuff which sweep against the windows. I really need to get in there sometime and clean things up. Meanwhile, I can't remember seeing any asparagus...

I nose around a bit, brushing the tall plants aside so I can see down to the ground. Nothing here. Maybe over closer to the corner. No, nothing here, either. Wait a minute - what's this stuff I'm brushing back out of my face? Well, I'll be darned - it's an asparagus fern! And there's another - and another, and another! From their size, they look pretty healthy, too. So much for my powers of observation. I'll have to remember this little gift patch next spring.

0061

Hot & muggy. Very hot & muggy. I poke around with various garden chores. Plant a few beets for possible wintering, as seed plants next year. I see my first sunflower blossom, and some ears of corn nearly ripe enough to pick. Tried cooking some dehydrated beans along with fresh veggies - not very impressed with their texture or taste, but they're food, and would do in a pinch.

After lunch, I rest a bit, then start to assemble the tub and sink drains. A thunderstorm breaks out while I'm doing that, cooling things off. The rain comes softly now. Good.

0060

No storm, still humid and hot. I wake early, pick a quart of raspberries, and a bushel of beans. Drive to town, give Lenore the beans and raspberries, plus some potatoes, onions, lettuce and carrots.

My errands today include picking up the double tee at Hardware hank, and calling Deb, the manager of the farmers' market over in Duluth. I may as well start getting a little income from the garden's bountiful output.

Back to Lenore's place for the feast, then back home after dark.

0059

A few watermelons are beginning to swell. 2nd pea patch is germinating. A couple more Yukons from Lenore's peelings are coming up, but the others seems to be dead, so I plant some more peas in that spot. The onions pulled a couple days ago seem OK, so I hang them up in the garage.

I dig a few new potatoes, and consider, with satisfaction, how this is really working out OK. Some setbacks, but the whole industrial world could implode, and I would survive quite nicely, wouldn't I? Then I look at the potato fork in my hands, a gift from my Dad. This implement was made in a factory. Would it work to dig potatoes with a stick? And how would I fashion the stick, with no ax or chisel? OK, so I cannot follow my idea to the extreme. The Amish principle again comes to mind: draw a line, and don't cross it. Thus far, and no farther.

I dine sumptuously as usual on veggies and berries, but am running low on eggs and bread. Maybe a trip into town tomorrow. It's hot and muggy; thunderstorms predicted for tonight.

0058

The storm passed in the night, and the new day dawns sunny & bright, and less humid. The second planting of corn is flattened, but the 1st & 3rd plantings are mostly OK. The oats are down, but should recover. I pick over a half bushel each of green beans and windfall apples. Keep a handful, and give the rest to the neighbors. Patch the roof, using fiberglass screening as a membrane to make it last longer.

0057

After the morning bike ride to church, I pick lots of veggies for my lunch, and listen to the ball game as I scrub, cook, and eat. Several broadcast interruptions warn of severe weather coming. After Vespers, the storm looks imminent, so I gather some rhubarb to cook up with a few windfall apples while it rains.

The wind picks up a little before 7:00, and I step out the back door to watch. I guess I inherited this habit from my Mom. While others would scurry for shelter, Mom would go outside, and me with her, to look at the show. And what a show! I stand in drop-jaw awe at the tremendous power - the clouds roiling above like a big pot of oatmeal, the trees swaying like grass. I can't do anything but stand transfixed, take it in, and know how small I am.

I know this means much work for me, and loss (sigh). The sweet corn is probably demolished, most of the apples will be on the ground, and this may have re-opened that hole in the roof near the chimney. Will have to assess further damage tomorrow. Right now, I can't feel anything but excitement and wonder.

The rain starts to come harder now, while the winds diminish. The worst is over, and the tornado threat appears to be past. I go back indoors, my clothing a little wet, my hair tousled, my heart calm. It's getting dark, and the power is out, so I can't cook my fruit sauce.

0056

After an early lunch, I start installing the drains for the bathroom - looking forward to taking a real, sit-down bath soon. But the crucial, newly purchased double tee fitting is cracked, and I remember this was the last one in stock, so I can't do anything - Aaaaargh!

I take a look at the shopper ads, and decide to bike 3/4 mile to check out a neighbor's garage sale. I find several useful items, including a stainless steel kitchen sink. Use his phone to order another double tee. I'll come back with my car for the big items.

Check out another ad within biking distance. Here's a young man, used to be a preacher, then a teacher; now he's building a farmstead from scratch with, as much as possible, used lumber and other materials. We talk for over an hour about sustainable farming, non-consumerism, and he tells me about his goat, chickens, and ideas. A breath of inspiration.

0055

A violent wind during the night flattened much of the sweet corn, so I spend some time this morning propping the worst areas up. I notice that the perimeter plants didn't fall, so maybe my thick planting technique leaves the inner plants with a structurally weaker root system. I'm just guessing; this is another example of learning on the job, and learning by trial and error.

Speaking of which, I need to teach myself how to fell a tree, don't I? There's no time like the present, and those two maple trees beckon...

I take my 'new' ax to the site and scope the situation. This first tree, while mostly upright and balanced, seems to maybe lean a bit to the south. If I can get it to fall just a bit to the west of south, it should miss that big fir tree, and also miss the garden. I've seen this done. I guess I start by making a big wedge cut on the side where I want the tree to fall, in this case in a south-southwesterly direction.

Right-handed, I stand west of the tree, about an ax handle away from its center. If I were a baseball batter, home plate would be on the ground, butting up against the trunk. I take a few swings, just as if I were swinging at a low pitch. I swing harder, and the chips fly. But sometimes my clumsy swing doesn't bite at all. I break a sweat, and am soon winded. Whew! This is harder than I thought!

OK, Jerry, take a break, and think about this. As with most menial jobs, this one is going to require a good, steady pace. Try not swinging so hard. You're not trying to hit a home run; just put the ball into play.

I go back at it, letting the weight of the ax head do most of the work. My job is to control the angle, so that the head will bite, first down and then up, and cut one good chip at a time. After awhile, I'm hitting a rhythm. Swing. Choke up with my right hand to make the backswing easier. Then, sliding the right hand back down, another swing. Control, not power. Like so. The chips are flying just as nicely now, and I can keep up the pace. Soon, I have my wedge-shaped cut.

After another breather, I stand on the other side. Same thing, only this back side cut should be a couple inches higher. Swing, backswing, swing. Occasionally stop and check that my alignment is in the right direction.

I hear a light crack and think I see a barely perceptible leaning. Take a few more cuts. Another crack!, then another, and now the tree is definitely leaning in the direction of the first wedge cut. I stand back, watching. No more movement. So I take a few more swings. With a couple louder cracks, the tree begins to fall. I quickly stand back, and watch it slowly gather speed, and then break and fall with a heavy crash. I did it! Just like on "Bonanza" (only their trees were a bit larger).

I use the ax and bow saw to remove the smaller limbs. Next I'll have to learn the art of sawing into lengths and chopping into firewood chunks.

0054

My low-flush toilet arrived yesterday; will have to work on installing that when I can.

After my early morning pumpkin blossom / wild raspberry routine, I decide to mow my lawn again. Over 4 hours in 90-degree heat, I break a real nice sweat. Then pick more beans and peas for my table.

Ironically, the sweltering heat has me thinking of getting prepared for the cold weather, while I have the chance. I have my eyes on the two maple trees at the edge of the east woods, which shade the strawberries from the forenoon sun. So, I get that ax head that the boys found, sharpen it as best I can, and then rummage in the shed for an orphan handle. Find one the right size, but with a broken end. So I make myself comfortable with chisel, knife, and file, and shape the end to accommodate the ax head. Pound the head on, wedge it in place with some roofing nails, and, voilá! Take a few swings; it seems balanced. Getting too late to start tonight, so I call it a day.

0053

Overcast, but no rain. Hand pollinate two nice female pie pumpkin blossoms. Go through the wild raspberry patches on my normal route, getting drenched by heavy dew. Pick peas and green beans. The peas are waning, but I get 7 - 8 quarts of beans -- and that's just the beginning. Give some to the neighbor, save a bunch for supper.

Work some more on the plumbing. Quit early, and bring the dried beans in from the car, storing them in a jar. They look good; hope I've done this right, and they keep OK.

0052

A cool, cloudy morning as I bicycle to 8:30 Mass, using the refreshing shortcut through the park both ways. Back home, pick a variety of veggies to bake w/ chicken, and put a rack of beans out in the car, under the hatchback, to dehydrate.

I hear increasing buzz about Y2K, just a few months away, and I realize that I've inadvertently put myself in a quite enviable position here. I have all the means of survival, with or without the power grid or government props or industrial dependence. You could say I'm feeling pretty smug right about now.

A restful afternoon: with a soft rain falling, I write a long letter to my sister.

0051

The feast continues. I pick another batch of peas, a couple small heads of broccoli, and about 2 quarts of green beans, sooner than I had anticipated for the beans. I take some dry peas (missed picking when first ripe), and plant them for a second pea patch. I process most of the pickings for my winter larder, and still enjoy a bountiful supper.

I get the mail, which include letters from both Jean and Phyllis. Mom & Dad will be coming with Phyllis & Ray for the Labor Day weekend. My first guests! I'll especially enjoy showing my place to Dad, that old farmer. He can probably tell me all about those horse-drawn implements out on the knoll. Maybe these folks will even want to spend their nights here, so I'd better get to work on that plumbing soon.

0050

Another nice sunny day. I take advantage by washing laundry, then expanding the strawberry patch. I spade between the circles so that the strawberry plants can run and fill in the entire area. I also use cardboard as a mulch along one side to suppress the grass w/o digging.

I pick another mess of peas. I see little green beans forming - that harvest should start in a couple weeks. The feast has begun.

I love analogies and parables. As my garden bears fruit, it seems to be an excellent metaphor for civilization. It has taken hard work, and most of that work has involved acts of repression and even violence: digging up and uprooting living plants, and stopping them from growing back again. Keeping even the cultivated plants in order and in check. Someone unfamiliar with gardening might call me a control freak. Likewise, many voices today call for a liberal and uninhibited approach to life, scorning traditional mores as repressive. But, what is unfettered nature, really? I have only to look where I did not till and hoe. Pretty much choked with weeds, and not bearing much fruit.

Such are my thoughts as I shuck my peas for supper.

0049

The rain slowed and finally stopped this morning, so I pick some veggies - carrots & beets that needed thinning anyway, a couple onions, lettuce, and some windfall apples, and make a trip into town. Purchase plumbing fittings, including ordering a low-flush toilet for the composting system. Food and other supplies, stop at Lenore's, give her the fresh produce, mow her grass, make plans to build better steps and landing for her front door. A big meal at her table, of course. Back home late.

0048

Raining steadily as I rise, and it looks like an all-day storm, so after breakfast, I put together a nice, big batch of bread, and set it to rise. During a brief lull in the rain, I pick peas from the south patch, and some lettuce. Back in the house, shucking the peas with the radio on. Hear an appeal for sandbaggers over in Floodwood. Sounds serious. Should I drive 60-70 miles in the rain to see if I can help? Hurry to get the second rising done, and the bread baked, and finish processing the peas while that's going.

Now that I'm caught up, it's starting to sound like less of an emergency than an inconvenience to motorists. I'll find work to do around the house.

Another brief break in the storm this afternoon. Take the opportunity to go get the mail, and check on things in the wet and verdant garden. Mother Nature is certainly busy -- asparagus seedlings finally emerging, and the first pumpkin blossom (a lone female).

0047

A nice bike ride to church, stopping in the park again to view the waterfall. By the time I get back home, it's getting sultry outdoors, but fairly cool and comfortable in the house. So, I take life easy, write a couple letters, to Bob & Millie, and Phyllis. Tour the garden to stretch my legs, and I notice the first Yukon Gold potato emerging from Lenore's peelings. I still get a charge out of things like that.

The quiet of the day is assaulted at dusk: The Lord Himself provides a fireworks display with a dramatic thunderstorm.

0046

First harvest item this morning - a nice bucket of peas. Slow work, shelling them out, but the joy of anticipation makes it an easy chore. The net yield is over a quart of shelled peas, which I cook up, together with leftover chicken and potatoes, for my noon meal. I'll eat a portion, and freeze the rest, the beginning of my winter larder.

The first forkful takes me back to my family's garden when I was growing up. Store-bought peas are insipid compared with peas right out of the garden - so tender and sweet, they practically melt in your mouth. You know, that helping of peas went down so easily, I think I'll have another small portion. Man, is that ever good! O, yes, I've got chicken and spuds here, too - better remember to eat a balanced meal. Well, maybe just another spoonful. It's not just the taste, is it? It's kinda like Gatorade, filling a deep-down body hunger. These things have got to be just bursting with vitamins and antioxidants and other stuff my system wants.

Let's see now, how much do I have left in the pot for the freezer? Huh! Imagine that - just half a cup or so. O, what the heck, I might as well eat those now, too. The winter larder can wait a few more days.

0045

Another full night's rest. Good investment, that mosquito net.

I spend most of the morning on the electrical service. Derek and Justin come over after lunch for some more ball. Later they watch from a safe distance as I open the bee hive and add the queen excluder and a honey super. Touring the garden, I see that the deer have eaten some of the tomato blossoms, so I stake the plants and attach some plastic flags to perhaps spook the deer.

The closeness to nature that I'm experiencing isn't exactly what I had anticipated. The deer and mosquitoes and raccoons and thistles and nettles and ticks and quack grass all want theirs, and are eager to take it from my garden and my person. It is a closeness of competitive rivals, of a dog fight for survival. Each player has his strong suit, whether strength or speed or sheer prolificness, which he must try to finesse to his best advantage. I must employ my strength - my brain - to establish and maintain my place in the struggle.

0044

I sleep. I finally sleep.

I open my eyes at dawn to see, just a few inches above me, two mosquitoes whining and trying valiantly but in vain to get at me through the new netting. I smile at them benevolently and amusedly. With the threat of sting gone, their siren song isn't unnerving at all; it's almost comforting.

A cool, rainy morning, so I work inside, preparing for the bathroom drain placement, and, in the basement, preparing for breaker box installation.

The sun is out this afternoon, so I tour the wet, fresh garden. First tomato blossoms! Pea pods are swelling nicely, just a couple days from harvest. Derek and Justin come over to play some ball - a home run derby in my driveway. Life is good again.

0043

Good idea, poor execution. Last night's mosquitoes had no problem finding the gaps in the lace curtain, and entering my shoddy sanctuary, and I was awake again most of the night. This is starting to seriously erode my sanity.

No mood for Mass this morning - I drive to church, even though it's beautiful weather for a bike ride. Then drive to town, to the sporting goods store to buy real mosquito netting.

0042

A lone mosquito again singing her high-pitched siren just as sleep approaches. I want to cry. There's got to be something I can do about this. Then a novel idea: there is a door at the bottom of the stairway; what if I use the mosquito's own instincts against her?

I get up out of bed, stand at the bottom of the stairs, and wait. It takes awhile for the concentrations of H₂O and CO₂ in the air to change, and longer yet for her to track these concentrations to my vicinity. But, sure enough, the whining eventually wends nearer to me. When she approaches, I go up several steps. When she slowly follows, I go up higher. Finally, I'm standing in the upstairs hall, and she has ascended as well, meandering here and there, attracted to my warm blood. Then I make my move. I hurry down the stairs, close the door behind me, and get back into bed. I listen for several minutes, and hear nothing. I think I did it! What a genius!! Then I look at the clock - it reads 2:46 am.

That's how sleep deprivation works, isn't it? I must be teetering on the very brink. Should I cry now, or should I laugh hysterically?

---

I can't sleep with the sun shining in my face, so I'm up and in the garden, getting caught up with the weeding. I also transplant some tiny potato plants started from seed.

Back in the house, I'm looking at the old lace curtains on the front window, casting about desperately for a solution. I take the curtains down, put a few hooks in the ceiling above my cot, and drape the curtains over it as a makeshift mosquito net.

0041

It isn't that the house is overrun with hundreds of mosquitoes; there are usually just two or three that manage to find entrance at night. But it becomes unnerving; after swatting and slapping all day, I just want to take my evening bath, wash the itchiness away, and find some relief in sleep. That's what's unnerving: the sudden nocturnal bites at any hour wear me down and begin to affect my mental peace.

Tonight is no different. I lie in bed, letting the day's weariness carry me into drowsiness and beyond. My eyelids grow deliciously heavy as I approach the peace of slumber...

mmmrrrwwwrmmrrrwrrwrwrrwrrwrrwrrwwwrmmrrrwrrwwmrrrmmwrrwwmnrrwrwmmrrrw...

She's off in the next room, probably 20 feet from my bed. But I know how she navigates. Attracted by warmth, H₂O, and CO₂, she flies an erratic pattern, slowly closing in on the source, namely, me. I'm as helpless as a baby. The arched opening between rooms has no door. It's only a matter of time. I cannot sleep and I cannot ignore; I can only wait for the inevitable. The minutes crawl by, the high-pitched whining continues, waxing and ebbing, drawing ever nearer, until

rrrmwmrwrrwrwrrwrrwrwrrwwRRWRwrmrrwwwrrmwrrwwrrwrrrw...

she flies right past my left ear. Without rising, I reach for the bedside lamp. Adjusting to the light, my eyes finally pick her up. More time ticks by. Finally, she finds an exposed area on my left arm and lands. I wait a couple seconds for her to settle in, then, just as she prepares to stab me, slap! goes my right hand. Got her!

I'm exultant, triumphant, and relieved. How much time has passed? I glance at the clock. About an hour and a quarter. Well, that's OK, at least now maybe I can sleep. I turn the light off, roll over, find a comfortable position. It takes awhile for me to fully relax again, but eventually, my eyelids begin to grow heavy...

wrrrwmrrwrwwmrrwwrrwrrwrrwmrrrwrmwwmrrrmmrrwrmwrrwmwmmrrrwrr...

(Sigh) It's going to be another long night.

---

Manage to sleep a couple hours before the bright morning sun cruelly forces me to rise and greet the new day.

I try to catch up on some weeding, soon drenched with sweat. O, didn't I promise to cut Lenore's grass today? Have to run a few errands, too, so I drive into town early afternoon. When I get to her house, Lenore is already getting a meal ready. I ask if she's still using those bulk potatoes I got in March?

"No, dear; I bought these at Super One."

Lenore has to know by now how much I loathe any waste or lack of economy. I don't hide my irritation.

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted potatoes?!? I've got potatoes up the wazoo, ready to dig any time now!"

She ignores my grouchiness. "Well, these were on sale," she offers, "...and, anyway, I don't think you're growing this kind. They're Yukon Golds."

"Yukon Golds? Really?"

Much to her amusement, I start fishing in her compost for the peels, and find a handful that have healthy looking eyes. I bum a container to put them in.

---

Back home after mowing, lunch, and errands. I know just the spot, where peas failed to come up, just enough space for 6 or 8 Yukon Gold plants. If they sprout, it'll be a minor miracle, but you never know...

0040

The rainy weather continued, which meant more work indoors - upstairs bathroom walls, prep work, etc. - for the past few days.

Mercifully, today is sunny, warm, low humidity, and breezy. The rain barrel (50 gallon Rubbermaid trash can under the eave) is full. So I strain some rain water, fire up the wringer washer, and wash two months' worth of work clothes, etc. It's good to feel civilized again. I spend the afternoon and evening in the garden, addressing the flourishing weeds.

0039

Another rainy day (lots of those lately), so I'm working on things in the house. Mosquitoes love this climate, and have been getting into the house, so I'm trying to tighten up some of the decrepit and loose-fitting windows and doors. Many will have to be replaced; I'll start looking for second-hand windows for sale.

Planning the plumbing, too. I should be able to afford a composting toilet system, using a one-pint toilet upstairs, emptying into a Sun-Mar Centrex 2000 composter in the basement. Just have to figure out how to run my lines.

0038

The garden is looking more and more like a garden: long rows and beds of carrots, beets, onions, beans, peas, forming a quiltwork of rectangles in various shades of green, a very attractive geometry. The potatoes are making blossoms, indicating they are also starting to form little potatoes underground.

I will have to make some adjustments from my tiny garden in the city. For one thing, this soil is not nearly as rich. To compensate, I will not garden as intensively, but will have to learn more efficient techniques for husbanding a larger plot, and trying to build up the soil. Another difference is the climate; twenty miles from Lake Superior makes a big difference. Colder nights, warmer days, probably a shorter season from the last spring frost until the first autumn frost. But I can learn; I can observe and think and experiment and ask the advice of veterans. It's earth, and it gives life, and it is good.

0037

Received the price list that I recently asked for from the local wind generator company. I would dearly love to get off the grid, but - sheeesh! these prices are phenomenal. I manage to dig up my hand-written note from a few months ago, listing a few of the prices, and they've gone up about 30% in just that short period. The target clientele for this technology must consist of 1) those who have no choice, who have no access to the grid, and 2) rich folks.

As I recall from grade school history, the automobile was originally just the toy of the rich man. Henry Ford saw an opportunity and made a car which six-pack Joe could afford. The result was a technological and social revolution, a revolution we might have been better off without. So how about a wind generator revolution? Where's the Henry Ford of the wind generator industry?

0036

More thoughts on the Waste Management mentality, and its ideological opposite: In principle, it comes down to a difference between thinking in terms of a linear process ( the industrialized, 'Waste Management' mentality), and thinking in terms of natural, circular processes. Simply put, lines vs. circles. Here's the Waste Management schematic:

raw material -> process -> process -> consume -> waste

We stupidly measure our standard of living by how much we are consuming, and by how many jobs are being created by all the processes involved. But we cannot ignore the hard fact that there are problems with both ends of this linear method. We consume stuff that is often scarce and is not replenished, and we generate waste that must be forever banished from our world because it is often toxic and we can't or won't neutralize it.

The 'ism' part of consumerism is when this becomes our belief system, when we even more stupidly assume that this is the only way we can live, that human life must by definition be toxic and wasteful. And if we think this way, even subconsciously, we will begin to loathe our very lives, and we will begin to assume a collective death wish.

Herein lies the connection to the Culture of Death. We secretly cringe at the news of another baby (another hungry consumer), and we secretly rejoice at decisions to abort or to engage in sterile sex. Contraception, abortion, sterilization and population control measures are accepted because, deep down, we believe human life is the problem.

Here, by contrast is the natural, circular schematic:

material -> process -> use -> changed material -> process -> another use -> etc.

This ideological concept has practical, concrete ramifications for me, and provides a very real motivation. I must, as part of my focus, look for ways to live in a non-consumerist way, and so test for myself whether the principle underlying the Culture of Death can be dismissed. For example, rather than relegating the art of recycling to a special every-other-week extraordinary effort, the challenge is to incorporate the circular mentality into my everyday life, a complete lifestyle thing. That is what I must be attempting.

0035

A rainy day today, so I'm working indoors, tearing into areas where I intend to install some plumbing. I try to carefully remove and save for reuse as much of the old sheetrock as I can, but some is so decrepit already that it is beyond salvaging. It's messy and tedious work, but I try to look beyond the present mess, and envision the way it will be when it's all fixed up (still years off, I fear). I distract myself by singing Johnny Denver songs, hymns, or 'American Pie' (which is good for killing 10 or 15 minutes in one song). Talk to myself, sing to myself, full voice, who's going to mind? That's one of the perks of living back in the woods.

I take piles of the broken pieces and pitch them out the back door. Waste. Which gets me to thinking again about the Waste Management foolishness.

Now wait a minute. Think about what you're doing, Jerry. What is this stuff you're pitching? Old sheetrock. And what, exactly, is sheetrock? Gypsum sandwiched between two layers of heavy paper. And isn't gypsum used to sweeten sandy, acid soils like mine? Bingo.

So, between showers, I use the wheelbarrow to haul the pieces out to the grassy knoll west of the house, where I scatter them about, and smash the bigger chunks by dropping the sledge hammer here and there. This is more like it. In fact, this is exactly what I had in mind.

Again, I need to look beyond the present messiness, and see the future goodness: This gypsum given over to the elements of Nature, and Nature knowing what to do with it. Time will see the chunks crumble, soften, and return to the earth, enriching the cycle of Life. Yes, the broken, irregular pieces lying on the ground are pretty icky looking at the present, definitely not in the Waste Management style. But it's OK, and better than OK. It's as right as the rain that is beginning again to gently fall.

0034

Today is recycling day, so I put the same garbage out, but put those broken canning jars into the recycle container where they really belong.

I didn't actually see the Waste Management truck go by today, but I'm down by the road now to get the mail, and see that they picked up my neighbor's garbage, but have ignored mine again, and have also left the broken jars. Pat is out to get her mail, too, so I ask what's the deal here? She shrugs, "I don't think they like broken glass in the recycling."

So... Waste Management will manage only certain kinds of waste. First off, you have to be a true consumer, producing enough waste at a regular clip, so that they will remember to stop. And the waste must meet certain standards, too. Nothing icky allowed. Hmmm...

The real question may be, why am I buying into this? As a culture, we have so sterilized our lives that we think we must have all our refuse wrapped in individual plastic bags, hauled off to a landfill where it will be wrapped in more plastic, then shrouded within a layer of impervious clay so that all of our icky leftovers will be completely banished from our universe for ever and ever, amen. A select percentage of this refuse, meeting certain strict standards, will be recycled with much fanfare and self-congratulatory pride, as if recycling were not the ancient rule of nature, but something we moderns have ingeniously invented. I will henceforth refer to this whole silly attitude as the Waste Management mentality.

0033

Remembering the discovery made on last Sunday's bike ride to and from 8:00 Mass, this morning's ride took an alternate route: off onto the service road, around the service gate, and through the park campground area. This is a much better route, providing a more pleasant biking environment, and eliminating almost a mile of biking up and down a long hill, for my aging legs.

I check at the ranger station to make sure this is OK with them, and am told quite warmly that bicyclists are always welcome to use the park grounds, free of charge. Ah, that's more like it - a balm to my social humanity, and antidote to the sense of alienation.

On the return trip after Mass, I take more time to ride slowly here and there on the park trails, enjoying the rather spectacular vistas provide by Nature, and made more accessible to this poor man by the commonwealth of society. A man has need of beauty.

0032

Discouragement can take many forms. The vague feeling of estrangement from society, a sense of loneliness or isolation. Today it took the form of bugs. Ticks becoming more numerous as the weather turns warmer, the little gnats that fly into my eyes and ears, the ravenous mosquitoes. I remind myself how much I really want to do this; will myself to tough it out. "I'll get these tomatoes in the ground, or my name ain't Elmer Fudd!"

Then the reminder I need finds me, as if seeking me out. I come across the first corn emerging, the miracle of new life. Takes me back to my childhood, living on the family farm near Amiret, MN. I would get a tin can, fill it with dirt, and plant a kernel or two of corn from the corn crib. A little water, then set it on a window sill, and check it every day. For several days nothing seemed to be happening, but this farmer's son knew the seed was waking and growing. Then my faith would be vindicated. Seeing that seedling emerge always gave me a little rush, almost a sense of the divine. Still has that effect.

0031

For just the second time since coming out here, I put together a small plastic bag of odds and ends that cannot be burned or composted (plastic, broken glass). I saw the Waste Management truck go by earlier. But now, walking down to get my mail, I see the garbage still sitting where I left it. This is a puzzle. They took my neighbors' stuff; why not mine? So, I pick it up and carry it back to the yard until next Monday. Maybe they just didn't notice my bag because it is so small in relation to most. Or maybe the fact that I don't put a bag out every week, so they don't look for it.

I have to be careful not to make too much of a possibly isolated incident, but this does fit a larger pattern that I have begun to notice. Namely, that there may be social and cultural consequences to this desire to live the plain life. The cultural assumption is to produce a certain minimum bulk of garbage every week. The failure to do so puts one outside the norm, and so outside of normal expectations. Another unstated expectation, governing most social activity, is that of easy transportation. Make a conscious decision to avoid reliance upon the automobile, and social connections become difficult and strained. The concrete steps in moving away from consumerism may turn out to be relatively easy. The tough part may be the tension of being divorced from the expectations of one's own culture and society.

0030

Last night's bath water and this morning's drinking water are from the newly functioning well. This is a big deal - free at last from dependence upon city water, and from trips to town to procure it. With a light heart, I ride my bicycle to morning Mass, a pleasant ride on this beautiful May morning, only my second weekend spent entirely at the new homestead.

After Mass, I call Lenore from the phone in the church hall, just to chat and to share the well news. On the return trip, riding up the hill past the state park, I hear the voices of families camping in the park, a pleasantly homey sound. There's a service road at this end of the park... I wonder if I could cut through the park on my way to and from church? Have to check that out next week.

0029

Picked up the repaired cylinder from Arnold yesterday. Rod connection repaired, and the leathers replaced, everything like new.

"I can't tell you how much you've saved me Arnold. How much do I owe you?"

"Eight dollars for the new leathers, and my time."

"You gotta be kidding."

"Eight dollars."

"One more question?"

"Go ahead."

"This whole thing started because I was getting sand in my water. Anything I can do about that?"

He smiles, his eyes crinkling. "Throw a couple quarts of clean pea gravel down the well before you put the pipe back down. That should filter out the sand."

"Pea gravel? That's all?"

"Pea gravel."

---

That was yesterday. Now I've thrown some pea gravel down the well, and Justin is up again to help me lower the pipe. He mans the pipe vice as I lower the pipe, same as before, only it's much easier work lowering. Plus, we're doing it one section at a time, the way you're supposed to!!

With the top section of pipe and rod sticking up a few feet, I lift the housing up and over, and thread it down onto the pipe. As I lift, Justin removes the vice altogether, and I lower the pump into place, and reconnect the handle.

OK, here's the test. Get a clean bucket, and hang it on the spigot. Start pumping. Within a few strokes, there's water. Empty the first bucket - the water is picking up a little film of oil from all the handling of the pipes. Justin takes his turn pumping; we're both enjoying this immensely. After a few buckets, the water is running clear and cool. And NO sand!

Smiles, pats on the back, and a victory celebration. Almost feel like doing an end-zone dance. More than anything, a grateful prayer of blessing upon Arnold. Eight dollars. Amazing. Pea gravel. God bless that man.

0028

The bandaged hand has been a handicap for several days as I've gone about planting potatoes, weeding, and doing other chores. Now it has healed enough for me to work a pipe wrench, and i manage to get the twisted well pipes dismantled. During this process, I learn that the rod through the center is also coupled section by section, and I could have been dismantling the whole thing one section at a time, as Justin and I raised it. What a dope! Well, I was ignorant of how wells are constructed; now I know a little better.

I can hammer the bent rods and get them reasonably straight again. I load the three bent sections of pipe along with the cylinder, and make a trip to town. I drop the cylinder off at Arnold's, who will correct the broken rod connection, then take the pipes to be cut and rethreaded at Hardware Hank. Have to buy a new length of pipe, too, cut and threaded to make up for the amount of bent pipe that is cut off. This whole process has been rather painful, but my confidence is growing that I will get my well back, finally.

0027

Going outside first thing, the tall pipe still startles me a little. Looks like a huge needle sticking up through my pump house roof. Mid-morning, Derek, Justin and Erin come trooping up my driveway, their necks are also craned, eyes fixed on the top of Jerry's pipe, over 50 feet up. Derek clears his throat. "Justin says you need my help with something?"

"Did you eat your Wheaties this morning, Derek?" He grins a little sheepishly.

Justin and Erin are the bystanders, the cheering section, as I open wide the pump house door, and explain my plan to Derek.

"We'll pick the bottom end up, one of us on either side, and walk out into the side yard with it. There's a lot of weight there, and that weight will be pulling up at first, so we'll have to keep a tight grip, OK?"

Derek nods. We stand opposite each other, bend and grab, and, at my signal, we lift.

"OK. Now, slowly, let's move toward the door."

We've moved less than a foot from vertical when it starts to veer off to Derek's left, my right. With all our strength, we resist, but we overcompensate. Now it's swinging the other way.

"No good!," I yell, "Let's put it back down!"

Derek's eyes are getting wide. I'm amazed at how much force is at work. The momentum of the long pipe is beyond our strength, a huge upside-down pendulum whipping itself first in one direction, then another, each time a bit more violently. The third or fourth swing is away from me and towards Derek's right, dashing itself against the window jamb with my left hand between. There's a noise of breaking glass, a dull thud, and the pipe is at rest.

I run outside. This is bad. Erin is crying, wailing aloud.

"Are you hurt, Erin?" She shakes her head. She doesn't appear to have been hit by anything.

"Are you OK, Justin?" "Are you OK, Derek?" They both nod solemnly.

The pipe is a wreckage of bent pieces lying to the west of the pump house. Apparently, the momentum and tremendous force kinked the pipe just above the roof, with the top sections smashing into the ground. My hand is bleeding. I tear my tee shirt off and wrap it around my hand.

"You sure you're OK, Erin?" She nods, still sobbing uncontrollably.

I ask Justin, "Why is Erin crying?"

"She's crying because you're hurt!"

"Oh."

My shirt is already saturated with blood. I take a look. It's pretty deep.

I walk down to their house for some first aid, then manage to fish a few bills out of my wallet for Justin and Derek's efforts. Back at my house, there's nothing to be done. I lie down with my hand raised.

---

Tonight in bed, it's hard to sleep. I still have to keep my hand above my heart, which makes for little sleeping comfort. I have plenty of time to review my folly, to berate myself, quite deservedly.

"You are such an imbecile, Jerry! It's incredible how stupid you are! That pipe was, what? 150 pounds? Maybe more? Not counting the weight of the water still inside it. And it was how far up in the air? 50 feet? Maybe higher? Supported laterally at the roof opening. Which means the fulcrum of this 50-foot lever was where? 7 feet up, maybe 8? And which end of this lopsided lever were you trying to control? Even without a calculator, you should have seen that the force would be somewhere in the thousands of pounds. Not a difficult puzzle, but you never took time to think it through. Which qualifies you as an utter fool!"

I can't beat myself up all night. I need to learn a lesson here - I need to think things through better. There is also much to be grateful for. It is bad, but it could have been much, much worse. What a tremendous relief that no one was hurt except the moron who deserved it, and that injury isn't serious.

And that's another thing. Erin, crying because I was hurt. What a little sweetheart. I kinda guessed that about her nature when I first met her. How does she do that - spontaneously feel someone else's pain? A humbling lesson for my spirit as well. Am I capable of learning these lessons?

I toss around a bit more, trying to find a comfortable position. It's gonna be a long night.

0026

It's a fine morning, the birds cheerily calling to me as I go out to meet the day, and the task at hand.

I assemble the reducers and the 20 feet of half-inch pipe, and lower this into the open casing until it rests on the top of the dropped pipe below. I turn the whole thing clockwise, jiggle it a little, turn it again, and now I feel some resistance. I turn it further, and the resistance increases. I try to pull up, but cannot lift the pipe. Could it be this easy? I turn it some more, this time with a pipe wrench, and, grasping with both hands, lift with my legs. I can lift it, and I know by the weight that I'm lifting the dropped pipe. I'll be darned! Arnold sure knows what he's talking about - I can get my well back!

Trouble is, there's too much weight for me to do anything more than lift with my legs. This is a two man job. Or, perhaps, a man and a boy. I work in the garden until I see the school bus drop Justin and Erin off, then walk down to see if Justin wants to earn a few bucks. (Of course he does.)

Justin works the pipe vise, repositioning it as I lift, then tightening it so I can get a new grip. Lift, reposition, tighten, new grip. Lift, reposition, tighten, new grip. About a foot at a time, the pipe rises up through the opening in the roof directly above. Within a few lifts, the inch-and-a-quarter well pipe appears, and Justin struggles to quickly adjust the vise to accommodate the larger pipe, while I struggle to hold the pipe that long. Now I can remove the 20-foot 'handle', and we keep going, up, up, up.

Now we're at the first threaded joint in the well pipe. I loosen the joint, but there's that rod running through the pipe. The top is about six feet above the roof. I'd have to stand on something higher than the roof and lift the ten-foot section of pipe straight up over the rod to get it clear. Doubting that I can do that, I just reassemble the joint, and we keep lifting.

By suppertime, we've lifted about 50 feet of pipe, and have reached the cylinder at the bottom, and the short length of pipe below that. With one final heave, the whole assembly is out and resting on the dirt floor next to the casing.

Justin and I go out to survey our accomplishment. The effect is rather startling - the pipe standing vertically up through the pump house roof, the top more than 50 feet overhead, as tall as the trees. We'll have to walk the bottom out through the door, out into the yard toward the east. Lifting straight up is one thing, but handling that much weight laterally may be too much for a man and a boy.

Justin reads my thoughts. "We could get Derek to help," he suggests, "he's as big and strong as a man!" Justin is right; at 14 or 15, Derek is quite muscular.

"OK. Give him a call, and see if he'll come over tomorrow. This is enough for one day."

0025

I've had to spend a couple days in the garden to get caught up on planting, and on hoeing the very hardy weeds. Then, Tuesday was rainy off and on all day, so I started making plans for introducing some indoor plumbing into the house.

The small room upstairs along the middle of the south wall is the most likely candidate for conversion into a bathroom. I have obtained some information on composting toilet systems. I'm thinking of the Sun-Mar Centrex style, with the composter located in the basement, and a one pint flush toilet upstairs. This will require a two pipe drain system, with the grey water from the sink and tub separate. So I spent most of my time just noodling, scratching my head, measuring, and making tentative plans for what I'll need to buy on my next trip to town.

Finally, this afternoon, I turn back to the broken pump. I'll need to lower (and, hopefully, later, raise?) things pretty much straight up and down. So, I get up on the pump house roof and remove one roof panel, and cut a hole in the roof board directly above the well.

The confidence and hope I felt after talking with Arnold are now waning. It feels kinda weird, and a bit disconcerting, to be working toward a goal with only the vaguest notion of what I ought to be doing to get there. But, I remind myself that, without a good well, all my other plans - for indoor plumbing, a wind generator, a sustainable garden - are pretty futile. And so... Lord willing, weather permitting, tomorrow I work on the well again.