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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.