The Ultimate Answer to Kings

One with a backhoe, and one with a scaffold. 😉

Trim painting this morning, before it gets too sun-beaty-downy. That’s a technical term exclusive to desert dwellers.

The new trim color is a bit redder than the old, which is pretty faded after three years anyway. I think I’m going to like it better.

One thing I totally spaced on is that when Big Brother’s visit happened I had only trimmed two of the three windows intended to get trim. I still have to cut and install the front bedroom window trim. Since I was already in painting mode when that light dawned I decided I’ll put that off till tomorrow when the power tools need to come out anyway. Won’t take but a few minutes.

Speaking of BB, he came up with the idea of spray-painting the new caulk with some of the flat green I keep around for painting weapons and tools. Not instead of a coat of housepaint, gods know – that wall needs a coat of new paint in the worst way – but just because green spraypaint will be easier to cover than gray caulk. Good idea, really, which I’m continuing to use.

For the record that east wall has been my biggest disappointment of the Great Siding Project of 2015. I used Hardie Board on the south side because that wall gets the hardest use from sun and water, and also there’s only the one story to cover. That turned out to be a very good choice, and I have no trouble with it. But the east wall gets a lot more sun punishment than I’d anticipated, and shrinkage and cracking means that wall needs more regular maintenance than I’d anticipated. That thin, cheap T1-11 is not holding up as well as hoped.

The problem has been fixed on the west wall, which has much thicker siding now. That plywood is so far showing no signs of stress at all.

There’s nothing to listen to on the Jeep radio on the weekend but baseball, talk about baseball, dreadful contemporary country music and NPR. Once again I implore the Weekend Edition newsreaders to please, for their own sake, renew and faithfully take their Trump Derangement Syndrome meds.

I’m sitting here only 33% through the first cup, trying to think of something to do on the cabin more fun than painting. Yesterday I was on a roll but I’m glad I stopped when I did and went inside to bake bread because I did get the season’s first sunburn. So I should probably stay out of the sun a bit more till the tan builds up – or at least wear a shirt with sleeves.

I’m glad to have the gutter out of the way. 16′ of gutter all by myself was scary, but once I worked out the technique it actually went quite quickly. Now I’ve got the downspout primed on the cutting table, but I need some stuff before I can proceed with that step. So I guess today is trim painting.

Yeah, this season it’s basically going to be painting painting painting all the way down.

Hey, you want to see something funny/sad? Little Bear is such a good boy. He’s got what I suspect is a bladder full of crystals, so the old “bladder like a cistern” saying no longer applies. Unfortunately he’s also the least pushy dog I’ve ever been in charge of, so it’s on me to pay attention to his body language. But nearly everything I do inside involves facing a counter or a wall and not paying attention to LB. This can cause problems.

Yesterday while the bread was rising, LB lay down next to the door. Right next to the door. Facing the door. I should have taken less time to interpret what he was telling me. Finally I asked him if he wanted to go out, and he got right up eagerly. I put him on his long lead, opened the door, and…

Just made it over the threshold. That’s a good boy.

Low eighties this morning, bright sunny day, perfect for working. Not too hot, not too cold, no wind to speak of.

Soaked through my first hat of the season.

I got a first coat on all the linear wood on and under the west cabin eaves. I still have to roll a coat on the underside of the plywood, but that’s just cosmetic and won’t take long. Mostly I was trying to clear the deck so I can get hanging the gutter out of the way.

I was reminded again how badly I got handled by the construction supply company last year…

Man, they saw me coming. I paid full price for some of the roughest studs and rafters I ever saw. But they hold the place up, I guess. And the second coat will be easier than the first.

Had a little hiccup when I started working on the gutter hangers, thought for a while it was going to be a show-stopper until I can go to town on Monday…

Turns out there’s a difference between 4″ and 5″ gutters, and Landlady had hangers for both in her barn. I had 4″ gutter and a whole bunch of hangers for 5″. So LB and I drove to the barn, not very hopefully, to see if I could get the right sort. Turns out there was lots.

I should explain, there was once a project to put gutters on the barn eaves, and after she bought all the stuff that turned out to be impossible. So when I mentioned gutters for the Lair she waved her hand expansively and in a disgusted voice said, “Please. Take it away.”

On the way back I saw some little friends…

Looks like the cattleman is trying something another guy did several years ago, letting weanlings run loose with just a few older cows around for a modicum of guidance and protection. I’ve seen a couple of these gangs of little hooligans around lately.

Anyway, we did find the hangers we needed, and after that things went fairly smoothly.

Now it’s PM. The west wall is in bright sun and the east wall, which badly needs a coat of green, is moving into shadow. I might still break out the roller and pan, but probably not. It’s baking day, and I’m feeling a bit sunbaked myself. No hurry, he said with a hint of hubris in his voice. I’m way ahead of schedule – and anyway very pleased with myself for getting 16′ of gutter up alone without bending anything.

Claire has an excellent new post titled “The Authentic Life,” which starts…

My friend Jordan longs to lead an Authentic Life. In caps.

He’s done fascinating things while also doing well for himself. Most people would say he’s living the good life. But he’s wanted to escape it for years. He and his wife tried once. They aimed for their idea of paradise. Failed. Not really through their own fault. But they ended up being sucked straight back into the “good” life again. Now they’re considering another try.

“The Authentic Life,” he muttered with a mock-weary sigh. “Of all the silly things to worry about.”

Really, at first my impulse was to mock. “The Authentic Life” – what does that even mean? As opposed to what? Fake life? Life is life, you either have some or you don’t, and if you don’t you’re dead and beyond such worries. I dunno, maybe a zombie or a vampire can have a fake life, but I can’t. Life is authentic by its very nature, it’s hard to fake. So is oxygen. Life can be fulfilling or maddening, comfortable or uncomfortable, happy or unhappy. But how can it be inauthentic?

Yeah, I know. I get pedantic, even when I’m talking to myself.

I should learn to shut up when I’m thinking like that. Even when I’m talking to myself. Claire makes the very good point that “The Authentic Life” would surely mean something different to whoever seeks it – self-evidently true. I barely remember, these days, why I did what I did that landed me out here on a wing and a prayer, but surely it wasn’t anything so hipsterish as a quest for “Authenticity.” And then something – possibly my conscience, or sense of decorum – tapped me on the shoulder and murmured, “Hey, Joel? Look up the word ‘infantilizing.’ On your own stupid blog.” And sure enough, there really was a time when I asked the same question – and when changing my life helped me find my own answer.

(Ed Note says: This is a clip from the probably-destined-never-to-be-published book You Never Completely Lose, written about four years ago.)

All sorts of wonderful things were at my disposal. Housing that was proof against any conceivable weather. Unlimited electricity, heat, and running water. Cheeseburgers. Victoria’s Secret catalogs. But I didn’t produce any of those things. I wouldn’t have begun to know how. I ate meat, but knew nothing about raising livestock. I ate vegetables, but didn’t know how to garden.

It struck me quite often that there was something dangerously infantilizing about that. I was completely at the mercy of the people who worked the power plant, or the water treatment plant, or the guys who drove the trucks that stocked the grocery store. I remember mentioning it to people I knew at work, once in a while. They tended to sidle away from me a bit nervously when I talked like that, as if not only had such thoughts never occurred to them, but it wasn’t quite right that they had occurred to me.

I’ve learned since then. I’ve gotten a lot deeper into the nuts and bolts of very basic living than I ever really intended. And here’s a bit of a paradox for you: I’m now physically vulnerable to being harmed by things that in suburbia wouldn’t have been more than a bother, but I’m also more in control of my own life than I have ever been at any previous time.

“Authenticity” isn’t what drove me out to the wilderness, where I happily washed up in the place Claire long ago dubbed The Desert Hermitage. This was the ‘Hard and holy place whose very name is never spoken,’ about which I once wrote a very bad poem before I’d ever even heard of it, let alone seen it. This place would be almost anybody else’s idea of hell, but it’s my Avalon. And I would pay any price to live here. Even become “authentic.”

My wifi reception has been very wonky for the past couple of days, and it’s showing signs of not wanting to let me post this – plus this is already too long. So I’m going to go ahead and post while/if I can, then get dressed and get to the day’s work. Maybe I’ll have more to say later, especially after reading Claire’s next installment.

Okay, for some reason the laptop doesn’t want to connect to the hotspot right now, so no pics this afternoon. Which means I can lie like a rug about my progress!!!

But I won’t, because you’d know better. The weather cleared up and then it turned into one of those gloriously beautiful days we get here sometimes, so I got a late start but did accomplish a few things before my back started singing to me. The addition’s new gutter is in two pieces still but otherwise completely assembled, primed, and has two coats of paint – it is in fact ready to install. But I didn’t get so far on painting all that raw wood on the drip edge. 7/12 of it has a first coat but it turned out I should have lowered the scaffold just about two clicks more because it really got me in the back. I had hoped to finish the first coat today but I know when to stop. Also by then the sun was starting to beat on that wall, and it’s never healthy to work right where the sun is doing that.

Tomorrow is supposed to be just as nice but warmer, so I’m going to get an earlier start and really hit the wood painting. Already reset the scaffold, so I should be able to finish the west side trim and maybe even get the gutter up safely.

ETA: Laptop decided to connect.

…though it’s getting off to a chilly start at it.

Wow, I overslept. Didn’t sleep well because it was a bit cold (and I drank way too much tea last night so I was up four times just for that) which means when I finally opened my eyes for good and all it was almost seven. My first guilty thought was “do I smell dog piss?” But no, LB was a good boy. And in fact though I won’t say it for fear of indulging in wishful thinking, I’m tempted to say LB’s getting a bit better. Hasn’t had an accident since BB left, anyway, and the past few mornings he’s been more interested in getting his belly scratched than in rushing outdoors to do his chores. Maybe the diet change is helping? Can’t say, but the “convert the chicken yard to a kennel” project has lost its urgency.

Right at this moment all other projects have lost their urgency too, alas. This spasm of bad weather has put me right back in Winter Sloth mode. It’s after seven and I’m sitting here in my PJs and hoody, thinking of painting that drip edge so I can get to work on gutters but with no trace of want-to. Maybe I’ll get back into it when it warms up. Right now chickens are calling.

This is ridiculous.

That is the surface of the scaffold outside the bedroom window, just under the drip edge. That is the ice on the surface of the scaffold outside the bedroom window, just under the drip edge.

At least the wind is supposed to moderate today. And it’s supposed to warm up tomorrow. A bit.

I love this place, I really do. But not, I confess, for the weather.

Gets any colder and I’ll have to drag the real coat out of its bag, and that’s going to piss me off. I just got it washed.

Lew Rockwell reprinted my review of The Basics of Resistance.

The version on Amazon, though, not the slightly longer one here.

I can’t figure out what the cattle guy is doing – I’m not completely convinced he knows. It was a very dry winter and – today excepted, though so far it’s only inconsequential showers – it’s been a very dry spring so the grazing is as terrible as I’ve ever seen it. There’s virtually no new grass. I assume that’s why he rounded up most of the cattle in March, as soon as the winter calves were born. Most but not all – I still have to be careful going around corners lest I run the Jeep into a barely-sentient bag of meat for whose welfare I am somehow legally liable. And lately there are breed bulls again! Like this morning.

Breed bulls can be amusing when you encounter them in the Jeep. Less so on foot. This morning I happened on one as I was leaving Ian’s plaza toward the upper part of my driveway, and it did the thing only bulls do – it decided to play “you shall not pass.” They’ve done this to me before, and I learned a valuable lesson the first couple of times. I’ll stop to avoid hitting a cow, because if a cow blocks my path there’s probably a reason it can’t leave just then and it will move as soon as it can. But a bull will turn and face you, wanting to dispute right of way. And if you stop for it, it’ll decide it’s winning and it’ll never get out of the damned road. But if you keep on going, not fast but not looking like you’re going to stop, eventually – so far – they always make the right choice before there’s an actual collision.

So here was this young-looking bull, not half as big and intimidating as they can get. He was only about halfway on the driveway, and a cow would simply have moved forward and gotten out of the Jeep’s way. But this stupid animal turned and walked into the middle of the driveway, and lowered its head. “You shall not pass.” Well actually yes, I was definitely going to pass. So I just kept slowly moving, and got to watch the determination drain right out of this bull. It kind of gave a side-eye to the side of the driveway, and then sort of started sidling in the direction it was looking, and then with a quick “screw it” remembered an urgent appointment elsewhere.

Had I been on foot, that might have gone differently. I may start taking the spear on walkies again, I guess it’s that time of year.

For the past few days the forecast has promised “breezy” weather, in addition to whatever other unpleasant things might be going on. I’m not sure whoever writes these things is working by any solid rules. The other day I tried to set a signpost in concrete but the “breeze” kept knocking it over. Yesterday while trying to seal some electrical connections at Ian’s water tank, the “breeze” kept blowing out my propane torch.

So this morning while working on the first cup and planning the day, I came up with a rule of my own. Henceforth and until further notice the difference between “wind” and “breeze” is thus: “Breeze” will kill you, but it won’t strip the flesh from the bones of your corpse.

Today is supposed to be “breezy,” as well as “cool” and also sporadically rainy. I’m too old for this shit. Apart from inescapable chores I’m staying prudently indoors.

I have a rule, and it has helped me maintain joie de vivre under sometimes challenging circumstances: Don’t be afraid of making bonehead mistakes, they’re preferable to a lack of action caused by analysis paralysis. But do try to learn from the bonehead mistakes of yourself and others whenever practical.

Two things consumed the morning, in the spirit of the above aphorism. First, a new rule: Stop bad-mouthing gasoline generators, Joel.

Okay, in my own defense I only ever badmouthed crappy gasoline generators, but since that’s the only kind I could ever contemplate owning I just arranged my affairs so I could always live without one.

Now that I unexpectedly find myself the owner of a good portable generator, I’m in love.

Ever since the Great Lightning Strike of 2015, I’ve been limited to using my circular saw only at Ian’s or Landlady’s places. My new free inverter won’t run the saw – and my tiny battery bank would never run it long anyway, and only in sunny weather.

But since the kind and incredibly generous donation of a Honda inverter generator, I can run any damn power tool as long as I want, in all weathers. I wanted to cut a piece of scrap 3/4″ plywood for the new Beware of Big Black Hairy Lazy Dog sign first thing this morning, and normally that would have involved a great many irritating work-arounds. Instead I could just haul the Honda out of the powershed and have at it.

While I was at it, and since I have a handful of carriage bolts lying around from a project of last year that took a left turn, I decided to seriously bolt that sucker to the newly (and much more seriously) planted signpost that that stupid cow knocked over last winter.

Cow or no cow that sign wasn’t constructed very sturdily and was going to fly apart in a windstorm someday soon anyway. So in the end it’s probably for the best.

While I have everything out I need to cut a new backing for the other road sign as well. Right after lunch and before I put the tools away, which I need to get to because I think the promised rain isn’t going to wait for tomorrow (as promised.)

But having finished that little sign project, it was time to get to the real scheduled burden of the morning…

…installing a new float switch in Ian’s water tank. Continue reading →

Or something. At least that’s the gist of yesterday’s breathless headlines about the latest murderous hypocrisy issuing from the blood-dripping lips of the never-sufficiently-damned NRA monsters…

The NRA said guns will be banned during a Pence speech. Parkland students see hypocrisy.

Uh huh. Except that’s Vice President Pence, which means it’s far more likely to be the secret service rather than the NRA that’s getting soggy and hard to light about guns (other than their own, of course) at the venue. As indeed the Wapo piece does eventually get around to mentioning…

The NRA is complying with laws that prohibit firearms from being brought into areas where Secret Service protectees visit, [secret service] agency spokesman Shawn L. Holtzclaw told The Washington Post in a statement Sunday. That includes events in open-carry states such as Texas, he said.

“Individuals determined to be carrying firearms will not be allowed past a predetermined outer perimeter checkpoint, regardless of whether they possess a ticket to the event,” Holtzclaw said.

So, not so much the NRA doing it.

Exactly what all this has to do with the Parkland kids, I have no idea. I’m guessing nothing, but when you’re just making shit up for your title why not throw them into the mix?

…it generally means something less than a full gale. Today would have been very pleasant for the start of the work season if not for the wind, which made working on ladders a little uncomfortable at times. Not so bad in the hollow, and I did at least get the pre-paint caulking done…

I sealed the rafter blocks on the inside last year with caulk and expanding foam, but probably should have gone over them on the outside as well. When we opened up the ceiling box to install the new fan there was a definite draft up there. I’d testify I didn’t miss any cracks, but the wind testifies that I did. So before I can paint that wood I needed to go over the blocks with caulk on the outside.

I’m beginning to wish I’d splurged on cement board for the east side of the cabin as well as the south, because the morning sun is beating the hell out of it. I’m getting major cracking and shrinkage every year, and it’s beginning to look as though painting this side is going to be an annual thing. BB and I fixed the small amount of actual damage and did some caulking but there was plenty more needed doing. Fortunately he got the high stuff caulked while he was here so I don’t need to sweat that.

I put a fair dent in my caulk stash today, but got done what I wanted to. Continue reading →

…but at least I know where the flowers iz.

I have seen nothing at all disproving my notion that the one known surviving squirrel getting into my chicken feeder really hates that live trap. And some fairly compelling evidence that it does.

I think maybe I should put a couple of kill traps on the Amazon wish list after all.

George died suddenly of a heart attack, far too young, over four years ago. We his friends have never been able to determine if anyone out there still holds the rights to his few published works, but don’t want them to entirely fade away.

After a discussion over at the Claire Cabal, I got a file of his second collection Bad Patterns and converted it to .pdf. It’s now available free on the Free Stuff page.

As with Symbols Flow I do not own the rights to this work. I receive no income from it and ask none. If there’s anybody out there in his family who does own the rights and if the publications are available in some more authorized form, please do let me know.

Yeah, I know it really started nearly a month ago. Hell, everything I wanted to do on the interior is already done. But it became official today. 🙂

This’ll be a far less intense season than last year. There’s some construction but it shouldn’t be any big deal. This time last year I seriously questioned whether I hadn’t taken on more than I could do, even with the help I’d been promised. I’m no builder, and I’ve got to tell you it’s scary when you’re utterly committed to a thing like that, no excuses, no way out but through.

But this year there’s nothing like that. It’s mostly just painting. I dislike painting on principle, but have found that I don’t mind it nearly so much when I’m doing it on my own cabin, which I actually built. It’s not just drudgery, it’s drudgery love.

Yeah, there’s some other stuff. New front porch, cement rear steps. A new run of conduit from the powershed – that’s what that coil of orange stuff is for. Some window and door trim. But nothing scary at all, mostly just painting. That’s why today I borrowed Neighbor S’s scaffold, and I figure doing so officially kicks off the building season. The very first thing I want to complete is gutters on the addition edge, because that drip edge makes getting to and from that whole part of the yard a muddy mess when it rains. But first all that new woodwork needs the couple of coats of paint that I ran out of time and money to give it last year, when I just had to get busy on the interior.

I was going to paint the gutters this afternoon but the wind came up too high to want to be hanging on to gutters with one hand and painting them with the other. I know Uncle Murphy far too well to ever think he’d let me get away with that. So I settled for cleaning up from this month’s interior trim work and setting up the scaffold. Also it turned into bread day – this is the second time in three I’ve lost half my second loaf to mold, it’s clearly time to start storing that second loaf in Ian’s fridge. Tomorrow I have to go to town for the Monday water run, but the whole day is supposed to be nice so after that I paint.

…is being smarter, if also being a little weird about it.

I reset the trap, came out and checked it after an hour or so, and found it tripped and pushed around and partially undermined. Occam’s Razor says the squirrel was probably just trying to get to the bait. But given the pictures I have of the bigger squirrel trying so hard to get the smaller squirrel out of the cage – it may have been parent and offspring – I can imagine it attacking the thing that took its baby away.

Maybe I should start locking the door and checking the function of the cat door? Little Bear is really slowing down, and tends to sleep rather soundly. I don’t wanna be murdered in my sleep by a frickin’ squirrel.

In any case, since then the trap has remained untripped. The chicken feeder, however, was raided and emptied yesterday afternoon.

…not as right as usual.

The only scavengers who showed up to the feast were ravens. The corpse of my erstwhile chicken feed thief dwindled rapidly over the course of the afternoon, and no scavengers ever came in sight but ravens. Who did, in fact, walk around quite a lot. So that happened. In fact given that there’s not a single frame (of the lots of frames recorded) showing multiple ravens, it may have been the same one or at least members of the same mated pair.

And then this morning, by the timestamps less than half an hour before I came to collect the camera, this happened…

…and that was the end of that.

That’d be so much better*.

They’re so wise, and always looking out for my best interest.

Or is it the greater good? I get those two confused.

—
*screenshot from Ace of Spades