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?
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